Page 39 of Sixth Sin

I contemplate ending this game of show and tell right now. Sure, I want the tit for tat Dominic promised, but I’d rather not spill more truth all over the blood I’ve already shed.

But I should’ve known when Dominic McCallum smells blood, he doesn’t back down.

Tipping his head back, he runs his tongue along the back of his teeth. “I’m guessing life on the streets wasn’t all wine and roses.”

“Shockingly, there’s not a lot of opportunity out there for a sixteen-year-old runaway.”

Well, none that are legal, anyway.

I cringe thinking of the dirty alleys I slept in and the garbage I ate just to survive. Always on guard and always on the move, solitude was my only friend until I met Violet. Until the seductive siren call of Hollywood drew us in and then spit us out.

I shake my head. “Eventually, all of us end up at the same place.” I quickly avert my eyes. “I think that’s when I became a true actress. Just to escape from reality, I’d check out and someone else would take over. That’s when Jade Saxton was born.”

“So Last First Kiss—”

I glare up at him. “Was a small supporting role that I earned standing on my own two feet, not lying on my back. My life hasn’t been easy, but dreams come with a price.”

I’m not an idealist. I don’t expect comfort from the man responsible for tearing those dreams to shreds and then tossing them in the air like confetti. But I sure as hell don’t expect a condescending smack in the face, either.

Dominic swings his legs off the chair and leans forward, a smirk playing on his lips as he hooks a finger under my chin. “And thanks to me, you’re still paying it, right?”

As I suspected, this was nothing but a ploy to chip away at my armor while his remains a thick wall of fortified granite. And like an idiot, I fell for it.

I should be furious. I should punch his face until it’s not so damn pretty. Until I can look at it without this stupid flutter and ache and want. Because the only thing I should desire is to unleash twelve months of pent-up anger.

Instead, what am I doing? Leaning into his touch. Remembering the feel of his lips on my skin. Wishing for more from a man I hate.

His grip tightens, and my breath quickens.

Kiss me.

“Angel,” he groans, his eyes dropping to where his thumb traces my bottom lip. The distance between us erases until all that remains is a breath.

I close my eyes and count the seconds. Hating this. Wanting this.

Dominic’s nose dips into my hair, and I take a shuddering breath. “You’re drunk,” I mumble.

“Yeah, but you’re sober,” he whispers in my ear before pulling back. “So I’m not taking advantage of you. If you want me to stop, just get up and leave. But if you don’t”—standing, he swings his leg over my lounger and straddles it, his hand reachingfor the button on my shorts—“just enjoy what I probably won’t remember in the morning.”

His twisted logic makes it so easy to justify. If he doesn’t remember, and I never speak of it, then technically, it never happened. While I rationalize a bad decision, Dominic takes my silence as confirmation and has not only undone the button on my shorts but has also pulled down the zipper and shoved his hand inside.

I gasp, throwing my head back as his finger slides in between my folds. “Fuck,” he groans. “Soaking wet, just like I imagined.”

His slow, torturous strokes are going to be the death of me. I know I’ll hate myself for this tomorrow, but right now, I don’t care. Moaning, I grab the back of the lounge chair, anchoring myself as I shift my hips, trying to force more.

“Greedy girl,” he growls, his hand diving deeper. He dips the tip of his index finger in my opening then pulls it out. “How bad do you want it?”

I hold my breath, both anxious and fearful of what he’s going to do to me. The wild look in his eyes is animalistic and primitive. Almost as if his goal is to break me. As his finger sinks into me, I close my eyes, moaning his name as a wave of heat consumes me.

Then a bright light flashes, and both the heat and his finger disappear. I blink just as Dominic swears and shifts back onto his chair, his fists clenched on his thighs. A wall slams over his face, and whatever moment existed between us is now gone.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, scrubbing a hand across his face.

Sorry? That’s it? That’s all he has to say?

My face burns with shame as I button my shorts. Things are so awkward I don’t know what to say or where to look. So, I concentrate on the hand covering his mouth.

I can’t take my eyes off it.

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