Page 19 of Stolen Sin

I taste his tongue, his warm musky, slightly grassy with a hint of whiskey bite.

Then we’re kissing in earnest. I draw in a breath through my nose as he invades me, his mouth like a vortex down which I’m tumbling, and I don’t want to stop falling.

Because it feels good.

This kiss, his soft lips, the pressure he exerts against my teeth, his tongue lapping along mine, and fuck, oh my god?—

That growl.

The groan of desire in the back of his throat.

And my whimpered reply.

A surge of ecstasy rolls down my spine.

I’ve never been kissed like this before. Hell, I’ve never kissed like this in my life.

I don’t know why it’s this man. He broke into my car. He violated my apartment. He caught me stealing, and now he thinks he can use that as leverage to push me into this marriage. He’s giving me something I want, but he’s using it against me.

I still want him.

Because of this kiss, the way his tongue moves, and his taste, and his hands on my hips, moving up toward my breasts?—

As abruptly as it begins, I tear myself away.

I’m breathing hard, gasping for air, and I crawl back to the top of the bed. This time, he doesn’t stop me, and he doesn’t follow.

He stares at me from his knees, his fingers gripping the sheets tight, his mouth open and puckered, swollen with my kiss.

“You should go,” I croak because I don’t trust either of us right now.

“Four months,” he says as he slowly stands. I clamp a hand over my mouth to keep another whimper inside at the implication. And at the sight of his erection straining against his pants. “Then I’ll kiss you like that again, and we’ll see if you don’t want me to fuck you.”

He turns and leaves, slamming the door in his wake, and it’s like my life’s a pond with a brick dropped in the middle, everything rippling and roiling, and I’m not sure it’ll ever calm down again.

Chapter 11

Simon

I make preparations before I drive to my future wife’s apartment early the next morning.

And I hate this place. I scowl at the rundown house in the bad neighborhood. She lives in the equivalent of a damn closet, and the idea of her spending her life in squalor pisses me off. No human should be forced to live in these conditions. But in my research, I figured out that Emily has been feeding her father practically every single dime she’s made ever since she found out about the scam. She moved into this smaller place to save on rent, and she took on extra jobs, just to keep him from losing his home.

I’m not sure he knows how much his daughter loves him.

I’ve never felt anything like that before. That level of devotion. I sit outside her place and wonder if I would do the same thing for my father—and think that maybe I am, in my own way. He’s suffering in his role as the Don, and though he thinks I crave the power, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

I don’t want the responsibility, but it’s my curse to shoulder.

Another few years in my current role wouldn’t be bad. Life as the heir has been good. I can do what I want, when I want, and in the past, I’ve pushed against my boundaries, and yes, I’ve made more than a few mistakes. I’m a stupid man sometimes.

But I’ve grown, and it’s obvious that I need to step up.

Just like she stepped up for her father.

I admire that in her. I have to admit it. I admire a lot about her?—

Like the way she kisses.

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