The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) (18 page)

“Yes, sir,” I breathed.

“Yes, sir, what?”

“Yes, sir, I want you to take my ass.”

Saying the words out loud set my oiled skin aflame. I wasn’t mortified. I was desperate. Desperate to show him how much I could take, how eager I was to be physically and emotionally splayed open before him, to be used by him.

His finger slowly followed the track of my wetness from the inside of my knee to it’s source at my center.

“So wet for me.”

“Yes,” I hissed, locking my knees to keep from rocking back against his gently questing fingers.

I needed more. My tender flesh missed the pain, my mind craved debasement.

“Please, sir,” I begged.

His tongue was back at the tightly furled entrance between my cheeks. He circled my opening languidly, his hands roughly suppressing the undulation of my hips.

I wanted to buck my back at him like a bitch in heat, howl at the sky, force Sinclair to break his control and take me like an animal. Instead, he enforced my stillness, my silence, and caged the sensations roiling through me, heightening them until I was a churning mess of incoherent need.

“You’ve done this before,” he reminded me and I was momentarily surprised that he remembered that. “But you’ve never had me here.” His thumb firmly circled my anus before plunging inside. “No one will ever own this ass but me.”

The tightly knotted mass of shame that had lain at the core of my psyche since the moment Christopher had initiated contact with me began to unravel. With the mental release came a flash of gut wrenching memories; Christopher’s pale hands as they coaxed me onto the bed, his casual suggestions that I might please him as payment for his kindness to my family and his sincere promise to keep my ‘virginity’ intact. He was never forceful physically, but his emotional manipulation of my teenage self had been perfectly calculated.

Goose flesh rippled across my skin and I pressed my teary eyes harder into the bed sheets until the scent of Sinclair and me, of our intimacy, killed the images like mustard gas.

I gasped as Sinclair pushed forward with two fingers, pumping and twisting them firmly inside of me. It was so decadent, these dual feelings of fullness and taboo, that I was drunk with it.

Sin’s hand pressed hard on the base of my spine so that my bottom was steeply arched into the air.

“What are you thinking of, siren?”

His fingers inside me, stretching. His smoky scent braided with the smell of lavender, the smell of me. His words saturating every conscious thought so that they fell into a heavy sleep, so that I was only my body.

“You,” I said.

“Yes, me. When we are together you only think of me.”

“Even when we aren’t.”

He swatted me again.

“Who is in this room? Only you and me, Sinclair and Elle. A Dom and his sub.” His voice lowered dangerously and his touch left me. I felt his absence more painfully than any spanking. “I will ask you again. What are you thinking of?”

“You, only you.” I jerked my hips back at him. “Always you.”

His hands were back on my ass, powerfully clenching and pulling them apart to make way for his cock. He nudged my slicked opening and paused.

“I could own you, all of you.”

“Yes.”

The head of his cock slid slowly, only an inch, inside me.

“Do you know how I know that?” he asked, his voice softer now, smoother than the hand that stroked down my back as he pushed further inside me. “I know because you own
me
, my siren.”

I buried my face in the blanket and groaned raggedly as he seated himself fully inside me. The pain was like a heated blade cutting through me and my bottom was raw from the spanking. I was surprised by how much I liked the pain, loved how it unlocked my mind and sent it reeling into velvety darkness. Loved that it was Sinclair in this most private part of me. The feeling was so intense that I wanted to wriggle away from it but each undulation of my ass only pressed him further against me.

“Ah,” I said, chasing after each elusive breath.

“Hush.”

His hands were all over my skin, soothing away my restlessness by lighting fire to my nipples with firm twists and tugs, dipping into my drenched sex to pinch my clit. After endless minutes, he rooted one hand in my hair and tugged until my neck was craned back and he was hunched over me, his tongue on my ear.

“I’m going to fuck you now. I expect you to ask permission before you come.”

I didn’t know if I could orgasm like that but I held back my concern.

His hands rubbed roughly over my ass, reawakening the ache there. “You can and you will come for me like this.”

The first sinuous glide of his cock leaving my body was strange and wonderful and as he began to saw in and out of me at an infuriatingly slow pace, my clit began to throb like a strobe light.

The calloused fingers of one hand plucked at my nipples while the other flattened across my stomach and urged me to sit back against his thighs. I whimpered and moaned, ugly little animal sounds as I churned up and down, grinding and bucking in any way I could to relieve the ache swelling uncomfortably inside me.

“Ah, Sinclair,” I begged, unable to speak but desperate to convey how much I need more, more, more.

He turned my head, fusing his mouth over mine to absorb my cries into himself as his fingers grew cruel against my breasts, as his hips jutted punishingly against mine. I screamed against his lips as his hand slid lower and rhythmically pinched my clit to the beat of his savage strokes.

I tore my lips from his, the separation painful as if Velcro secured us. “Please, let me come.”

He hummed but continued the torment.

“Please, please.”

His mouth found my ear, nibbled at the lobe before his tongue slid down my salty neck. His voice filled me like a second cock. “What are you thinking about, siren?”

The feel of his sweat slicked skin against mine, the powerful clench of his hands on my hips, the sound of our bodies slapping and panting… Him, him,
him
.

“You.”

“Yes,” he hissed and three of his fingers plunged into my sex. “Come for me.”

I had never been so happy to obey anyone in my life.

Chapter Thirteen.

I’d never had a vision of the kind of man I might fall in love with.

My sisters always had. Cosima imagined herself with an Italian, someone who worked with their hands and came home smelling of earth and wine. They would love passionately and fight passionately and have a brood of gorgeous children who constantly got underfoot. I had yet to see her with such a man, but it was a dream that I knew she kept sewn into the lining of her soul.

Elena’s prince was a little more typical and a whole lot more modern. She didn’t want to be treated like the timeless woman the way Cosima did, like a sexual creature and a domestic goddess. Elena wanted a relationship of equals, a partnership that afforded her individual power and independence. Her man was eloquent, elegantly opinionated and urbane.

And technically that man stood before me right now, his lean back gold and black in the acidic sunlight streaming in through the windows of Cosima’s kitchen. He was Elena’s ideal; smart, classy and eternally composed. Hell, he even wore three-piece suits on a daily basis. They were practically meant for each other.

And yet, I was watching a completely different man cook me breakfast. There was boyishness in the chestnut hair curling over his ears and gentle humor in the way he rolled his shoulders to the beat of Meagan Trainer’s All About That Bass. He had laughed when I blasted it from the speakers, shaking my booty so that the bare skin winked at him from under the tail of his dress shirt. I could count the number of times I had heard Sinclair laugh on my fingers but this was the best yet because he kept laughing as he reached out to tug me into his arms. I smiled into my coffee at the memory.

This man, the kind that only laughed at the really good stuff and looked at me with a heady mixture of authority and awe, was
my
kind of man.

“I better be the reason behind that gorgeous smile, siren.”

I looked up to see him looking at me, his electric eyes sparking with mirth even though his lips remained smooth and impassive.

I shrugged one shoulder as he slid a plate laden with bacon and avocado studded scrambled eggs in front of me. “I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

His eyes narrowed. In less than a second, the soft Sinclair, the one with the boyish curl and the wide, almost awkward smile, was gone and in his place was Sinclair the Dom. He wore his icy control like a king’s mantle across his shoulders and when he moved around the island to stand before me, the liquidity of his gait froze the air in my lungs.

He didn’t touch me but he may as well have. The thin slice of space between our bodies vibrated with palpable tension and set my body’s rhythm to his like a tuning fork.

“What would you say then?” he said in that quiet voice that echoed through my entire body.

I swallowed hard before answering. “You’re more than the reason behind one smile. You hold the lease on my happiness.”

The tick in his jaw was the only sign of his shock. He stared at me for a long time, caging me against the island with his arms braced on either side of me.

“I want to
own
your happiness,” he said, finally.

I sucked in so much air my lungs expanded to the point of pain.

“I want you to own me,” I whispered.

We had never been this forthright and even though it felt good, scary and good,
scary good
, I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

Sinclair shook his head and a piece of his newly shorn hair fell across his forehead. My fingers itched to smooth it back but I resisted because despite our sexual proclivities we didn’t have the casual kind of intimacy that came from dating.

So instead, I watched the battle in his eyes as he fought between taking me right there on the stool and storming out of the apartment, never to return. It was overdramatic maybe, but in a situation like ours, nothing was understated.

“I do,” he said, in a tight voice because there wasn’t enough air in his lungs.

Hope – the scrappy kind that you fight for with every pounding beat of your heart – can leave you breathless like that.

I shook my head, mute with emotion, but he pressed a finger to my lips.

“I own you in the dark. The moment you turn off the lights, I own your thoughts and your body. I dictate your touch.” His hand skimmed too lightly down the exposed skin between the panels of my shirt. “When you touch yourself it is because I want you to. You’re only echoing my thoughts in the dark, reading my will from across the city. So perfectly obedient. And after you come, my name on your sweet lips like a prayer, you’ll dream of me because the entire night is ours and I won’t give you up for one second of it.”

I was hot and cold with arousal but tears still pressed at my eyes. “I’ll still wake up alone.”

His eyes softened and the hand that had been tickling the upper swell of my breasts moved up to take a firm hold at the base of my neck. It was almost scary how both actions brought me utter calm.

“Greedy girl,” he teased, but when I didn’t smile, his grip flexed tight. “There isn’t much more of me to take.”

Only the part of you in Elena’s grip
, I thought. But even that poignant reminder didn’t hold the same weight it had as little as two weeks ago. I was turning into a different kind of person, one that didn’t care about the consequences of my desires. I couldn’t tell if it was devolution or not. Only the fittest survive, and only those with the selfishness to go after their ambitions succeed.

“Your eggs are cold.”

He ducked down to press a kiss above his grip on my neck, right on my jumping pulse, before releasing me.

I stared down at the yellow curds without thinking while he cleaned up in the kitchen and came around to sit beside me with his own breakfast. His hand fell heavily onto my thigh, jerking me out of my trance, but when I looked up, he was focused on his tablet, rapidly reading and responding to a deluge of emails. The hand was a reminder of his authority, his presence lest I forget it, and it released me from my worries the way nothing else could.

Happily, I dug into my cold eggs.

We ate silently and even when I squirmed to relieve the tension at my pleasantly raw core, he only had to squeeze my leg to relay his satisfaction with my discomfort and his will for me to sit still. It was the intimacy of our secret tryst merging seamlessly, beautifully like a watercolor sunset, into something more mundane but just as meaningful. It felt really, really good.

When I was done with the eggs, I made us both another coffee and retrieved my sketchbook before sitting down again. My mind was beautifully vacant, the kind of mental state artists strive for but only the best are capable of achieving on a regular basis, and I wanted to take advantage of it. My pencil twisted over the paper in loose, languid strokes.

I wasn’t surprised when something distinctly sexual emerged from the grey mass of swirls but I was by the dark taint of the image, the stark disobedience of it. A woman with shadowy hair that wrapped around her arousal swollen flesh like bindings yelled across the page, her mouth invitingly wide but dangerous, temperamental.

I realized as I stared at her, that she was me. This woman who dared you to fuck her, dominate her and then dared those who would condemn her to resist her charms. It was so ironic that the more sexually powerful I became, the more I wanted someone to leash me.

“What are your plans for the day?” Sinclair said.

He had been watching me. I knew because I had harnessed that scorching gaze and locked it around the fierce woman in my drawing.

“I need to paint.”

“Of course, you’re exhibition is in two weeks.”

I stared at him for a second. “I didn’t think you knew.”

He frowned at me. “Elle, not only is it my business to know about the goings on at
my
gallery, but it is your first show in America. I assure you, the date has been noted on my calendar since it was decided upon.”

I smudged the shadowy lock of hair falling over my drawn woman’s face with my thumb and mumbled, “I just remember you saying that you didn’t want anything to do with it.”

He sighed and a second later my stool was tugged towards him, so that I was between his spread legs. His fingers threaded through my hair and tilted my head until I was looking up into his eyes. Instantly, I relaxed as my ricocheting thoughts bounced against his palms and slunk back into my skull like chastised dogs.

“How can you be so confident under my hands and otherwise so unsure? Giselle, I said that because you had upset me. You came into my office looking gorgeous and unflappable and then this soft-spoken woman told me to
go to hell
.”

I blushed because that
had
been a little unfair. “I didn’t mean it.”

“We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean that day.”

I felt the hook that connected my heart to his sink deeper into my left aorta.

“I do not want to stop seeing you.”

My eyes fluttered close to better savor those edible words. When I opened them, his lips were ever so slightly tilted in a bemused smile.

“We see each other all the time,” I reminded him.

Just because his admission made me ecstatic didn’t mean I was going to be an easy catch.

His gaze narrowed. “It’s difficult to play hard to get when you’ve already told me that you are in love with me.”

I bristled, but he did have a point. Instead of answering, I gathered our dirty dishes and put them in the dishwasher, taking my time as I did so, completely avoiding his burning stare. I was just walking past him to grab my sketchbook when he grabbed me around the waist and tugged me between his legs, wrapping his limbs around me so that I was trapped.

“Get off me,” I ordered in my haughtiest voice.

“Don’t feel like it.”

“Sinclair,” I said, laughter seeping into my tone. “
Tu es con
, let me go!”

“Nope, maybe if I keep you captive long enough you will remember that time you said you loved me. In fact, I think you said it
multiple
times.”

I rolled my eyes and even though he couldn’t see me do it, he gave me a tight squeeze.

“I have no idea to what you are referring.”

His fingers dug into my sides and began to tickle. I writhed in his grip as laughter exploded from my lips, huge unfeminine guffaws that made my entire body shake.

“Stop… please… Sin,” I begged breathlessly, tears streaming down my face.

He spun me around in his arms, smiling that boyish smile that made my heart forget to function.

“I want you to tell me again,” he explained, pouting adorably.

Part of me was floating near the ceiling, buoyed by his good humor and obvious affection, while the other part, smaller than a sandbag, kept me tethered to the earth. I cupped his achingly handsome face in my hands because it made me feel better about what I had to say.

“Daniel.” He flinched slightly but I tightened my hands on his cheeks. “I haven’t asked you to leave Elena, and I’m not going to. I have no right to ask you and I can promise you right now, I will never ask you that. But in return, I need you to promise me that you will never ask me if I love you, again. I can deal with this.” I rolled my head around to indicate our fucked up situation in the most eloquent way I knew how. “With Elena keeping you, but only if you let me keep a part of myself to myself.”

I sighed heavily, took a moment to collect my thoughts and project them clearly through my gaze when I met his eye again.

“You could take it.” I thumped my chest. “You could take everything I am and, you know what? A part of me wants that like crazy.”

His hands found my hips and rested there, just gently on the curve. I was grateful for it because he was letting me know that he understood what I was trying to say.

“But I have to be realistic even if I don’t want to be. You aren’t going to leave Elena and I refuse to put my heart in a cage I don’t have the key to open.”

His lips were screwed tight like a lid over the emotions bubbling up at his center. I could see some of it rise to the surface of his gaze but he was looking over my shoulder, shielding most of it from me.

I swallowed hard and decided to throw in the last of my grenades. “Also, I have a lunch date today.”

His eyes snapped to me, flashing like neon lights. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

His hands flexed painfully on my waist but the silence was worse than the physical discomfort. It stretched long and torturous before us like a road littered with mines.

“You’re going to sit across from another man when your ass is still sore from my hand?”

I raised my eyebrows. “You’re going to go home to my sister when your hand is still sore from my ass?”

Fury emanated from him like dry ice and I instantly regretted my barb.

I sighed. “Sin, it’s just a lunch date. Elena basically insisted on setting us up and I wanted to seem like a normal girl, one who was interested in other men.” I laughed a little. “We both know who I would rather be with.”