Page 44 of Make Me A Sinner
"You know what you have to do, Serena," he whispers instead of saying good night. But how can I ever have a good night after being left with the thought that I need to show him that I'm his—and that I want him as mine?
twenty-two
-Serena-
By the time I finally wake up in the morning. Set’s already up by the time I crawl out of bed. The same concerned look haunts his eyes as he tries to avoid my gaze, and any other unnecessary question that might make things worse.
I don't want to give him a hard time about it. I already know he has a hard time with what he has to do—what he has to do for me. And just like that, his devilish horns start to look like an angel's halo from where I stand—at least for now, because I know I’ll regret thinking that later. He'll do something to ruin it. He always does. But not today. Actually, the day is so normal that it slips by in a blur.
Set decided to keep his distance again, but still keeps me close enough to be somewhere at his feet, tethered by the compliments he drops throughout the day. "The dress looks amazing on you... You're smarter than my hotel manager... Maybe I should give you her job instead... Or the classic that guts me every time—The world will be yours as long as you are mine." Yeah, his charm game scores about fifty to zero when it comes tomy soul... And yet not a single move. Sure, he still changed me, and showered me, and took me to bed, but everything with such practiced control that I’m starting to fear he's getting better and better at holding back—while I'm failing miserably. Every time he gives me less, I want more. Every time he holds back, I realize I'm one step closer to pushing things further. And every time he doesn't touch me when I know he should, I’m one step closer to giving in to him.
But what drives me to the brink is seeing in his eyes that he’s suffering as much as I am, yet still refuses to go further. And I'm afraid that, at some point, he might give up on me entirely. Maybe not now, or in two weeks, or even a month, but I can't keep up this charade forever. I'm beginning to fall for him. I know how irredeemable that sounds, how absurd, and maybe I’m crazier than Whiro right now. But I’ve never felt this alive. I neverfelt. Because, compared to now, I'm starting to think I was numb before. The mess of emotions and thoughts—hate, desire, whatever. I can’t even tell what’s what anymore. It’s all jumbled together into something so intense it’s starting to feel like a drug.
Last night, he didn't even come to bed. He told me I should go to sleep, said he’ll be there in a couple of hours. But I know he spent the night working, making calls, or doing whatever he does.
I know everything will change when Set takes Chen out. Chen controls a good part of Vegas, and if his control falls into Set's hands, he’ll own the entire city. But it’ll also mean war. Chen might have power, but he’s just a cog in a greater machine. He probably has the Triads, or whichever mafia family’s got their claws in this place. I'm not sure if Set’s even worried because of that, but it’s definitely fucking with his precious balance.
Breakfast was already laid out when I woke up, and the day felt like a rerun of yesterday. It's not unusual for a day to repeat itself. That was all I had back in Elko. Days blurred together untilI couldn't remember doing anything different for months. But here, I'm half expecting the unexpected, maybe a fight, maybe being locked up on the balcony, or tied to the bed. Or whatever else he dreams up. But not this. Not distance. I could barely cope with the distance when I was miles away from him, though I didn't want to admit to myself at the time.
Now the distance’s killing me. Having him so close and yet so far does something irreversible to my brain chemistry. It's fucked up either way, because no matter what I do, I keep swinging between hating to loving him... Okay... I did not saylove.Did I?
We spent the day at the office, where I took care of some paperwork while he met with a few peopleinterestedin our mission, and they have already infiltrated the club to feed us intel. They just confirmed that Chen is nowhere to be seen. Maybe Whiro’s wrong, and we’re chasing trouble in the wrong direction. But then again, Set says Whiro is never wrong.
Now that I think about it, I don't even know why I was complaining about monotony, considering we’re breaking into a club in a couple of days. But I wasn’t talking about life outside Set’s apartment. I meant us, and how badly I want to fix that twitching vein in his neck as he drops onto the living room couch, right after we return from dinner.
The night drags on just as the last, and he keeps checking his phone, though his mind’s in the distance, somewhere far beyond my reach. I have a feeling he's going to tell me I should go to sleep, and not wait up for him again. But this time, I'm not leaving. There's a knot in my stomach that stretches up into my throat, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t swallow it down.
My hands shake as I pour two glasses of whiskey—one for me and one for him. He didn't ask me to, I just felt the need for a drink. Not that the whiskey does anything to dissolve the lump in my throat. I place Set’s glass beside him right before I turnon my heel and decide to down mine, then pour another. Then another, just for courage.
I don't need to get drunk to get close to Set. But the alcohol gives me the courage to actually face the wild side of him—the part that demands so much of me.
He looks at me with confusion as I hand him his drink, then sip my third one in the last two minutes. That goddamn vein in his neck is still there pulsing, broadcasting his restlessness.
"Is there something wrong?" He asks, probably wondering why I'm looking at him with a murderous gaze. It's because I'm still having an internal war, but this time, both my body and my mind win.
"I could ask you the same," I say, still watching that vein, the way the tattoo over it rises and falls with every pulse. "I could help you with that." I kneel on the couch, facing him, my hand reaching to rub the side of his neck and ease his tension. He stares at me in disbelief, probably wondering if I have a knife in my other hand or if this is some kind of trap. Because I’m being way too nice for it to be real. But it is real. His suffering seeps into me, and whether he likes it or not, I carry it upon me like a damn plague.
"You’ll have to unbutton my shirt. The tension runs from my neck all the way to my shoulders," he says it like a warning, like I wouldn't be able to do it without falling apart or something.
Okay, maybe I will fall apart, but I'm not gonna show him. With unhurried moves, I unbutton the top of his shirt, letting it slip off his shoulders, revealing the intricate map of ink across his skin.
I'm beginning to think I could massage him until my fingers fall off. I start by tracing a line along the side of his neck, following that vein that seems ready to burst. The movement doesn’t ease him. On contrary, he tenses more under my touch, but doesn't ask me to stop. I repeat the motion several timesuntil I feel him beginning to relax again. Then I start working on the column of his neck and the front of his shoulder, following another tight muscle that troubles him. He groans a few times, and my fingers focus on following the lines of one of his tattoos—the one that runs right over the knot I’m trying to ease. As soon as the muscle loses some of the tension, I switch to his other shoulder. But by the time I get to trace the same line as I did with the first, I realize I'm straddling his hips. I’m completely in his lap, while his hard cock is pressing into the material of my dress. I pause for a second, trying to gather my thoughts and resume with the massage, but I know fucking well it wasn't the massage that brought me here.
I let out a nervous gasp and reach for the Set’s whiskey glass on the coffee table next to us since mine’s already empty.
I down it like water, then try to refocus on the massage, but by the time I look up, Set's already locking eyes with me. "What are you doing, Serena?" he asks, and I know too well he's not talking about the massage.
I don't give him an answer, but lower my hips until my pussy meets the bulge in his pants—my eyes never leaving his.
He knows better than to say another word—ask anything that might throw me off track. Instead, he rests his arms on the back of the couch, as if he’s surrendering to me. Or more likely, it's atake what you wantdemonstration. Fuck, I was hoping for a little help, but I know better. He won't make things easy on me.
The disbelief in his gaze never goes away, like he thinks I'm gonna stop at some point, or maybe take my glass and leave. But I'm too afraid of what might happen if I stop. I'm too afraid of what I might never live if I stop now. Maybe I’ll lose my nerve entirely.
I let my fingers slip between my legs and on top of his anxious cock, brushing them along his pants until they discover the key of his zipper and pull it down. His buckle is next. And I hear himgroan, anxiousness pooling in his voice. My hands tremble as if I've never done this before, and my breath becomes so shallow, I might pass out from the lack of oxygen.
There's something so final in my actions, maybe knowing that I'm choosing a path of no return. I will be his to love, to break, and I feel I’m diving headfirst into the unknown, because I never know what Set is truly capable of. The only thing I do know is that I can't go on like this, living, breathing, constantly craving his touch and knowing it wouldn't come unless I let go of my past.
Funny how I never imagined it possible that the tables would turn, and I’d be the one asking him to be mine.
