Page 63 of Second Sin

She lifts a hand, trails it down my chest, then lower.

Her fingers curl around my cock, and I groan, hips instinctively thrusting into her touch.

She grins. "Someone’s glad to see me."

I exhale hard, cupping her face and dragging her up for a kiss. Her mouth meets mine, unhurried, warm. She shifts to straddle me, bare thighs bracketing my hips, her hair falling around us like a curtain.

Every part of me responds to her—greedy, desperate, reverent.

She sinks down, slow and sure, taking me in inch by inch. I grip her hips, fingers bruising as I try to hold on, but it’s useless. She’s too much. Too good. Too real.

We move together, lazy and hot, like we’ve got nowhere else to be. Her lips find my neck, my collarbone, her breath stuttering every time I grind up just right. Her hands roam—my chest, my shoulders, my face, like she’s trying to memorize all of me.

I let her.

I let myself have this—her.

Her pace quickens, the tension coiling tighter in her body. I can feel her getting close. My name leaves her lips in a broken gasp and she shudders, falling forward, clutching my shoulders.

I roll us over, driving deeper, losing rhythm in the rush to follow her over the edge.

"Sebastian," she cries again, and it undoes me.

I bury myself in her and let go, her name a prayer on my lips.

After, I don’t move. I stay inside her, our skin sticky and warm, my forehead resting against hers.

She sighs, eyes closed, lips parted in the faintest smile.

I wrap my arms around her, pull her close, and breathe her in like she’s the only thing keeping me tethered to any semblance of sanity.

The room feels louder now that we’ve stopped moving. The tick of the thermostat. The faint sound of traffic, muffled by thick hotel curtains. My own pulse.

When she finally shifts, it’s minimal, just enough to turn her head, hair sticking to the sweat at her temple, whiskey colored eyes finding mine.

And then I see it.

The shift.

In the drag of her teeth across her bottom lip. The way her eyes narrow, not in anger, but like she’s trying to focus, trying to shut something out.

“No one needs to know about this,” I say, voice low.

Something flickers across her face, too quick to name, but I feel it like a drop in temperature.

“But we know.I know.”

She pushes herself upright, dragging the sheet with her. Her shoulders are tense, not like before. Not lazy and loose from sleep and skin. Tight. Like armor sliding back into place.

I prop myself up on my elbows, watching her.

“I mean… this doesn’t have to mess with your job. We’ll keep it quiet. No one has to know.”My voice sounds rough. Too casual. Like I’m trying to bury the edge of panic curling up in my chest.

She doesn’t answer right away.

When she does, her voice is quiet, flat. “It’s not that easy.”

I sit up a little more, arms braced behind me. “So what? Talk to Coach? HR? Tell them we’re handling it—professionally.”

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