Bane (Sinners of Saint #4)(51)

That was the closest to the truth I was willing to offer her. “So, here’s the truth, Snowflake—whatever this is, we’re going to have to fight it.”

I was so tempted to say fuck this shit.

So what if I didn’t build the surf park? Mikayla, my cousin, never got a unicorn for her birthday. She’d survived. So would I. Thing was, it was too late for me to back out, because I had been busy spending a shit-ton of that money on the hotel and fixing stuff at Café Diem, and now I was in debt to Darren. And I really was in no position to be in debt to anyone. I was already drowning in businesses and endeavors, trying to prove God-knows-what to Lord-knows-who.

I stared at her face, waiting for her to tell me that she got it. That she understood. She slid down from the crate and shimmied out of her leggings, sliding them all the way to her ankles then kicking them off, along with her shoes. Her black cotton underwear was next in line. She stood in front of me, her pussy shaved and slick and mouthwateringly delicious, on full display. Then, Jesse sauntered to the door flippantly, her round ass swaying from side to side, turned the lock, made the same casual walk to the crate, hopped back on it, and spread her legs, flashing a pink slit of heaven.

“You don’t have to touch me to ruin me,” she croaked, her tongue sweeping her lower lip.

Let the record show that I tried to resist. Sort of.

I responded with the only way I saw fit.

“Oh, shit.”

Over and out.





OH, SHIT SOUNDED ABOUT RIGHT.

I didn’t know where my lack of inhibitions came from. Maybe it was because of the way he’d looked at my stomach, so differently from anyone else. I’d had a handful of people stare at it after The Incident. The doctors. The nurses. Pam. Darren. All of them were horrified and sickened. It was the exact opposite of what I wanted to see on people’s faces. I was hoping for an ‘it’s-not-so-bad’ look, as opposed to ‘someone-pass-the-emesis-bag.’ But Roman looked at me like I was still pretty. I could see in the bob of his throat under his bushy beard that he thought more about my flat stomach and curvy waist than he did about the scars that covered them.

And that gave me strength.

I wasn’t proud of what I had done—seducing him against his will. But it made some kind of backward logic in my mind, that I was the one chasing sex with the most sexual man on the planet, who happened to think us sleeping together was a bad idea.

Maybe it was.

But no one said we needed to touch each other to get off.

Bane looked tortured. I’d never seen him look that way before. He was always assertive, ruthless, and confident beyond belief. Dark energy crackled around him, like he’d been struck by lightning, split in half, and filled with rage. He was simmering, shimmering, and glowing.

He was lusting.

His desire for me empowered me, because he didn’t take, like all the rest.

Hell, he didn’t even ask.

Another reason why he was the perfect sexual partner.

I circled my clit with my index finger, feeling anxious, elated, turned on, and on fire. Yes. On fire. Him watching me ignited every match in the pit of my stomach and had me burning for him like the brightest torch.

I’d seen him around women. They had to be surgically removed from his environment. And I knew all about his affairs. His married and influential lovers. I told him I didn’t care, and to an extent, it was true. I cared more about healing than about what he did in his recreational time. About being able to writhe under a man without panic tightening around my throat like a coarse rope and my limbs flailing, begging for me to flee.

I needed him inside me with a passion that scared me. A need so basic, I wasn’t above begging for it.

I slanted my chin up, rubbing my sensitive bud faster and faster. At first, he didn’t react. Just stared, like he was trying to calculate his next move, his palms frozen on the table, his eyes ablaze. My heart flipped inside my chest, a warning that this was more than sex for me. I chose not to listen.

I needed him to fix me.

I needed him to make me come.

“What the fuck are you doing, Jesse?” He moaned, his voice so thick with sex, that lust dripped between us.

“Seducing you,” I said simply. I opened my thighs wider and moaned, knowing that he liked what he saw. Agony colored his face. I looked down, watching his cock swelling in his surf shorts behind the small table. I waited for fear to grip my body, but it never came. I wanted to slip his shorts off with my teeth, take his thick ridge into my mouth, and show him I wasn’t broken. Not beyond repair, anyway. Not like I’d previously thought.

What are you thinking? What are you saying? Do you even know yourself anymore?

But it was exactly who I was. The old Jesse took. She’d demanded and claimed the things she had wanted.

And she came out to play in the storage room.

I pinched my nipple through my shirt, knowing it was puckered and visible even through my sports bra. Normally, I gulped the space Bane allowed me with thirst. He didn’t try to change who I was. The Untouchable. But today, I wanted to be taken, to be possessed and devoured. I wanted to show myself that I could do it.

I could be touched.

I could feel.

I could break in someone’s arms without feeling broken.

“Jesse,” he growled, his forehead falling to the table on a sigh. His breaths were deep, heavy. Like he was losing an inner battle. His knuckles whitened as he tried his best not to flip the table aside and charge toward me. I wanted him to. I didn’t care about all those people outside.