Page 192 of Sin

The first round is not slow. It is pure aftermath. Applause still in my ears. His hands under my dress. My fingers in his hair. His mouth between my thighs like he is trying to prove a point to Amsterdam, the past, God, and possibly the entire adult products industry. I come with one hand braced on his shoulder and the other twisted in the sheets, saying his name too loudly and not caring who hears. He rises, wipes his mouth with his thumb, and looks so pleased with himself that I should push him into the canal.

Instead, I grab his jacket and drag him down onto the bed.

His laugh breaks against my mouth. God, that laugh. I will never get tired of earning it.

We undress each other with none of the desperation of secrecy and all of the desperation of wanting. His jacket hits the floor. My dress follows. His shirt buttons survive only because I like the shirt and feel generous. My bra does not receive the same mercy.

“Ruthless,” I gasp when he tears one strap.

“I’ll buy you another.”

“I liked that one.”

“I liked it too.”

“Clearly not enough.”

His mouth moves over my breast, and the complaint disappears into the ceiling.

The second round is slower. Not gentle exactly. Sin has never been only gentle, and God bless him for that. But deeper. The kind of sex where every kiss feels like a sentence and every touch has meaning underneath the heat. He lays me out on the bed and takes his time with me, his hands and mouth moving over places he knows by heart but still treats like discovery. I arch into him, laughing once when his hair falls into his eyes and he looks impatient with his own body for having the nerve to obstruct his view.

“Come here,” I whisper.

He does.

He comes over me, broad and warm and mine, and when he pushes inside me, my eyes sting. Not because it hurts. Because Amsterdam gave us ruin once, and somehow we came back with a ring.

He stills when he sees my face.

“Laurel?”

I touch his cheek. “I’m okay.”

His eyes search mine.

I smile. “I’m just happy.”

The words change him. His forehead lowers to mine. For a moment, he doesn’t move. He just breathes with me. Then he kisses me.

When he starts to move, there’s no hurry. He holds my hand beside my head, his fingers laced through mine, my ring pressing against his skin with every slow thrust.

I come looking at him.

He follows with my name in his mouth, his body shuddering over mine as if even now, after all this time, I still undo him.

We don’t go back downstairs in half an hour. Or an hour.

At some point, my phone buzzes on the nightstand with a message from Opal, who left SINsual when I did.

Opal York

Everything is fine. Stop pretending you’re coming back.

I laugh so hard I snort. Sin reads it over my shoulder and looks entirely unrepentant.

“Smart team,” he says.

“Enablers.”