Page 22 of Where Sinners Repent

For the first time, his control slips. His breath catches. His hips falter. And the sweetest, breathless sound slips past his lips, so quiet I barely catch it.

But it’s enough to drive me crazy.

Then, just as quickly as he lost control, he finds it again.

Pulling himself from me and stepping away from the bed without a word, tucking himself back into his pants with calm, precise movements, it’s as though the last few minutes never happened.

Breathless, I stare at his back, as he drags the pad of his thumb across his mouth, wiping away the taste of me.

Tangled in the sheets and stuck in a haze, every part of me turns heavy. Feeling as though he’s stripped me down to something far more vulnerable than naked.

This weird weight settles over me, and I blink away the burn behind my eyes.

It’s been a day.

Rubbing my eyes, I try to clear the haze that still clings to me from the mind-altering orgasm and remind my lungs how they work.

Yet, he’s unaffected.

Doesn’t even look back as he prowls out of the room. Seconds later, the front door clicks shut.

He’s probably out there somewhere, being the dutiful guard. It doesn’t make swallowing the taste of my own blood or prying my sore body off the bed any easier. But it does help strengthen my resolve to stop fucking, or getting fucked by, Devil men.

Chapter 6

Roxy

Sliding the red lipstick across my lips, I feel more myself than I have in days.

Something about looking the part makes me feel the part.

I pull back from the mirror to admire myself, rubbing my lips together. I can’t help but grin.

With sharp cat eyes and my black hair slicked back into a high ponytail that falls down my back, my platform Doc Martins giving me some much-needed height, and the black bodysuit that makes my boobs look massive; I look hot.

Therefore, I feel hot.

Yes, I’ve had a hell of a weekend. I can either continue to wallow in self-pity and fear. Or I can get the fuck up and move on.

I choose the latter.

Because I didn’t pry myself from that life just to cower at the first speed bump. And what better day than a Monday to press restart.

I’m booked out today, appointments one after the other starting from the second I open. It’s exactly what I need. Nothing makes me feel better than painting skin.

Visions flash through my mind uninvited. Of hands moving with terrifying precision, of pretty blades and blood-soaked lips.

I shove those thoughts deep down before they take root.

Ink. My studio.

That’s what all need.

The hum of the tattoo machine between my fingers. Getting lost in the creativity of it all, the way I do every time someone is on my table.

Taking one last look at myself, I spin out of the lavish bathroom and grab my bag and Kitty. Swirling her in my hand adds to the feeling I’m trying to create today.

Now that I’m aware of just how dangerous she is, I love her even more. I’ll never go anywhere without her again.