Page 115 of Second Sin

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be worth that," I finally choke out.

She leans in and kisses me—deep. Fierce.Her mouth opens against mine, and I feel the ache behind it. The forgiveness. The fight. The fucking love.It’s not soft. It’s not clean. It’s everything we’ve been holding back finally breaking loose.

Her hands slide down my chest, slow, sure, fingers catching on the hem of my shirt.She tugs it up. I raise my arms without thinking, without blinking, and she pulls it over my head. Herpalms return, bare skin on skin, pressing flat over my chest, right where my heart’s still racing.

“You don’t have to prove anything," she says, softly. "You just have to let me in.”

I huff out a breath—more laugh than sound, but there’s no humor in it.

“You’re already so fucking in,” I murmur. "There’s not a part of me you don’t have."

Her breath catches, barely, but I feel it. Right against my mouth as she kisses me again.

Her fingers skim down my chest, around my ribs. She drags her nails lightly over my abs, just enough to make me shiver.

She reaches for the hem of her own shirt and pulls it off in one smooth motion.My hands slide around her back, fingers finding the clasp like muscle memory. She gives a small nod, and I undo it. The straps slip down.She leans back just enough to shrug it off.

She stands up. Hooks her thumbs in the waistband. Slides her pants and thong down in one smooth motion. Steps out of them.

Her eyes stay on me.

Mine don’t leave her.

A deep groan rips from my chest. “Fuck, look at you…”

She just smiles. Then she leans over me, and her fingers hook in the waistband of my sweats—slow, sure, no rush.I lift my hips, and she peels them down, dragging her fingers along my skin as she goes.

Nothing between us but breath and heat and the fucked-up rhythm of my heart.

I wrap my arms around her waist. Pull her in. Press my mouth to hers like it’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

Because maybe it is.

She rises up on her knees, one hand braced on my shoulder, the other sliding between us. And when she sinks down—slow, tight, taking all of me—my head falls back against the couch, eyes locked on hers.

“Jesus,” I whisper, but it’s not about lust. It’s reverence.

Her palms flatten against my chest again, right over my heart. My hands stay on her hips, guiding her, grounding me.

She starts to move—slow, deep rolls of her body that undo me one breath at a time. Her forehead presses to mine. Our noses brush. Eyes locked. Always.

She rides me like she’s not afraid to be seen. Like she wants me tofeeleverything.

And I do.

Every clench, every shift of her hips, every inch of skin. But more than that—I feel herlove. In the way she kisses me between breaths. In the way she whispers my name when I grip her harder. In the way she doesn’t flinch from anything I give her.

Her breath stutters. Her rhythm falters—not from hesitation, but from how close she is. I can feel it in the way her thighs tighten around me. The way her nails sink into my shoulders. The way her lips part on a moan that sounds like my name cracked open.

“Sebastian…”

It’s barely more than air. But it wrecks me.

I grip her hips tighter. “I’ve got you,” I murmur. “Let go.”

She buries her face in my neck, fingers fisting in my hair, and I swear I feel her break apart on top of me—tight, trembling, every breath turning to heat.

She clenches around me, body shuddering, mouth open in a sound she doesn’t try to hold back. And fuck, I feel it all. Her heartbeat against my chest. Her body pulsing around me. The way she falls, not away—but into me.

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