Page 109 of Entombed In Sin

I drink in the sight of him. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a red tie and matching black pants that are tailored perfectly to his body. His black hair is slicked back perfectly, and when he moves toward me, his stroll is both graceful and predatory. The heat between my legs only intensifies at the sight of him.

“You do?”

Thatcher nods as he picks up my legs and lowers himself into the spot Knox had just been sitting in.

“How was the trip home?” he asks, rather than tell me the purpose behind his interruption.

“It was fine. How’s Bright Starr?”

“Running like a well-oiled machine. Morty’s family was a little pissed at the delay in getting his ashes back, but when I told them there had been a family emergency, they were gracious enough to let it go. Otherwise, it’s been smooth sailing. Sagan isshoveling ashes from the retort to the processor now. He’ll be up shortly for dinner.”

I nod, glad to hear that Bright Starr hasn’t taken a huge hit given my absence.

Thatcher doesn’t continue right away. Instead, he peers through the glass walls and studies the backyard. The line of trees in the distance are like a dark and ominous wall, closing us off from the rest of the world. The bare branches sway in the window. Overheard, a flicker of lightning brightens the dark clouds before disappearing. Thunder rumbles softly a second later.

“This house isn't a home without you,” Thatcher murmurs, almost absentmindedly. “It’s been feeling quite empty lately.”

I study his profile, admiring how handsome this man is. He must feel my gaze on his face because slowly, Thatcher turns his head to look at me. His sage green eye and light, soft brown one shine with so much emotion that I’m suddenly drowning it in.

With a heavy sigh, he says, “I can’t love you, Beatrix Starr. It would be a sin to utter such beautiful words to you and not mean them. And while blasphemy isn’t something I typically care about; in this case I would hate to inspire it.”

His words take me by surprise. They also cut deep—deeper than his blade could ever go. Before I can wonder what spurred him to say such a thing, Thatcher continues.

“What I feel for you is much darker than love. I have this ugly, filthy, corrupted, all-consuming, obsessive need for your soul to belong to me. The lengths I’d go to achieve that possession? Well,” my stepbrother chuckles darkly. “It would frighten even the most fearless, bloodthirsty god. And it should because there’s nothing in this world, and all the others like it, that could rival the devastation and destruction that would occur if you were to ever leave me. I would slaughter entire towns, bethe nightmare the world can’t get rid of, if that meant that in the end, I got to keep you all to myself.”

The hurt vanishes as I gape at Thatcher. He’s right, what he’s describing isn’t love. It's perverse and repugnant. Any sane individual would run from this type of confession. But me? His bold declaration, filled with words that paint a bloody promise—they call to me. The smile that splays across my face is returned by the sadistic man staring back at me.

Thatcher leans forward, capturing my lips with his to steal a swift kiss. I’m left breathless as he pulls away.

“If Knox is the air I breathe, you are the force that makes my heart beat,” he admits, his voice hardly more than a whisper now.

There’s a thundering in my ears, so deafening that I miss the sound of my breath catching. It takes me a second to realize it’s not actual thunder, but the beating of my heart.

Don’t fall in love. It’s the last of the three rules these men have. An impossible one to abide by. Not with how these men treat me. Somehow, Thatcher found a way around that rule. This isn’t love, it’s better than that. All of them are like this. Their toxic, oppressive adoration for each other and for me is dangerous and addictive. There’s nothing else I could want more than this right here.

Tears well up as we stare at one another.

“You might not be able to say the words, but I can,” I tell him, just barely managing to squeeze out the words as a knot of emotion works its way into my throat. “I love you, Thatcher.”

Thatcher’s eyes flash before they begin to smolder. The heated look he gives me is enough to make my toes curl. His hands grip my ankles in a tight hold.

“Careful, Little Sister,” he warns, though he licks his bottom lip hungrily as his eyes drag down my body. “Those words are dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid of a punishment,” I tell him, lifting my chin in defiance. “Punish me ten times over if you want. I’ll never stop loving you, Thatcher.” His nostrils flare and that heat turns scalding in his eyes. I shiver under its intensity. Swallowing down the excited nerves, I shift the conversation back to something safer. “Tell me why you sent Knox running?”

Thatcher grins. It’s all teeth, and it causes his eyes to glitter with delight and hunger. He doesn’t answer my question. Not with words. Instead, he reaches up and grabs the waistband of my sweatpants. I watch with bated breath as he pulls them down. He takes his time, carefully pulling both legs out before dropping the sweats to the floor. With no panties on, I’m exposed to my stepbrother.

“Maybe I sent him running because I was jealous,” he says softly, his eyes darkening. He spreads my legs apart slowly before shifting in his seat. “Or maybe I’m just hungry for an appetizer before dinner.”

My breath catches as Thatcher tucks his knees under him and turns so he’s kneeling between my legs. With a surprisingly considerable amount of care, he lifts my legs over his shoulders then bends down to suck in a deep breath.

“Or maybe, Little Sister, it’s a bit of both,” he admits. “I’ve missed you, Beatrix.”

I lick my bottom lip as the hunger Knox stirred in me intensifies tenfold. Feeling emboldened by the look in Thatcher’s gaze and with desire humming loudly in my veins, I decide to appease us both.

“I would hate for you to starve before dinner, Big Brother,” I wiggle my hips suggestively while keeping in mind to be careful of my stitches. “Eat up.”

The grin Thatcher gives me is stunningly wicked. As I catch my breath, he dives face first down between my legs. That same breath comes out as a wail of pleasure seconds later. Thatcher’stongue slides through my slit, slowly. It’s warm, wet presence steals my ability to think. The way my hips jerk is instinctual, erratic, and wholly desperate as Thatcher devours me. His hands grip the outside of my thighs to hold me. His grip is biting, but I love the sting. I love that it’shimholding me in place.

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