Page 36 of Beautiful Sinners

“Drop to your knees, baby, and I’ll show you exactly who my cock belongs to because it sure as shit isn’t the woman out there.”

Sinking to the floor, my body is already obeying before my brain catches up, and I snap out of it.

“I’m not going to suck your dick.”

But god help me, I want his cock in my mouth, fucking me deep until my throat is raw and I’m gagging on him. I want every filthy, depraved thing that he, Tristan, and Constantine want to do to me.

“Look at me.”

Another command that I’m hungry to obey, but I force myself to shake my head no.

He takes his hand from the wall and circles my neck, gripping tightly. I’m embarrassed at the moan I make and how moisture gathers between my legs at his indelicate touch. Why do I like it so much when he does that?

Keeping the pressure steady, Hendrix dips his head.

His deep voice rumbles when he tells me, “You have it all wrong, firefly. All those women were notyou. Don’t you see that it’s always been you? I’ve been chasing your ghost for ten fucking years, trying to feelsomething. But I never did because the only time I ever felt anything real was when I was with you. My fucking soul was ripped out when we lost you.”

My anger swiftly abates as desire and longing flood in to replace it. This damaged man who used to be the boy I adored has suffered so much. They all have. But we never lost the core of who we were to each other. Childhood soulmates and best friends and everything that was ever good in the cruel world we lived in.

My chest heaves with the exertion to pull in air, and I fist his shirt. “So. Was. Mine.”

I don’t know how he does it, but I’m suddenly flung onto the bed with Hendrix on top of me. The mattress sinks beneath his weight as heat and need spill over into a want so deep, I burn from it. It grows into a flashfire when his mouth crashes over mine, and he takes and takes and takes. Hendrix wrecked me the first time he kissed me. This kiss is no different. Every stroke of his tongue is brutal and possessive and claiming.

“You don’t think I’m jealous, too? I see how easy you are with them. How you seek them out first. You sleep in Con’s bed every fucking night with Tristan while I lie alone, wanting you so damn badly.”

He yanks at my T-shirt until his hand touches my bare stomach, then roams the soft, fluid lines of my abdomen, skimming his hand along the curve of my hip where the skin is roughly textured.

“I… I didn’t know.”

From the moment ‘they’ met, Hendrix and Syn had been fire and ice. It confused the hell out of me how I could want him so much when he acted like an asshole most of the time. I know why now. My heart never forgot who he was, even when I forced my mind to.

Hendrix wrangles the roll of the sweatpants away from my hip bone and shoves his hand beneath the material, seeking out my most intimate area. My pelvis bucks up, and I moan loudly when he doesn’t waste any time and sinks two fingers inside me. Pleasure mixes with pain. I’m still tender from last night, but Hendrix helps soothe the sting by strumming his thumb over my clit. Sparks of light dance along my vision as pleasure coils tightly in my belly.

“This is mine,” he declares as he quickly builds me up. Hendrix can make me come so effortlessly with just one touch or a spoken word, like the night on the back patio. “You’re mine, Syn.”

He keeps calling me Syn, whereas Tristan calls me Aoife. My past and my present. There has to be meaning to that.

“Hendrix,” I cry out when he does some incredible, wonderful thing with his fingers that causes every nerve synapse from my head to my toes to light up.

“I don’t want anyone else. Not Serena or any other woman. Only you.”

My pussy clamps down as his words send me soaring just as my orgasm sends me flying, and before I’ve even had a chance to catch my breath, he says, “I fucking love watching you come. Again.”

Again?

“Hendrix,” I whimper, sinking my fingers into his hair when he seizes my lips with another decadent kiss.

A whole-body shudder shakes me as he continues to caress my inner walls with his fingertips, drawing out every last drop of pleasure he can wring from me.

“Hendrix.”

As much as I’m desperate for him to make me come again, I want it to be while he’s inside me. I need to feel that intimacy, that connection, with him.

“Hendrix,” I say for a fourth time and cup the sides of his face. His cobalt eyes are fraught with mania when they look down at me.

I understand better than anyone that there are no guarantees in this life. There are no promises of a tomorrow that may never come. My childhood was stolen from me, just like the past ten years were stolen from me, and I don’t want to live with one more regret.

Not caring that Hendrix may never feel the same way, I give him the piece of my heart that has always belonged to him. I loved Hendrix, Tristan, and Constantine as a girl, but I fell in love with them as a woman.

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