Page 84 of Sin

“For you.”

The words hit me like a blow.

I lower my forehead to hers, breathing hard while my fingers move slowly, then deeper, learning the rhythm that makes her hips chase my hand.

“That’s it,” I say. “Don’t hide from me.”

“I’m not.”

“No.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. “You’re not.”

Her body tightens around my fingers. Her breathing breaks. I watch her face as she falls apart, and it is the most beautiful, damning thing I have ever seen. She comes with my name on her lips, her body shaking beneath mine, and I hold her through all of it.

Then she reaches for me and I settle between her thighs again. The head of my cock presses against her.

“Tell me to stop,” I say.

She touches my face. “No. I want you inside me.”

The words snap whatever is left. I push in slowly. So slowly it hurts. Her mouth falls open. Her fingers dig into my back. Mine grip the sheets beside her head because if I hold her too tightly, I’m afraid I’ll forget how much smaller she is beneath all this want. She stretches around me, tight and wet and perfect, and when I’m fully inside her, I stop.

Laurel’s eyes shine up at me. Not with tears. With the same guilt burning through me. Then she lifts her hips.

“Move.”

I do. The first thrust drags a broken sound from both of us. The second makes her wrap her legs around my waist. The third takes the last lie out of my mouth.

I was wrong this morning.

This was never going to be the last time.

Not after knowing what she feels like. Not after hearing her say she wants me. Not after having her body open beneath mine like it was made to ruin every decent thing I thought I had left.

I thrust deeper.

Harder.

She takes me, meets me, pulls me closer with hands and heels and breathless little demands that unravel me faster than anything gentle could.

“Sin,” she gasps.

My name. Not Mason. Sin.

I bury my face in her neck and lose what remains of control. She’s everywhere. Around me. Under me. In me.

The room is full of the sounds we make together. Skin. Breath. Her voice breaking when I hit the right angle and stay there.

“There,” she cries. “Right there.”

I give it to her. Again. Again. Again. Until her body tightens around mine and she comes apart for me a second time, harder than the first, her nails raking down my back, my name torn from her throat.

The feel of it nearly ends me.

I keep moving, chasing her pleasure until she’s shaking and oversensitive, until she presses her mouth to my shoulder to muffle the sounds she can’t control.

Then I let go.

My release hits violent and deep, ripping through me until I forget the city, the conference, the panel, every argument I made in my head about why this could still be stopped. There is only Laurel. Only her body holding mine. Only my name in her mouth. Only the terrible knowledge that I am already lost.