Page 100 of Sin

“Don’t hide from me,” he says.

“We’re in my office.”

“I locked the door.”

“That’s not soundproofing.”

His mouth curves against mine. “Then be quiet.”

I glare at him. Or try to. He changes the angle, and the glare dies immediately.

“Unfair,” I whisper.

“Yes.”

He gives me that angle again.

Again.

Again.

Until I’m shaking, until my fingers dig into his shoulders, until his name breaks out of me in a sound barely louder than a breath.

He follows right after, burying his face against my neck, his body locking around mine as he comes with a low, broken groan.

Eventually, Sin pulls back enough to look at me. My skirt is around my hips. His shirt is wrinkled. His tie is half undone. There are papers on the floor, my lipstick on his mouth, and his wedding ring sitting beside my keyboard like a witness neither of us can cross-examine.

He touches my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “I tried.”

“I know.”

“I was going to let you go.”

“I know.”

His eyes search mine. “Tell me to leave now, and I will.”

My throat tightens.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

His expression breaks. Just slightly. Enough that I know he was hoping I’d say that and hates himself for it.

He kisses me again. Soft this time. Too soft. The kind of kiss that will hurt later. When he finally steps back, he fixes his clothes in silence. I slide off the desk on unsteady legs and smooth my skirt down. We both look almost normal within a minute.

Almost.

He picks up his ring. Pauses. Then puts it back on.

I look away.

That part is becoming harder. He notices, but he doesn’t apologize. Maybe we’re past apologies.

At the door, he stops with his hand on the lock.

“Laurel.”

I look at him. His face is back under control, but his eyes aren’t.