Page 23 of Born Sinner
But most of all, I’m turned on.
I don’t know what game Sam’s playing, but it has taken a dangerous turn. He’s marked me, and now he’s marked the one place I call my own. It’s a message I should return with a lipstick-kissed bullet, but I can’t ignore the coiling in my belly or the unbearable ache between my legs.
Thoughts of him consume me as carnal need takes over. I close my eyes, diluted justification swimming behind them as my hand slides inside the waistband of my shorts.It will almost be like we came together…
Sam...
However, the moment my finger slides in between my wet folds, my eyes fly open in horror.This is what he wants…Pissed, I jerk my hand out of my shorts, the elastic waistband snapping back into place with a pop.
No.I won’t give him the satisfaction.
“Nice try, asshole.” Bending down, I open a cabinet door under the counter, swinging it hard against the wooden base. Armed with a towel in one hand and Windex in the other, I go to erase every trace of him…and then I freeze.
Because some messed-up, masochistic part of me doesn’t want to.
Common sense tells me I’m taking a dangerous risk by leaving it there, but logic isn’t in control right now—lust is.
Sighing out a frustrated breath, I drop the towel and my clothes into a pile on the bathroom floor. I don’t care about the consequences as I turn the shower on full blast and step under a waterfall of scalding hot punishment.
As I lather, images of Sam force their way into my head. His hand pumping his thick cock. His face twisted in Machiavellian pleasure while coming with my name on his lips.
My hand creeps lower.
No, Lola. Don’t do it.
I grit my teeth, forcing my hand back up my body, wincing as my fingers graze my still tender hip. Blinking water from my eyes, I glance down at the letter he carved into my skin. I trace the jagged curve that starts at the top, following down its forbidden path.
“S isn’t for slut, Lola. It’s for Santiago.”
The words are sharp shards of ice driven straight into my chest.
Did he do it out of hate, or was it something darker?
“Damn you, Sanders…” Quickly rinsing off, I slam my hand onto the faucet and angrily turn the water off.
Why do I let him get to me like this?
Shoving my hand against the shower door, I drag the discarded towel off the floor and wrap it around my body, not bothering to dry off first.
And then I see it again—his salacious calling card.
Ripping the towel off, I stomp toward the glass and scrub the mirror and basin until they’re both spotless. Taking slow, ragged breaths to diffuse my anger, I hastily shake out the towel and wrap it back around my dripping skin.
It’s only then that I realize what I’ve done.
So much for getting clean. I just coated myself in my stalker’s cum.
Wandering back into my bedroom, I open my closet, revealing row after row of designer dresses. However, only one catches my eye.
Dress to kill…
Swallowing any lingering reservation, I reach for the one I know with every fiber of my being I shouldn’t wear.
Short, shiny, and silver.
I hope Sam Sanders has the good sense to stay away tonight.
Otherwise, those words may be prophetic.
