Page 30 of Make Me A Sinner
And this time, he takes his sweet time cleaning me.
His sponge runs over my breasts like he’s trying to make them shine, then slides down my body, lingering between my legs, where he moves it like I've been wading in mud. And if that isn’t enough to make me a nervous wreck, the way his lips accidentally brush my ribs every time he leans down to wash my legs makes me lightheaded.
What he doesn't know is that I plan to return the favor—first chance that I get.
If he wants to burn me, then we'll burn together.
sixteen
-Set-
I need a clear mind to go after Chen. This won’t be as easy as it was with the mercenary, or like it is with the people I control. I avoided starting a war to recover my artifact, but war showed up at my door anyway. He put the hit out on Serena, and that just signed his death warrant.
I just need to plan my steps carefully. That's why I don't rush into any decision. He's going down. It's just a matter of how and when.
I need a clear shot at this if I don't want to turn the whole city upside down. I put a few of my men on his trail last night to learn his pattern, the places he goes, even the hoes he takes to bed. I’ll have a complete file on him in no time. I always keep tabs on my enemies and my competition, so I already have some info on him. But I want things taken to the next level. I need to know when and where I can move. I can't risk a wrong move with him, because that would mean I'm risking Serena’s life. And I couldn't live with that.
I didn't get to organize anything last night because Serena needed me there with her. She needed someone calm and ontop of things. Seeing me making calls and rallying my people would’ve only panicked her even more. That's why I'm trying to act as fast as I can, though I have a feeling my actions are turning me into my own worst enemy. My plan of edging her has severe repercussions within my own body. I know I just had sex the other day, but whenever I'm near her, it's like I can't breathe properly unless I'm inside her.
As much as I like dressing her, washing her, I need to touch her to do it, and my fingers barely listen anymore. That's exactly why I hit the gym today. I don't really need to train—my genes are doing that on autopilot—but I like to do it occasionally anyway, just to bleed off some of the tension. And I’ve got plenty—sexual tension that is—piling up like my skull’s about to crack if I don’t do something about it.
I only managed to let some of it go, just to have it slam back into me the second we got home. I need her to come to her senses—as fast as possible. Which means I have to push her harder, even if it implies pushing myself harder, too. Truth is, I’d do anything for this woman, including denying myself of her for a while if that means I get all of her in the end.
I wasn't in the mood to go to the office, so I had my papers delivered. I still have some things to sort through and a few calls to make—including the ones about Chen. Serena’s been helping me with a few of the reports. I’ve never liked paperwork, and I know she wants to feel useful—which she truly is. I knew she was smart, but I never expected she’d learn this fast. Dealing with so many people over the years, I can tell her IQ’s way above average. That just doesn't apply when it comes to her feelings. She's a mess in that department. And no matter how much I try to show her the way—she has to find it on her own if this is ever gonna work.
The dining room table is covered in papers and files on different people I keep tabs on. I’ve still got over two weeks'worth of catch-up, and I want it done as soon as possible so I can have some free time with Serena. In fact, I’m just looking over some casino payouts that don’t seem to add up when she offers to make dinner. I meant to take her out, but I didn't realize the papers would drag this long.
And since she offered to cook for me, I can't say no to that. I’d be burning a white flag, and I don't get many of those from her.
"I should change first. Don't want to get food on these clothes," she pauses, then adds. "I can do it myself, you know I can see you're busy. Just this time, I won't tell anyone," she whispers, trying to be funny.
"One minute, and you're back," I warn, barely holding back a smile, without any real idea what I’ve done.
She respects my one-minute deadline, probably because she's wearing almost nothing. Just one of my loose tank tops that issoloose that it only covers her nipples, leaving the silky curve of her breasts exposed. And of course, the damn thing’s made from one of those very thin materials, making it painfully obvious she’s not wearing any panties.
"Fuck." I stay at the table, trying to look unaffected, like my cock isn't pressing against my joggers, trying to break free while she goes to the kitchen to start dinner. I even pretend I didn't see what she was wearing, but there's no way in hell I can focus on the reports any longer.
I keep myself from going to the kitchen because there's no way I’d stay out of trouble if I went in there. I even tried opening my laptop. Maybe I could focus on an email, but I suddenly hear music coming from the kitchen.
I roll my eyes, admitting to myself—and only to myself—that she got me this time. I'm drawn like a fucking magnet. I don't give a damn about the report anymore. The casino could go bankrupt, at this point, I wouldn't care—not that it would ever happen. People always hope they can beat the system. Butthe system is only built for the real winners, not for the ones gambling on some miracle payday.
My curiosity doesn't keep me away from the kitchen for long. I want to see what she's doing.... Okay, I want to see her body in that almost nonexistent outfit as she cooks. I just hope I can keep my hands to myself.
And the second I step into the kitchen, I get my answer to that question. No. Pretty much impossible.
I find her washing something in the sink, her back to me while her hips sway to some Latino beat.
This scene deserves a top spot on the list of things she could torture me with. Look, but don't touch.
I don't think she knows I'm here because her dance moves get bolder, and she rolls those hips like she's on a club dancefloor.
Mental note: I need to take her to a club someday. I don't particularly like clubs, even if I own a few. But by the looks of it, she does. And that can only mean she’ll end up doing something to my liking.
I see her picking up some freshly washed onions and tomatoes from the sink, placing them on the cutting board beside her.
I know she does it on purpose. And it's working. I'm not usuallythe tempted one,but her Shakira moves make me jealous of the kitchen cabinet she’s leaning on while trying to cut the vegetables. Still, as much as I’m enjoying the show, she's dancing with a knife in her hand, and I feel the need to stop her since she's becoming a danger to herself.
At least, that's what I tell myself to justify abandoning my plan. "Need some help?" I ask, pouring us a couple glasses of red wine. She likes red wine, and she’s more relaxed after she has a glass or two, but never drinks alone. I know she doesn't get tipsy from a glass or two, but I think she uses it as an excuse to do whatever she wants after. One day, I hope she realizes shedoesn't need excuses to do whatever she wants when she's with me.
