The Consequence (The Evolution of Sin 3)

Before I could get my bearings, Sin had gathered my bound legs up in his arms and was pushing inside me. A rattling groan escaped me as he slid across highly sensitive tissues. I was about to protest when he ground his hips against my clit and another orgasm was wrenched from me like a waxing strip, edged deeply with pain and all the more intense for it.

I gasped and shuddered as I held onto him, pushing my hips against his as he surged into me. His name was a mantra, a benediction on my lips. I wanted him to come inside me with a savagery that stole my breath away. My nails scoured down his back to hear his moan. I sunk my teeth deeply into that delicious ridge of muscle where his neck met his shoulder to feel him shudder against my tongue.

“I want to feel you come inside me,” I begged.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Take all of me.”

“More,” I demanded, “I need more.”

Sin pressed his damp forehead against mine. “Come with me.”

“Yes,” I hissed as his hips ground into me and my back arched off the couch.

His lips caught mine and muffled my shriek of ecstasy as I pulsed around him, undone again by this man. He breathed my name against my neck and followed me into blissfulness.

When he collapsed against me and our sweat ruined his beautiful suit, I ran a limp hand through his hair and hugged him as tightly as my spent muscles would allow. Somehow, this gorgeous creature who had mastered my body from the start was now my partner, the love of my life. I could feel our hearts beat in tandem. I let the terror I had held at bay since I had first laid eyes on him in Mexico tear through me on a deep exhale.

“I’ve got you,” my Frenchman murmured against my neck because he always knew the right things to say. “I’ve got you now and I’m never giving you up.”

I let the tears roll down my cheeks and I wasn’t sure if they were happy or sad, or maybe even a little bit afraid of the things our fragile new bond still had to face.

Chapter Three.

Sinclair

I loved Paris the way someone might love an eccentric, acerbic great aunt who palmed them five-dollar bills and snuck vodka into their punch at family functions. The combination of her gorgeous excess, her calculated haughtiness and secret grim reminded me acutely of my reasons for loving Elena. It was wrong of me to compare my aloof admiration of the city to my feelings for the woman I had just spent the last four years of my life with, but as I rode silently through the beautiful streets of Paris, it was impossible for me not to think about my ex-girlfriend.

We had never been to Paris together before. Giselle was a large reason for Elena’s reluctance to spend anytime in the city but we also disliked travelling together for business. The purpose of such a trip was to accomplish work, not dilute productivity with romantic dinners and afternoon visits to museums.

The irony of my desire to do just that with Giselle was not lost on me. How could two sisters be so incredibly different and more so, invoke such contrary emotions in one man?

I ran a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I had never kicked. I needed a haircut but Giselle liked my hair long and it was finally beginning to curl around my ears as it had in Mexico. I’d grow out my hair to the conceited length of Cage’s if it meant Elle would fist it in her small hand while I worshiped every dip and curve of her luscious body.

She was quiet beside me, her anxieties lulled by multiple orgasms and the steadiness of my hand against the bare skin of her thigh. The trust she had in me was evident in my total influence over her body; she was warm, pliable wax under my careful touch, not only ready but willing to be molded into whatever shape and consistency I deemed best for her. No drug, adrenaline sport or any other false ecstasy could come close to the feeling that power evoked in me.

I wanted this trip to be healing for her but more than that; I needed it to fortify our bond. We belonged together - this I knew without a doubt - but any relationship, especially one as new as ours, could bow and break under the strain of so much hatred and so many lies. I needed to tie myself to her in as many ways as conceivably possible so that no amount of external conflict could pull us apart. My selfish desire to do this was so great, I was even contemplating a fucking tattoo of her name across my chest. Unreasonably, I wondered if she might consider the same thing.