Page 53 of Beautiful Sin
I followed his instructions eagerly this time, my heart thundering against my ribs as his tongue teased mine again. Every gentle swipe, every careful stroke sent sparks of pleasure through my body, lighting me up from the inside out. He tasted like mint and desire and something uniquely Jaxson—something that felt familiar, even though this was my first kiss. Like my body remembered him from somewhere, somewhen.
“Turn your head more,” he murmured, demonstrating with a slight shift that aligned our mouths more perfectly. “See how it fits better?” Then he was kissing me again, deeper this time, showing me exactly how a kiss could set your whole body on fire, how it could make you forget your own name.
My hands found their way into his hair, the strands silky between my fingers as I pulled him closer, desperate for more. Who knew I’d be so greedy? One kiss and I’m already demanding the whole buffet. I tried to memorize every sensation—the way his tongue danced with mine, how his teeth gentlycaught my lower lip, the soft sounds of pleasure he made when I did something right. The weight of him above me, grounding me when I felt like I might float away on a tide of sensation.
Kissing Jaxson was like discovering a language my body had always known but my mind had forgotten. Each movement felt natural, instinctive, as if we’d done this a thousand times before in a thousand different lives. The thought should have scared me—it made no sense, no logical sense at all—but logic had abandoned me the moment his lips touched mine, packing its bags and leaving a note that said “You’re on your own with this one, kid.”
I was drowning in sensation, in pleasure, in the sheer rightness of being in his arms. Each sweep of his tongue against mine sent shivers down my spine, each graze of his teeth against my lower lip made my toes curl. I was kissing Jaxson—kissing Jaxson—and it was better than anything I’d ever imagined. It was sinful and perfect and I never wanted it to end. If this was a sin, then sign me up for eternal damnation, because I’d happily burn if it meant feeling like this.
“Fast learner,” he praised against my lips, the words vibrating against my mouth in a way that made me shiver. His hand slid down my side, tracing the curve of my waist before settling on my hip, his thumb rubbing circles against the bone. “Want to learn something else?”
I nodded frantically, too far gone to care about dignity or pride or the fact that this was my stepbrother. All that mattered was this moment, this feeling, this man. “Please, Jaxson. Teach me more.”
His smile was wolfish, predatory in a way that should have frightened me but only made the heat in my belly burn hotter. “Lesson two,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that register that made my toes curl, “is about touch.”
His hand slipped beneath the oversized shirt—his shirt—pushing it up to expose my stomach, my chest. The cool air against my heated skin made me gasp, but it was nothing compared to the sound I made when his palm flattened against my sternum, directly over my hammering heart.
As he touched me, I noticed something strange—a sweet scent filling the air between us. Honey and something floral, like cherry blossoms, with a subtle hint of lilies. It reminded me of spring, of warmth, of home.
Wait, what?I’d noticed this scent the last time too, when Jaxson had touched me in my room. It hadn’t been this strong then, not this pervasive, but it was definitely the same. Great, now I’m having olfactory hallucinations. Where was it coming from? Was it me? Was it him? Was it something that happened when we touched?
“Feel that?” he asked, pressing lightly against my chest. “Your heart’s racing. Mine too.” He guided my hand to his chest, letting me feel the powerful rhythm beneath his skin.
My fingers splayed across his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart beneath my palm. It was racing just as fast as mine, strong and vital andalive. Something about that connection—heart to heart—deepened that strange bond between us, making it hum with energy. The sweet scent seemed to intensify with our connection, growing stronger with each shared heartbeat.
“Now for the practical application,” he continued, his teacher voice undermined by the roughness of his tone, the dilation of his pupils. His hand slid lower, wrapping around my cock again, the contact more intense now that I could see his face, could watch the way his eyes darkened as he touched me. I gasped into his mouth at the contact, my hips jerking involuntarily, seeking more.
“Sensitive,” he observed, his voice rough with an edge that made heat pool in my stomach.
Thank you, Captain Obvious. What gave it away—the gasping or the involuntary hip thrust?
His strokes were sure and steady, perfectly paced to drive me crazy, to build the pleasure slowly but inexorably. “Keep kissing me, Lan. Don’t stop.”
His kiss turned hungry, desperate, like a man who’d just discovered kissing was about to be outlawed and he needed to get his fill while he could. I groaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of his hand on me and his tongue exploring my mouth. When his tongue teased at the seam of my lips again, I opened for him.
The moment his tongue touched mine again, pleasure shot through me like lightning, electric and all-consuming. He tasted like mint and desire and everything I’d ever wanted, and I was addicted after just one taste. My arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer, trying to eliminate any space between us. If this was a test, I was determined to get an A+, to be the best student he’d ever had.Look at you, overachiever. As if your GPA matters in bed.
Between us, that honey-sweet scent grew stronger, almost tangible in the air we shared. It wasn’t coming from any cologne or product—it seemed to be coming fromme, which made absolutely no sense. I didn’t wear cologne or scented products. Wei was always complaining that I should use more deodorant, not less. So where was this scent coming from? And why did it seem to intensify whenever Jaxson touched me in a way that made my toes curl?
His hand on me was creating a feedback loop of pleasure—each stroke sending waves of heat through my body, each wave making me kiss him more deeply, each kiss making him stroke me more firmly. I was caught in an endless cycle of give and take, pleasure feeding pleasure until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
With every stroke of his hand, that strange warmth between us grew stronger, like an invisible current running between our bodies. It wasn’t just physical pleasure—it felt deeper, more fundamental, like something ancient awakening from a long sleep. Like our bodies were remembering something our minds had forgotten.
By the time he pulled back, I was trembling, breathless, my lips feeling deliciously bruised and tingling from his attention. His eyes were dark pools of want as he stared down at me, pupils blown wide with desire, and suddenly Bree’s romance novels didn’t seem so unrealistic anymore. People really did look at each other like that, like they were starving and the other person was a feast.
“Lan?” His voice was rough, strained, like he was holding himself back from something. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring slightly as if catching a scent that affected him deeply. Was he smelling that same honey-sweet fragrance I was? “Do you want me to stop?”
Stop? Was he insane?Here I was, finally in his arms, with his taste on my lips and his body pressed against mine in all the right ways. The thought of stopping now was like asking Nico to quit gaming cold turkey—absolute torture. Especially when every cell in my body was screaming for more, when that strange connection between us was humming with energy, begging to be completed.
“No,” I breathed, my fingers digging into his shoulders like they were my personal anchor to reality, the only thing keeping me from floating away on a sea of sensation. “Please, I want more. Consider this my formal application for Advanced Lessons in… everything.” I was begging and I didn’t care. Pride had taken one look at the situation and gone on permanent vacation to a place with better survival odds.
His hand came up to cup my face, his thumb tracing my lower lip like he was mapping out territory for future exploration. The tenderness in his touch made my heart attempt a complicated gymnastic routine, while the rest of me felt hot enough to trigger every smoke alarm in the building. I leaned into his palm like a touch-starved cat, my brain short-circuiting faster than Nico’s attention span during a documentary.
“Lan,” he whispered, my name on his lips sounding like both a prayer and a curse. His voice had dropped to that dangerous octave that should come with a warning label: Caution, May Cause Spontaneous Combustion.
The raw vulnerability in his voice caught me off guard. This was Jaxson—composed, confident Jaxson who always knew what to do, who never seemed rattled by anything. Yet here he was, looking at me like I held his heart in my hands, like I could break him with a word.
Before I could stammer out something embarrassingly honest, his lips were on mine again, andholy shit—if his earlier kisses were the trailer, this was definitely the main feature. This was the full director’s cut with bonus scenes, and I was here for it. I melted faster than ice cream in July, opening my mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world.
