Lessons in Sin

My self-control clung by a gossamer thread. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

“If this is about your vows,” she whispered, “I understand. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll…leave. But the way you touch me, the way you kiss me…” Her voice quivered. “I don’t think I’m alone here. Am I? Alone?”

I dug my knuckles into my thighs, fighting every selfish word I wanted to bellow. I wanted her body. I wanted her mind. I wanted her fucking soul. Damn all the consequences.

“Okay.” She hardened her tone. “Fine. I just thought, since Tucker Kensington is coming for me, I could have this one thing for myself. That I could have you for just a little while. It sounds so selfish, but I don’t… I don’t want him to be the one who gets me first.”

Everything inside me snapped, exploding into blinding rage.

One second, I was flying out of my booth, and the next, I was inside hers, with a fist in her hair and her body slammed against the wall beneath me.

CHAPTER 28

TINSLEY

“Magnus! Ow!” I clawed at the fist in my hair and twisted around, coming face to face with the wrath of hell.

He’d come for me with havoc in his blood and destruction in his voice. “He will never touch you. Not him or anyone else.” His muscles coiled. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Oh, you’re making yourself insanely clear. Insane being the key word.”

Holy fuck, he was angry. I’d never seen him so unhinged that he wasn’t even aware of his actions. We were in the church, in the damn confessional, for Christ’s sake, and he’d crashed in like a chest-pounding, hair-grabbing caveman.

There had been no one in the church when I arrived, but what if someone came in after?

“I hope no one witnessed your dramatic entrance into my booth.” I propelled my hand toward the door to check.

He beat me to it, cracking it enough to peer outside before shutting it again. “The church is empty. Who escorted you here?”

“Father Isaac. He ran over to the theater to do something in the music room. Magnus, we need to—”

“Kneel.”

One word, a single command, and I was shook. Owned.

It was my unshakable need for him that had me lowering to the floor.

I’d knelt for him in all manner of ways over the past four months, but this was different. This time I might see his cock, touch it, wrap my lips around him. He didn’t have to say anything. I saw the dominance and ineradicable lust in his eyes.

His breathing thundered, loud and explosive, charging the air and compelling my heart and lungs to work faster.

Dim light filtered in from beneath the door and somewhere in the ceiling, allowing me to see the shadows of his severe features and the hands on his waistband.

Standing before me, he opened his belt. Lowered his zip. Then, before I could blink, he had his cock in his hand.

Hard and long, it dominated the space between us, standing right up in my face, millimeters from my mouth. I’d waited so long to see this, and all I could do was stare.

He was so beautifully formed. Rigid. Thick. Thicker than any dick I’d ever encountered.

My pulse shuddered and skipped. I parted my lips, aching to kiss and lick and take my time.

He didn’t give me a chance. With a ruthless hand on the back of my head and a sharp shift of his hips, he rammed himself into the back of my throat.

I gagged, choked, and oh my God. Oh my fucking God, he was huge. My hands flew out to the sides, looking for something to grab as he thrust deeper into my airway, driving the oxygen from my body. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to retreat, but the hand on my head became a fist in my hair. His other collared my neck, holding me immobile, making me take every inch of his rage.

Tears ran from my eyes. Saliva dribbled down my chin, and my throat convulsed as he painfully, repeatedly fucked my face.

He groaned, retracted his hips just enough to give me a gulp before shoving in again. My arms flailed, smacking at his, my hands shoving, fingernails clawing. Unmoved, he roughly withdrew and impaled me again.

I gasped, gobbling breaths between thrusts, my hold on his arms brutal, desperate, and ineffective.

With a cruel yank of my hair, he tore my mouth off him. Gripping himself at the hilt, he slid the damp crown over my cheeks and lips then smacked me in the face with it.

“Magnus—”

He slammed back into my mouth, strangling my voice, my breath, each brutal thrust pounding my throat into a bruised pulp.

I went crazy, bucking and jerking in shackles of masculine flesh and testosterone, but my efforts to slow him down weren’t working. Thrashing about and hitting him only made him meaner, more aggressive.