Page 69 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
Sin doesn’t move from where he is, straddling my thighs. I put both of my palms on his hips. I want more than anything to unzip his fly and let his heavy cock fall into my palm. Put my lips to the tip. Flick my tongue and watch him squirm.
We just don’t have the time or leisure for any of that right now.
“I always wanted to pretend I was a princess with an honor guard.” I slide my palms along the front of his jeans and he groans, letting his head fall back as I graze my hands across the hard bulge of his cock. “You’ve given that to me. You chose me over the club. All my life, I’ve wished for someone to give that gift to me.” Here’s where I pause, because this isn’t ‘just’ about getting out of here to help Reba. This is everything. The final nail in Cat’s coffin. I’m taking his best men for myself. “If you’re still worried about covenants or whatever, just know that Beast and I have an understanding—at least for now.”
Sin lifts his head up to look at me. He’s wary, as he should be, but we both hold the keys to one another’s destruction. That breeds a certain sense of trust.
“I know all about that understanding,” he tells me carefully, eyes flicking toward the door. It remains closed and locked. Carefully, he extracts his phone from his pocket, looking for updates. Whatever he sees must satisfy him because he tosses it onto the opposite end of the couch. “But I can’t do it. Let myself have you, and then watch you build a life with someone else. That doesn’t work for me.”
“Whoever said I was planning on building that life without you?” I query back as he studies me. I may have actually broken his nose, considering the amount of blood. He watches me so warily, like he doesn’t trust my motives. As he shouldn’t. I’m going to get to Reba’s regardless of his opinion on the matter.
He moves as if to stand up from the couch when I reach for his belt buckle. My fingers have just barely brushed it when he’s shoving me back into the dusty cushions, stirring more motes, more evil spirits to watch over us.
Sin strips his belt systematically and then, with hot angry movements, he turns me over and puts my ass in the air. My breath escapes in a rush. We don’t have a lot of time here, but a quick fuck won’t change anything. At the very least, it’ll calm his ass down. But, much to my shock and horror, he wraps the belt around my wrists and pulls tight.
“What are you doing?!” I choke out, fear spiking through me. “Sin, you can’t keep me here. You don’t understand. You’re not listening.” I’m kicking at him, but it’s too late. I let my guard down at the idea of sex just like he did that day outside of the cabin. “Colton!”
He yanks on my arms just hard enough that I cry out, trapped beneath his knee with my wrists behind my back. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You are not leaving this basement. Period. End of discussion. We can talk about the other shit later.” He adjusts himself, but the crux of the situation remains: he’s on top of me using his bodyweight to pin me down, and my wrists are bound behind my back. Getting out of this is going to prove tricky.
“Reba is the last sister I have left,” I whisper, furious tears filling my eyes. “She’s one of the only people left in this world who loves me for me. Despite my bullshit. Despite my smart mouth. Despite the club.” I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to believe that Sin, the youngest, prettiest, and seemingly kindest one of them all, will be the final lynchpin that I can’t get past.
He relaxes his hold on my wrists just enough that my shoulders can relax, and I let out a small sound of relief.
“And Grey?” he clarifies, because he’s just not getting it. I can understand, empathize even. If he were fighting me tooth and nail to defend a mafia girl whose family had killed his sister, well then, I wouldn’t be any different.
“We have an understanding,” I reiterate. “He’ll have left a message for me at Reba’s house. Whatever it is, it could save her. It could save the entire club, Sin.” That has to be enough, right? The club matters to him.
Just not as much as I do.
“Those three months were the worst of my entire life,” he says softly. If I could look back at him, I would, just to see what sort of expression goes along with a tone crafted of melancholy and nostalgia. He laughs then, and it’s an ugly, bitter sort of sound. “And trust me: I’ve been through some shit.”
