Sinning in Vegas (Vegas Morellis 2)

I would wait forever for Sin, but I’m glad I won’t have to.

36

Laurel

I’m in heaven as Sin stands behind me in the shower, my body fitted snugly against his, one strong arm wrapped around my upper body to keep me close while he uses the other one to soap me up. Now that he’s covered me in the evidence of his pleasure, he cleans it off, holding me in his arms all the while.

I’m sleepy and happy and all I want to do is live in this moment for the rest of my life.

Once we’re both clean, it’s time to leave the shower. I’ve never been sad to leave a shower before, but I should probably be relieved his hot water tank didn’t chase us off before now.

The casual intimacy of standing in such close quarters and drying off after the shower gets me, too. I wouldn’t have said I was holding back if asked, but the way I feel now, I must have been. My feelings for Sin haven’t just been unleashed, they’ve intensified. Two days ago I could have convinced myself I could go to Chicago and lead a happy life without him, but right now, I don’t know why I would ever want to.

I’m exactly where I belong, and I never want to leave.

As if reciprocating the thoughts I didn’t give voice to, Sin appears in the mirror behind me, wrapping his arm around my waist and kissing the ball of my shoulder.

“Every shower I take alone now for the rest of my life will be an immense disappointment.”

Smirking and placing my hand over his around my waist, I say, “No kidding.”

We go to his bedroom, still with damp hair, wearing nothing more than towels. I don’t even want something as flimsy as material between us, so I drop my towel and climb on his bed naked.

Sin slows in front of the bed, but doesn’t move to follow me. His eyes rake over me, a gleam of interest on the surface. I wait to see what he’ll do. I really want him to fuck me. I can feel him opening up more to me today than he has before, so I don’t know what we’re waiting for.

“Spread your legs,” he tells me.

A faint flush crawls up my neck, heating my cheeks, but I do as I’m told. I watch him as I part my legs, baring myself for him. Even though he just got me off, I feel the stirring of arousal as his hot gaze lingers on me, like he’s looking at something beautiful. Something he likes a whole hell of a lot. I’ve never had someone look at me there the way he does.

After a moment, I finally break in to tease him a little. “See anything you like?”

His gaze drifts to my face and he smirks. “Oh, yeah.”

I smile, but then he drops his towel and my smile melts as my gaze drops. I realize when I have the chance, I’m admiring his dick just as much. My love for his dick is intensely irrational and I’ve never experienced it before. If I could look at it, hold it, or taste it endlessly, I would.

Sin places his palms down on the bed, narrowing his eyes in a predatory fashion, then he pounces on me. I grin as he climbs on top of my body, bringing my hands to his sides and tugging him down for a kiss. Now that I can have those, we have a lot of lost kisses to make up for.

He leans down in his own time despite my tugging. Then his lips brush mine and I sigh with pleasure. I love all of this so much. I want to ask if I get to stay here after this, but I’m too afraid the answer will be no, and I don’t want to ruin it.

When his lips leave mine, I decide to ask about something else I noticed the night he took his shirt off at Rafe’s. I intended to ask that night, but then that stupid whore texted him.

Well, I guess now she’s dead, so I shouldn’t call her a whore anymore. Not altogether sure how I feel about that, but hey, if she tried to poison me, the bitch had it coming.

I reach a hand up and rest it on the inside of his left bicep. There was no tattoo there when I was in his bed before, but now there are a pair of handcuffs inked into his skin.

“This is new,” I say.

“It is.”

“Why did you get this one?”

He glances at the tattoo, casually flexing his bicep as he does. “Same reason I got the others. I hurt a woman I cared about. If I leave a mark on them, they should get a mark on me.”

My stomach drops. I’m not sure if it’s because I must be the woman he’s talking about—that must be my mark on his body—or because when I met him, he already had two other tattoos. That means he hurt two other women who matter to him—or mattered.

“You got it for me?” I question, since that’s the safest question.

He nods his head, his lips curving up faintly. “It seemed fitting.”