Page 30 of Born Sinner
My mind briefly wanders back a few hours ago in her bathroom, when I was just as unforgiving with myself.
I finger the trigger to flood the moment with even more danger. She shudders, but doesn’t stop.She can’t stop.We’re not just crossing lines anymore. We’re fucking obliterating them. Normal doesn’t exist for us. When you’re born into the threat of violence, it warps everything.
Dropping my hand from her mouth, I force my fingers between her teeth, needing to feel the strength of her orgasm as strands of black silk whip across my face—nearly coming myself as she bites down hard with another scream, piercing the skin.
Afterward, we collapse forward, both breathing hard.
“Soon,” I gasp, removing my gun from between her thighs. Despising it. Envying it. “Soon, every part of you will be mine, Lola.”
“Soon,” she whispers in concession, one cheek pressed tightly against the brickwork—as twisted up by this as I am.
Not that I’m giving her a choice, either way.
She stays motionless where she is as I slide back into the shadows, thinking how stunning she looks all destroyed like this.
She waits until she thinks I’ve gone, but I’ll never leave her alone while she's vulnerable. Instead, I watch unseen as she peels herself away from the wall. Her steps are unsteady as she heads toward the door.
Mission accomplished.
She won’t be thinking about anything else now until the next time we meet.
And there will always be a next time with her.
Chapter Twelve
Lola
My mother has a saying…
Chasing butterflies only leads you into repetitive circles. Pretend they don’t exist, and they’ll flutter back into the palm of your hand.
At ten years old, I took those words at face value. I spent hours sitting cross-legged on the bright green lawns of our estate, my arms spread wide and my palms up.
Waiting.
A butterfly never landed in my hand. They always darted around me, close enough to admire, but just out of reach.
I realize now—as most things with my family—it was a metaphorical warning.
Butterflies are just like boys. Chase them, and they fly away. Leave them be, and they come to you.
A valuable lesson I wish I’d remembered days ago.Four to be exact.
A full ninety-six hours since I’ve seen or heard from Sam.
After our alleyway encounter, he just disappeared—as if successfully breaking me meant there was no more game to play.
He’d won. I’d lost. End of story.
Only it wasn’t—at least for me.
I always have the last word, but he left me speechless while he rode away like some kind of dark knight. So instead of pretending he didn’t exist, what did I do?
I chased a butterfly.
I became the stalker. Driving by his apartment at all hours of the night just to catch a glimpse of him. Casually, inquiring on his whereabouts around campus. And shamefully, standing in the alleyway outside the Foxhole, waiting for him to reappear.
I spun in so many circles, I made myself dizzy.
