How Sinners Fight (Sinners of Hawthorne University 2)

But I’m not sorry they did.

We fall into silence for a little while as I focus on finishing the painting. My brush strokes are confident and sure, but even as I pour myself into my art, I’m hyper-aware of Declan’s body beside mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and it makes my temperature soar in response.

He waits, patient and quiet, until I place the last stroke and set my brush aside on the palette, which sits on a small table next to the easel. Only then does he touch me again, grasping my hips and turning me on my chair to face him. His lips find mine again, and I sink into his kiss. I’m about to wrap my arms around his neck when I hesitate, realizing that my fingers are covered in paint.

“Shit,” I murmur, barely breaking away from his lips long enough to say the words. “I better go clean up.

”

Declan chuckles, pulling me closer to him. “Soph, if you think a little paint is gonna stop me from wanting your hands on me, maybe I haven’t been making it clear enough how I feel about you.”

With that, he tugs me out of my chair and into his lap, scooting his chair back a little to make sure I don’t bump my painting as I straddle him.

I laugh, grabbing on to him for balance and leaving little fingerprint marks in blue and purple on his shirt. He kisses me hungrily, and I can’t help myself. I kiss him back, forgetting all about paint, all about cleaning up. Forgetting everything but the feel of his body beneath mine, warm and solid and muscled.

When we finally draw back, gasping for breath, I bite back a laugh. All the wet paint on my hands has been transferred to Declan. It streaks his face, his neck, and his hair. It’s adorable, and something about it is sexy as fuck too.

As if I’ve marked him somehow. Claimed him as mine in a visible way.

I like that.

“I think this is my best work yet,” I say teasingly, tracing my finger over a smear of paint that decorates his cheekbone. I shift my hips, grinding down against him as his cock presses against my clit through the clothes that separate us. “It’s fucking gorgeous.”

“See? I told you you’re an amazing artist.”

Declan laughs, but the heat in his dark eyes makes my core clench. Neither of us are really joking, and we both know it.

All the humor fades from his expression as I drop my head toward his again, and this time, we kiss like we fucking mean it. We kiss like we’ve both been waiting for a chance to do this ever since the day he punched Gray, since the day he and Elias stood up for me. Being with the two of them together was fucking incredible, one of the most amazing experiences of my life, but there’s something different—something just as good—about this.

Because this moment is just about us.

About Declan and me, and the connection that forged between us during stolen moments on the stairs, on rooftops and in quiet conversations. Declan, maybe even more than either of the other Sinners, was my friend before he was anything else.

I grind harder against him, arching my back as I move my hips up and down, and Declan groans into my mouth. He wraps his arms around me and stands up, bringing me with him as I twine my legs around his waist. He moves toward the couch, but suddenly stops, seeming to have the same hesitation I did earlier.

I laugh, biting his earlobe as my fingernails rake over his scalp.

“I want you, Declan. Right here. Right now,” I whisper, tracing the shell of his ear and feeling him shudder against me. “And if you think a little paint is gonna stop me from wanting to fuck you, maybe I haven’t been clear enough about how I feel about you.”

He laughs, one hand sliding down to cup my ass, squeezing and massaging it with a hungry grip. “But your couch—”

“It isn’t my couch.” I slide my hands under his shirt, tracing the thick muscles that run along his spine. “And the school can fucking bill me.”

I still have cash from Gray stashed under my bed, and whatever the cleaning fee is if there is one, it’ll be one hundred percent worth it.

Declan laughs again, and then he’s striding forward, laying me back against the cushions. His paint streaked face burns with desire as he kneels on the cushions between my legs, tugging my shirt off, then my pants. He stops to pull off his own shirt, and I bite my bottom lip as I drink in the sight of him. I’ve always had a weakness for tattoos, which is why I have so many myself, but on him? They’re like fucking kryptonite.

My clit throbs, my entire body buzzing as my greedy gaze roams over his chest and shoulders.

“Will you let me paint you sometime?” I murmur before I can stop myself.

Declan freezes. A small flush rises in his cheeks, and he gestures to the paint in his hair and on his skin. “I think you already did.”

I roll my eyes, sitting up to run my fingers over the ink on his chest. “I’m serious. I don’t do portraits very often, but I… I want to. If you’ll let me.”

His grin is dazzling, and he pushes me back down onto the soft cushions as his body settles over mine. He kisses me hard and deep, his tongue tangling with mine as our bodies rock together. Then he pulls back, a smile curving his full lips.

“Sophie, I’ll let you do any-fucking-thing you want.”