Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(43)

“Friends care.”

“I care.” And that was becoming a fucking problem. Case in point, the next thing to come out of my mouth made me want to punch myself.

“Have dinner with me.” What the fuck was I saying? Asking?

She nearly leaned on me—nearly—and I smelled her everywhere. Even the musky sweet scent of her pussy. And it killed me that I couldn’t help her with what she really needed to see. That she could enjoy sex again. With me.

My reckless moments were piling up quickly. The next thing I did was stupid, too. I clasped her chin between my thumb and my index finger to guide her face up, so that our lips were aligned. The door was still half ajar, and I knew how much I was putting on the line. But I needed to do this with eye contact. Because my mom was right. I couldn’t fuck it up.

“You need to say no. I’m a bastard,” I whispered.

Kick me out of here. Before I’ll be the one who won’t be able to let you go.

She looked up and shook her head. “Yes.”

“No, Snowflake, you don’t understand. I am literally a bastard. My sperm donor was married, but not to my mom. Of course, it wasn’t her choice. She was brutally raped by him. And I’m the constant fucking reminder of that. I have his hair. His eyes. His lips. I have his height and his build. I’ve never met him, but I’ve a feeling that if I ever did, I would tear my fucking limbs apart just to make sure I’d never be capable of doing what he did to her. That’s why the tattoos. And the beard. That’s why I’m hiding. I don’t want to be him, understand?”

I’d never told that to anyone before, and whoever said the truth will set you free needed to have their head examined. The truth felt like a five-ton chain around my neck. The truth was, the beard was my armor. I’d started growing it when I started getting paid for sex. Less of my face to look at in the mirror.

And for my next trick, ladies and gents, I will become the whore my father pegged my mother to be. Only worse. She didn’t ask for it. For the right price—I will.

Jesse’s eyes widened at my confession, and I hated what I saw there. Pity swam in her pupils. I wanted her to blink and give me anything else instead. Lust. Anger. Confusion. Hate. I’d take anything, really, other than fucking pity.

“That’s why you said my story was personal to you. That’s why you said she couldn’t be saved.”

I didn’t nod—wasn’t really capable of doing anything other than shrugging—but she continued. “That’s why you don’t want to sleep with me.” Her fingertips fluttered across her lips.

“Among other reasons. Look, you’re not a tragedy to me, okay? You’re a person. An adorable, talented, funny—hotter than fire—person. But that’s the thing. I can’t touch you. I won’t touch you. As long as we keep this shit platonic, we’ll be gold. I just can’t have this on my conscience.” It was already soaked with deceit. I owed Darren more than I’d ever have in my bank account. Even if I wanted to break the contract, I’d already spent a quarter of the money.

She took a step forward. There was no more space between us, so her inner thigh pressed against my outer thigh through my surf shorts. My eyes dropped to her milky flesh. She pressed harder. I looked up, my pulse thrumming on my eyelids.

“I don’t care what your father did. He is the bastard. Not you. And you’re the only man I’m not afraid of. You make me feel brave. Powerful. You make staring at myself in the mirror without flinching slightly easier. And I want to, Bane. I want those things I read about in the books.” She licked her lips fast, shifting her gaze so I wouldn’t see all of her through her eyes. “So, by all means, kiss me.”

I wanted so badly to twist the collar of her shirt, pull her into me, crash my lips on hers, and fuck her against the wall. More than that—I knew that it was what she probably needed.

“Snowflake,” I warned, my voice a soft growl. She squeezed both her thighs together against my leg, riding it, her eyes cool and daring, her movements so subtle I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it or not. I swallowed hard as she found a hesitant, slow rhythm. I couldn’t push her away. Other than the very simple fact I didn’t want to, she was also a rape victim. Shutting her down would be the kiss of death to our relationship. The choice was mine to make. Six million bucks or her pussy. It sounded like an easy choice, though it was anything but.

“Bane,” she breathed, so close to my mouth, and my dick twitched between us, slapping her stomach. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I pulled my face away, but just to show her she was not alone in this attraction, I pressed my thigh against her pussy, pushing my knee north, putting pressure on her clit. I felt her slit open through her jammies. Her eyes rolled inside their sockets and pre-cum glued my hard-on to my briefs.

“Kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you why. You deserve better than a bastard like me.”

“But you’re my bastard.”

I tsked. “I’m everyone’s bastard, Jesse, and therein lies the problem.”

“I don’t mind sharing. It’s not about you. It’s about me.” She was grinding against me so hard, and I was pushing into her more and more, my back against the wall. Technically, I wasn’t breaking any rules. I wasn’t kissing her. I wasn’t fucking her, and I sure as hell wasn’t seducing her. But in every other sense, I was neck-deep in shit, and it was the first time I actually acknowledged it. Because whether it was in the contract or not, the way my knee kept rubbing and pushing against her puffy clit was anything but professional.