Page 62 of Sweet Sinners
We never had a chance to know each other. Never had time to be anything other than distant.
So is it really so wrong to feel this way now?
Yeah, sure,a taunting voice sneers in my head.March into work and tell Dean you’re not into him because you’re too busy wanting your stepbrother. That’ll go over well.
Despite our parents being gone—dead, vanished from this world—everyone still sees us through that lens. That’s the story spun in the news, the image burned into people’s minds. And the truth? The truth doesn’t stand a chance against perception.
People wouldn’t care about the nuance, the distance, the years apart.
They’d just call us something ugly.
Groaning, I cover my face with my hands.
I’m still wet from last night.
Just riding his thigh, feeling him hard against me, had me on the edge, ready to lose control—and yet, I behaved. I didn’t grind againsthim, didn’t maneuver us into a compromising situation… but God, I wanted to.
As twisted as it sounds, I wanted him to kiss me. I wanted his hand to slide higher, his grip to tighten, to pull me against him until I had no choice but to move. I wanted to feel his breath against my lips, wanted him to push past every last barrier I should be keeping between us.
I groan again, rolling onto my stomach, my thighs clenching involuntarily. My hand drifts lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts, past the edge of my underwear.
A sharp inhale.
I'm already soaked, slick and aching for something I shouldn’t want. But that’s the worst part—the wanting. The craving. The fact that Idowant him, that I haven’t stopped thinking about how it would feel to have his hands on me, how it would feel if he—
Shit.
My fingers circle lazily at first, teasing myself, dragging out the anticipation, the forbidden edge of this making every touch hotter, sharper. My other hand grips the pillow as I bite down, muffling the small, desperate noises slipping past my lips.
Connor.
The name hums in my brain like an electric charge, the memory of his voice, his hands, the heat of him pressed against me feeding the fire building in my stomach.
Faster now. Deeper. My breath stutters as I thrust my fingers inside, rolling my hips in time with the movement. My thighs tighten, heat rushing to my skin, and I press my feet into the mattress, chasing it,needingit.
“Oh, God,” I pant, arching, my body strung tight as the tension snaps. The pleasure crashes over me in violent waves, my muscles trembling with the force of it. My mouth opens on a silent cry, andthen—nothing. Just the slow, pulsing aftershocks of the best orgasm I’ve had in too long.
Too long since what? Since anyone else?
The thought barely forms before I shove it away.
I blink up at the ceiling, my heartbeat hammering in my ears, my body still humming in the aftermath. Swallowing hard, I drag my fingers from between my thighs and wipe them absently on my shorts, shaking my head at myself.
Get a fucking grip, Cali.
Then—
A knock.
My breath catches.
“Cali?” Connor’s voice. “Breakfast.”
Fuck.
My stomach clenches as I bolt upright, yanking the blanket over my hips like it’s some kind of shield.
Had he heard me?
