Page 129 of I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC 2)
Sin’s hand skims down my body, resting on the curve of my waist as he explores my mouth. His tongue parts my lips, demanding entrance, sweeping an aching arch across my own. I let him do it, drawing back slightly to flick my own tongue over the scar on his lip. I wonder when and where he got it? When those men beat him up? In the line of duty with Death by Daybreak?
“Thanks for the reminder,” he whispers huskily, putting his hand on my chest and pushing me onto my back. I close my eyes, swallowing hard against the surge of anticipatory nerves. Sin moves away from me, settling himself at the foot of the bed.
Speaking of feet … he takes one of mine in his hand and traces his fingers up toward my leg. Toward my scars. I immediately try to jerk away, but he tightens his grip, fingers digging into my calf.
“Didn’t I tell you?” he asks, a hint of bemusement in his voice. “I wanted to know what these scars would taste like if I traced them with my tongue.”
“Colton,” I warn, and when that doesn’t stop him, I add, “Ryan.”
He grits his teeth at me; I can see them shining in the darkness.
“Do you really want this Ryan guy to end up on a DBD hitlist?” he asks me, and then he’s pressing a kiss against the side of my calf. Sin’s tongue darts out, tasting my skin and making me squirm. His attention to detail, that special talent of his that won him the role of road captain, comes into play here. He finds every groove that I’m self-conscious of, every mark in my skin that screams betrayal.
He smoothes over all those rough places with his heat, making his way up my right leg before bringing himself within a breath of my wet cunt. Rather than touch it, than soothe away any of my ache, he retreats back to my right foot, kissing my ankle, my calf, my knee.
“You always smell so good, Gidge,” he murmurs with his lips on my inner thigh. I’m trembling now. I so desperately want to touch him, but no matter how hard I pull, how much I twist my body, I’m trapped. “Like wild roses and vanilla.” He moves his lips up to my belly, licking the taut muscles as I clench them involuntarily. It’s almost painful, the softness with which he touches me. “And leather. Definitely leather.”
“No, no, you all smell like leather,” I tell him, and he hooks a smile that I can’t see, but that I can feel against my lower belly. “You, in particular, smell like cinnamon and citrus. A little bit of tobacco, a hint of cloves.” Sin chuckles, and the sound just drives right into me like a hard fuck.
Speaking of …
“Are you going to stop talking about how I smell and fuck me?” I ask, and this time, he sits up and throws his head back with a laugh.
“Fuck you?” he asks, shaking his head at me. “God, no. I’m going to do what I’ve wanted to do for years.”
“Which is?” I breathe as he turns toward the edge of the bed and kicks off his boots, peels off his socks, shoves his joggers and boxers down. He glances back at me, cocky in the firelight, so smug and full of himself.
Damn it.
I knew I shouldn’t have admitted to loving him; he’s going to be so much worse now. They all will be. Grainger, in particular.
“I’m going to make love to you,” Sin declares, and I groan. I have massive intimacy issues, like enough to choke a giraffe.
“No.” I shake my head, but he ignores me, adjusting himself so that he’s sitting between my legs.
“Yes. Why do you think I chained you up? I knew you wouldn’t like this.”
“Colton Young,” I warn, wondering if he has a middle name. “Don’t make me call you Ryan again.”
“I will gag you,” he warns me, sliding his palm over my breast and making my breath hiss out in a rush as he skims across my nipple. “Don’t push me.”
He leans down to kiss me, and I bite him. Doesn’t work though. He just bites me back, and then we’re licking and sucking hungrily at one another’s mouths while his hand kneads my tit. His body thrusts almost involuntarily against mine, but he doesn’t enter me. Sin seems content to tease me with the hardness of his pelvis, his cock slipping in between my outer folds and bumping my clit.
“Why are you so goddamn stubborn?” he whispers as I taste the faintest saltiness of blood on my lips. Not sure if it’s his or mine. Doesn’t matter.
“Would you like me if I were pliant and meek?” I query, but the words are too breathless to sound badass.
