Page 87 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“She said you were the first to mend the cracks. What does that mean?”
He frowns and goes quiet. I remove his spectacles, place them on the vanity, and smooth the frown line between his eyebrows. His lashes flutter at my touch. I slide my hand to cup his face.
“What does that mean, Wes?” I ask.
“It means I’m the first to fall in love with one of you Sinners. The first to close the cracks between two teams that shouldn’t work but do. Vepar taunted me about her plan coming to fruition before you returned with the relic.”
“What?” I splutter. I’m stuck on that first bit. Everything else is white noise.
“I’m in love with you, Thea. I…” He scrubs his hair. “Somehow, they knew that I would bring you the gospel. They knew if we’re united, it’s not good for them. If Raven is psychic and prophecies exist, they probably have one too.” His eyes defocus with thought. “Come to think of it, I’ve heard rumors of an anti-Bible. An evil version of the good one. Perhaps there’s also a missing gospel in theirs.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, still not registering much else from his mouth but that four-letter word. His eyes snap to mine. I keep talking because I’ll lose the courage if I don’t say it now. “Wes, before you came along, I felt like I was always floating adrift. And then we met, and even when we said we hated each other, something was happening between us. You see me like no one else has. You put up with my bullshit when I’m crazy and figuring out my emotions. You somehow know what I need when I don’t. You are my anchor in this stupid world. I can’t fathom a future without you.”
The changing mood is a shift in the air. He no longer clinically looks at me, but like there’s nothing and no one who could stand between us.
I slip off the rest of my clothes, careful not to aggravate my injuries. When I’m nude and straightened, his eyes are dark with lust. His lips purse. Nostrils flare. Shoulders tense. It’s as though he’s holding himself together by a thread. As his gaze rakes over me, from top to bottom, I know he’s not seeing the wounds but the person beneath. The one who fought for him. The one who feels safe in his arms.
It's a strange notion—I’m the assassin—yet an embrace from him has the power to cradle my soul. I feel like nothing is impossible with him. This is what Lilith fights against.
“Shower with me,” I whisper.
His hands are on his clothes, ripping, tugging, and removing as fast as possible. I laugh at his enthusiasm and then at the self-deprecation in his eyes when he realizes he’s so obvious. But this is why I love him more. He’s both light and dark, bashful and brave, dominant and gentle. I get the cuddles, and I get him when he’s undone and ravenous with need for me.
I bite my bottom lip and appreciate his body. The relic casts a soft ambient light over his physique, from broad, muscular shoulders to a narrow, defined waist. Some tattoos have faded from healing. I reach out to touch him, but he pulls me into the shower, still determined to follow his promise of taking care of me.
The water isn’t warm as it hits us. We gasp, and I wince.Ribs. Ow.I should be shivering, but my gaze is trapped on the goosebumps on his flesh. Heat builds in me, low and deep. I trail my fingers down his abdomen, loving how his muscles bunch in response, loving how I make him tremble while he adjusts the temperature of the water. I might have even purred.
“You know,” I tease. “For a man who spends all day with books, you’re kinda buff.”
“I’m offended.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I’m not.” He smirks and holds his hand under the stream, still testing. “Dom treats his body like a temple, so apparently, we all must, too.”
I can’t stop touching him, from sliding my fingers over that wet, smooth and completely healed skin. I feel him all over. Marvel at his palms. I kiss each one.
“I’m supposed to be worshipping you,” he grumbles, but I take the thick, hard shaft of his erection and squeeze. Short, stilted breaths pass his lips. His eyes defocus, and he makes a helpless sound in the base of his throat. Sweet agony crosses his expression.
“Thea.” His voice is gravelly. “Let me clean you first.”
“While you do that, I’ll do this.”
“Always testing me.”
The brave man releases a little growl as if steeling his resolve. Then he takes the shampoo from the caddy, fills his palm with soap, and lathers it into my hair. I gasp at the sensations but don’t let go of his cock. I love seeing him try to keep his composure, and I pump him hard in my fist.
His fingers falter as they massage my head. “You’re making this hard, love.”
“That’s the point.”
“Minx.”
“Always.”
“Love, let me do this, please.”
Something in his tone makes me pause. “What’s wrong?”
