Page 50 of Beg the Night

“Sinner.” I meant for it to be a warning, but my voice betrayed me, turning the two syllables into a plea. God, my body needed him. I needed him to touch me.

Right. Now.

I spread my legs farther as he paced the tiny room. Even farther still, until one slipped off the edge of the bed.

My nipples ached beneath the thin fabric of my dress, no doubt on full display. My restraint was quickly dissipating.

This is what they want. They want you to give in.

I was beginning to wonder why I’d bothered fighting it at all.

We were going to participate in the ritual eventually, right? What was to stop them from pumping this gas into the air again if we didn’t give in now? They’d try again tomorrow, and maybe the next day, until they could ensure that we would actually claim during the blood moon.

And I was very close to giving in.

I arched my back and closed my eyes, clutching the mattress on either side of me in order to resist touching myself, because right now, I’d give just about anything to relieve the pressure coiling and building and tightening inside me.

Though, if this feeling didn’t start to fade in the next five seconds, that was looking like a good option.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but when the mattress dipped, I flung them open again.

Sinner sat dangerously close, wearing a wild, disheveled look. He’d situated himself between my legs, his hands planted on either side of my hips, the warmth of him lighting my entire body on fire.

“They want a show? We’ll give them a fucking show.”

FIFTEEN

sinner

This was a very, very bad idea. But if New Girl didn’t get off, I’d have to sit here and listen to my name on those lips over and over again.

And if she touched herself? There’s no way I wouldn’t lose all control.

Neither of those were good options.

This close, I could feel the heat simmering off her body. I pushed her legs farther apart so I could move closer to her, getting a peek of her black underwear through the slit in her dress.

Fuck, it took more strength than I would like to admit to fight the urge to rip them off.

“What are you doing?” she breathed even as her body arched toward me, begging me to touch her.

I obeyed, sliding my hands up her thighs, pushing the blue fabric out of the way as I went. “They want to know their drug works. So we’ll show them that it does, then they’ll put an end to this.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening for a split second, like she was going to argue. To tell me to stop.

I froze, waiting for exactly that.Please for the love of god tell me this is a terrible, terrible idea. Tell me to get my hands off you before I do something we’ll both regret.

“Please, Sinner,” she moaned.

I had done something very wrong to deserve this, because this was my personal form of torture.

“Help me.”

I caught myself leaning forward, inhaling her sweet scent and getting drunk off the proximity of her. This was a bad, bad idea. “Help you how? Tell me how to make it better, and it’ll all be over.”

She pressed the back of her skull against the wall and arched, her perky breasts fighting against the ridiculous fabric caging them in. “I need you to touch me. Now.”

I trailed my hands past her hips, up to her thin waist, and like a fucking idiot, I hovered close and let myself taste the skin below her collarbone.

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