Page 150 of Sinful Desires
He cornered me, his hands planting hard against the wall, caging me in without a single touch. Not yet. Not until the silence between us was choking on everything we never said out loud.
His chest hovered close, heat rolling off him, his breath hitting my cheek. Then his hand rose. His fingers gripped my chin, not gentle, not cruel, just desperate.
He tilted my face up until there was nowhere left to look but him. “Say it.”
My voice trembled, but I didn’t hide. “I hate you, Théo.”
The words sliced out of me, raw and burning.
“And I am in love with you, Scarlett.”
He said it like it ruined him.
Like it had been sitting in his mouth for a year, rotting everything else inside.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t safe.
It was a confession soaked in blood.
And he meant every fucking word of it.
Then he snapped.
His mouth crashed onto mine, rough and furious, all teeth and desperation.
My arms curled around his neck as he shoved me back, pressing me so hard into the wall I could barely breathe.
His hands slid down, gripping the backs of my thighs. He lifted me without asking, without warning, like he’d been dying to.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, clinging as he pressed forward, grinding into me, like he needed to feel every inch, every heat-soaked second of this.
There was nothing soft in the way he touched me. Nothing gentle in the way he kissed.
It was punishment. It was possession.
It was everything I needed.
He dragged my tank top down until my tits bounced free. His mouth dropped straight to one, teeth grazing before his tongue lashed over the peak, wet and brutal. He sucked hard, groaning against my skin, while his free hand mauled the other, fingers squeezing until I whimpered.
Laughter rang out a few yards away—Nicholas, drunk, singing loudly.
Voices echoed. Cheered. Someone whistled.
“You still over me, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing my spit-slick nipple, eyes locked on mine.
I gasped when he licked a line up my throat, hot and possessive, biting my jaw before moving lower again. Then his hand was between my legs, shoving my skirt up to my waist.
He didn’t bother being gentle. He grabbed my thong, yanked it aside, and shoved two fingers inside me, deep and filthy, knuckles grinding against my clit.
I cried out, nails in his hair, dragging him closer as my hips bucked against his hand.
He fucked me with his fingers fast, rough, obscene.
Then his mouth went back to my breast, sucking until it stung, biting down until I choked on my breath.
“Are you still fucking over me, Scarlett?”
“No,” I choked. “I’ll never be over you.”
