There Is No Devil (Sinners Duet, #2)(3)

“Don’t want my thrift-store jackets hanging in your immaculate closets? Don’t worry—I’m sure there’s some wing of this house you’ve never even seen.”

“Oh, I know every inch of this house,” Cole assures me. “There’s nowhere you can hide from me out in the world, let alone here in my own home.”

Locked in his dark gaze, I believe him.

Opposing Cole feels like standing in the path of a freight train.

Yet here I stand, staring down the headlights as the horn blares in warning.

“I like my clothes,” I hiss.

“You don’t have your clothes,” Cole says. “I do. And I’m not giving them back to you until you come shopping with me. If you don’t like what I pick out, then you don’t have to wear it. But you will accompany me … or you’ll have to go to the studio in that robe.” He grins. “Or naked. I’m happy with any of those options.”

I’ll wear this damn robe all week long to spite him. That would offend his sensibilities much more than mine. It’s only the chill gray fog outside the window that dissuades me—silk isn’t warm.

“Fine,” I say grudgingly. “But I mean it—I’m not wearing anything I don’t like.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” Cole replies with irritating smugness.

Taking my latte glass to the sink and setting it down a little harder than necessary, I say, “Let’s get this over with.”

Cole raises one black slash of an eyebrow.

“You need to shower first.”

My hand itches to snatch up the glass again and fling it at him. It’s never enough for him to get what he wants—it has to be exactly the way he wants it.

Instead, I slip out of the robe and drop it in a puddle in the middle of his kitchen floor.

“As you wish, Master.”

The tone is all sarcasm, but I see the flush of pleasure it gives him all the same. He picks up the robe and follows me like a dark shadow, silent and close.

I walk back up the stairs to the master suite. Cole’s bathroom is triple the size of my old bedroom. The sinks are massive slabs of raw gray stone beneath waterfall faucets. The bathtub, nearly the size of a small swimming pool, sits directly in the hardwood floor, right up against the window like an infinity pool. The shower is the size of a car wash, with dozens of nozzles pointing in all directions.

Cole turns them on for me while I send the playlist on my phone to his Bluetooth speakers.

The music echoes off the stone walls, bouncing around the space, melding with the thick steam of the shower.

Terrible Thing – AG

Spotify → geni.us/no-devil-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-devil-apple





“Why do you need music for everything?” Cole asks me.

“Because it makes everything better,” I say, stepping into the pounding spray.

Cole stands outside the glass, his eyes roaming over my wet body.

He has no shame in watching me. He does it openly, all the time. Not bothering to hide his pleasure.

It’s flattering.

I’m an exotic creature to him. Everything I do is interesting.

Cole’s gaze makes me more aware of what I’m doing. How I tilt my head back under the spray, exposing my throat. How the soap suds slide down between my breasts. How my skin flushes in the heat.

I shower slowly, sensually. Running my palms over my own curves. Rotating in place so he can admire me from every angle.

When Cole watches me, his eyes come alive in his face. He leans back against the wall, arms folded over his chest, the clean-cut muscle of his arms visible through the thin material of his shirt.

Every turn of my body sends a twitch down the tight line of his jaw. His eyes crawl up my thighs, my ass, over his own artwork running from my hip to my ribs, even over the ugly scars marking both my arms: he likes it all.

I lift the showerhead down from the wall so I can direct the flow exactly where I want it. I let it rain down on my face, eyes closed, mouth open so the droplets pound on my tongue. I run the water across my breasts, in slow strokes in time to the music.

Sitting down on the shower bench, I spray the water on the soles of my feet, squirming a little at how it tickles. Then I run the water all the way up my leg, first one, then the other.

Cole stands motionless, watching me. His endless fascination creates a voyeuristic energy that spurs me on to stranger and stranger behaviors.

Leaning back against the cool stone wall, I spread my knees apart, opening my pussy to his view. Now he steps forward, eyes darker than an oil spill, lips pale.

I point the shower spray directly at my pussy. It’s almost too hot to bear, so I splash the water lightly against my exposed lips until I’m used to it, until I can direct the pressure right at my clit.

My head falls back against the wall, eyes closed.

I’m not watching Cole watching me anymore.

I’m feeling it.

The water caresses me, sliding in and out of my folds, running everywhere. It’s warm and powerful. The closer I bring the showerhead, the more intense the sensation becomes.

“That’s right …” Cole murmurs. “Good girl. Don’t stop.”

The flush rises up my body, filling my breasts, crawling up my neck.

The heat is almost too much. I want to turn it down.