My Sinful Nights: Book One in the Sinful Men Series

by Blakely, Lauren

  I raised my chin. “Message received, Michael. But I want you to know two things. One, I’m not the same guy I was ten years ago, and I’m doing everything to prove that to your sister,” I said, then paused, because as much as I didn’t intend to get pushed around, I also knew I had to show some respect to a man who looked out for his own. “And two, I’m going to prove it to you.”

  Michael didn’t answer. He lifted his chin slightly, a nearly imperceptible nod, maybe even an invitation to say more. I’m listening, his expression said.

  “And that means,” I said, drawing a deep breath as I seized this opportunity, “I’m keeping tabs on the Royal Sinners. I’m looking into Stefano as best I can. I’m talking to friends in security who know people. I’m doing everything I can to make sure Shannon is always safe.”

  His lips were as straight as a ruler, but then they twitched. The tiniest sliver of a smile appeared. “You’re doing that?”

  “Damn straight. I won’t try to pretend I understand what your family has been through, but, brother . . . I respect you. I respect your role, and I know what I’m getting into with Shannon. This is not something I take lightly.”

  Michael nodded, his voice barely registering as he said, “Thank you. You do that.”

  He resumed his pace, walking down the stairs, and I felt like I’d done my part with the head of the family.

  But now I was ready to see my woman.

  Mine.

  She felt like mine.

  I made my way to Shannon’s door, knocking twice. When she answered, that encounter with her brother whooshed away. There was no real estate in my brain for anything but her.

  Her eyes sparkled, and she jutted out her hip. The dress she wore looked like it had been painted on. The color of champagne, and with some kind of shimmer to the fabric, it hugged her hips, her thighs, her flat belly, and her beautiful breasts. I wished I had been there to watch her slip it on and zip it up. More than that, I hoped I’d be taking it off tonight.

  I forgot about everything else in the world—schedules, plans, flights? Gone.

  “Wow.” I’d never been at a loss for words.

  But she knocked the breath from my lungs and stole the words from my tongue. “Wow.”

  “You like?”

  I shook my head. “I love.”

  I loved everything about her. The dress that was caressing her body. The bare legs boldly on display. The red leather shoes that I’d bought for her.

  Her heart.

  Her mind.

  Her.

  She stepped closer to me and ran her hands down the front of my shirt. Her touch was electric. “You look so handsome tonight,” she said, and there was softness in her voice, an affection that hooked deeper into me.

  And I was already so far gone.

  “Thank you,” I said, once again robbed of quips and wit.

  She raised a hand and cupped my cheek. “So damn handsome,” she repeated, and the vulnerability in her voice made me want to handle her with care. To shove all this lust and desire aside and give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed. “And tonight, you’re mine again.”

  Yes. That was all I wanted. Her in every way.

  “And you’re mine.” I threaded my hands up through the back of her hair, letting the soft strands spill all over my fingers. She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly. Oh hell, I stood no chance. I didn’t want to stand a chance of fighting anything I was feeling for her.

  Because I felt everything. “Shan,” I whispered.

  She whispered something better. “Kiss me.”

  I ran the pad of my thumb over her bottom lip. She murmured and melted into my arms. She fit me so perfectly, sliding against me, our bodies like magnets, seeking their opposite, finding their way home.

  I kissed her, soft and tender, and I could have gone on all night. Could have kissed her forever. But I wanted to take her to the theater too. To prove I’d changed. That I could put her first.

  And it started by telling her what I’d told Michael.

  On the way over in the car, I took her hand. “Listen, I told you I’d look into the Sinners, and I’ve only just started, but what I found out is they’re mostly focused on drugs, tagging, and fights over territory,” I said, sharing what Mindy had told me.

  She nodded a few times, taking deep breaths. “Less about violence? Less about hits?”

  “I think so, babe. I’m not positive, since I just started, but that’s what Mindy and I are trying to figure out. She’s keeping her ear to the ground. And I’m going to ask around. See what else I can learn.”

  She pursed her lips, holding in emotions, I suspected, then she nodded. “Drugs,” she said, like she was processing the word. “That’s okay. My mother didn’t order the hit for drugs. She ordered it for money.”

  She nodded again, taking this in, when her phone bleated. Rustling around in her purse, she grabbed it, then showed me the screen with her brother Ryan’s name on it.

  “Hey, Ry,” she answered. After a pause, she said, “I’m heading out to see Alvin Ailey.” Another pause. “You want to talk now?” Another pause. Then a heavy sigh. “Fine. Tomorrow. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  When she hung up, her shoulders were tight again, her breath sharp. “What is it, babe?”

  She took a moment before she answered. “Last time I saw him at our grandma’s, he mentioned something about an attorney visiting Stefano. He says he has some more info. But he doesn’t want to talk about it on the phone,” she said, breathing out fumes of frustration.

  I squeezed her hand. “That’s smart though. That’s a conversation best had in person.”

  “I know,” she said, resigned. “I just wish I knew enough to protect myself fully.”

  My heart squeezed. This was the hardest thing. Would she ever feel safe? But I didn’t know if she could in a world where attorneys were visiting the man who’d killed her father.

  I wrapped an arm around her. “Listen, what Ryan tells you might be private, and I get that. But if you want to share, know I’ll be here for you. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’ll keep looking. See what else I can learn to ease your mind. And I’ll protect you.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure it was an offer I could make. But it was also one I couldn’t not make.

  She lifted her face, then pressed a kiss to my lips. “Thank you. Thank you for doing that.”

  In her kiss, I felt her gratitude.

  I loved that too.

  That she was giving it to me. That she was feeling it.

  But I couldn’t shake the sense that as we walked into the auditorium, she was scanning left and right, on alert.

  And I wished I’d been more helpful.

  I wished I truly could promise her the world.

  30

  Shannon

  I didn’t want to think about seeing Ryan tomorrow. I didn’t want to think about gangs or attorneys or visits to prison.

  I wanted beauty. And passion and art.

  And that was what I got tonight.

  My mind was officially blown.

  I’d seen countless ballets and watched thousands of modern dances, but Alvin Ailey had been my favorite since I was a girl—and also my fantasy. While other dancers dreamed of becoming a prima ballerina, I had pictured myself in a starring role in the Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater. The company’s modern ballet style and athleticism had always spoken to me. As a young kid on the outskirts of town, growing up in a broken-down neighborhood, I’d been determined to dance my way out of my circumstances, and to win a spot in a prestigious company.

  That had never happened, and while I’d moved on, picked myself up, and carved out a career that I loved, a small piece of my heart still longed to be the one onstage, still wished to captivate an audience as I myself had just been captivated.

  As they neared the end of the show, the dancers moved with such passion, such exuberance that my heart was full, overcome with their joy in mov
ement. I squeezed Brent’s hand in the darkened theater. He’d been such a trooper. I knew he wasn’t innately a dance fan. Most men weren’t. Hell, my own brothers didn’t go to the theater with me. And while I doubted Brent had personally delighted in the production, the mere fact that he’d taken me, watched with me, and focused on the stage meant the world to me.

  He had stepped up from the second I’d shown up at his club last week to apologize. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d do whatever it took to win me back. He’d been honest and open and giving, and everything I’d known him to be.

  And I’d done my best to be what he needed. Open, honest, and as positive as I could be.

  That was what second chances were about.

  Showing you’d changed, and I truly believed we both had.

  And tonight I wanted all of him.

  I was ready.

  Hell, maybe the dance was turning me on.

  I smiled privately at the thought. Dance was foreplay for me in many ways.

  I wanted the man by my side.

  Wanted him in every way.

  I had no desire for this date to end. I wanted it to unfurl through the darkness and roll on into the sunrise.

  After the euphoric finale on stage, I was the first to my feet, clapping and calling out, “Bravo!” Then I threw my arms around Brent’s neck and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

  “Thank you. I loved every second of it,” I said, standing on tiptoes. “I feel like I’m floating on cloud nine.” A dancer’s high.

  “I’m so happy to hear that,” he said, his expression earnest. There was no teasing, no joking. He really had wanted me to be happy, and hell, if that didn’t make my heart beat in overdrive for him.

  We clapped once more during the final curtain call. I picked up the thread of our conversation as the audience started to shuffle out, the bright lights flickering on in the Luxe Theater. “Even if it did make me feel the tiniest pang of regret right here,” I said, tapping my chest. More honesty, more openness.

  More proof we could do this.

  “I hope it wasn’t too hard for you.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Just makes me a little sad every now and then that I can’t do that anymore. But that’s all,” I said, as I ran my fingers along his arm. I squeezed his hand as we exited the row, replaying my words—can’t do that anymore. While I might not have been able to dance like those performers on stage—leaping, stretching, soaring beyond the atmosphere—there were other ways to dance. Oh yes, there were many other ways to move.

  I tugged him close to me against the edge of the aisle seat. The crowds filtered by as I leaned in, whispering in his ear, “But I can dance for you. The way you like.”

  Noise filled the theater. The chatter and hum of the crowd. The music that ushered the patrons out the door. The sound of shoes on carpets, of seats folding up, of phones buzzing. But beneath all that, I heard the sexiest groan escape his lips, a low rumble that came from deep within his chest. It touched down in my nervous system and sent the desire that had been on a simmer all evening to a boiling point.

  My pulse doubled. My belly flipped. Want engulfed me.

  “Now,” he said, his voice husky.

  “Do you want to come back to my—”

  He produced a gleaming white key card from his back pocket. “I was hopeful,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

  I adored that hope in him. I adored it for so many reasons. Because he had so much of it, because he could call on it whenever he needed to, and because he’d always freely shared it with me. His brightness, his happiness, his luck.

  “Your hope will be rewarded, you handsome man.”

  I’d take some of his luck tonight and make it ours.

  31

  Brent

  The elevator doors whooshed shut.

  I was a tightly wound coil. I grasped her face and kissed her hard as I backed her into the corner, in clear view of the camera.

  I didn’t fucking care. I didn’t care about anything but this moment. But her.

  We were alone.

  She sighed, she gasped, she moaned as the elevator chugged higher into the sky. Somewhere it slowed and stopped. I glanced briefly at the number keypad. Twelve. Not our floor. I returned to her lips, red and full and eager. The doors opened while I fused my mouth to hers, dropping my hand to her ass, gripping her soft flesh with the kind of hunger that came from knowing there’d be no stopping tonight.

  “Um, we’ll catch the next one,” someone behind me said, and the doors shut again.

  She reached for my hands, setting them on her hips. “Want to know something about that dance?”

  “I sure do.”

  She pressed her body to mine. “It turned me on. Made me want to dance for you.”

  I groaned, barely able to form sentences. Shannon dancing for me before we fucked was the hottest thing ever.

  That was music to my ears. And my dick. And my balls.

  And my brain officially took the night off.

  * * *

  Inside the room, she grabbed my shirt and furiously began unbuttoning it. She didn’t bother to glance around the room, to take in the surroundings, to comment on the thread count or the mood lighting or the unparalleled view of the Strip from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Nor did I.

  I saw nothing but her as we made our way to the couch by the window, where she pushed me down as she finished opening my shirt. She stood in front of me, bent forward, and let her long hair tickle my chest.

  Fire burned in my blood. I needed her. Desperately.

  “Watch me. Watch me dance for you,” she said, a filthy twinkle in her eye.

  “I can’t look anyplace else,” I rasped out as she began to sway, her hips moving seductively from side to side. Oh, holy hell of a hard-on. She was doing it. She was going to become my fucking fantasy. I loved nothing more than when she did her stripteases. Made me feel like she was all mine, like she belonged only to me.

  She trailed her fingernails down my chest. “How about a little music, handsome?”

  I grabbed my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my music at the speed of light. In seconds, Marcy Playground’s “Sex and Candy” blasted from my phone.

  “Perfect for you,” I said as I grasped her hips, and she wagged her index finger, tsking me.

  “Perfect for us tonight.” She spread her palms over my chest. I inhaled deeply, my body rocketing with pleasure at her touch. She glided her talented palm over the hard ridge of my erection, setting off fire after fire inside my body. She was an arsonist. And she was a tease. She took her hand away, hiking up her dress and straddling me.

  My cock throbbed in my jeans. What I wouldn’t give to have her touching me right now. Hands, mouth, pussy—any or all of the above, please.

  My breathing turned erratic as she moved on me, a stripper’s dance, grinding and teasing to the music.

  Swiveling around, she arched her back, her long hair spilling down her spine. Lust pinballed through me with every succulent move she made, every bump of her ass, every sway of her hips, every press of her against every part of my skin.

  “Did you ever get off to this image? To me dancing for you?” she asked.

  “All the fucking time,” I growled, holding tight to her hips as she moved on me.

  “Then let me give you your fantasy.” She shifted off me, and I nearly grabbed her and slammed her back down. Contact. I needed contact with this red-hot woman who sent the mercury in me soaring to record highs. Who had fried my brain of all rational thoughts.

  But she was running the show. She stood and brushed her hand from her breasts, down her belly, to her thighs. I groaned loudly, my right hand dropping to my erection.

  “Yes. I love that. Do that,” she said, eyeing my crotch. “That’s my fantasy.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You want me to jack off?”

  She arched a naughty eyebrow. “Yes. It’s called foreplay. I want to watch you touch yourself as I dance. I wan
t to witness how turned on you get just from looking at me.”

  “You’re a fucking vixen seductress,” I said.

  “I know, and you love it.”

  “I do,” I said in a hoarse whisper, motioning for her to come closer. “C’mon. I want your hands on me. I want your lips on me. I want to feel you.”

  “You will. But right now, give me this,” she said in a pleading tone, running her hands along my thighs as she wiggled her ass high in the air. She unsnapped the button of my jeans, and there were no more questions. She was winning. She was having her way. My dick ached with the need to be touched.

  I unzipped my jeans, freeing my erection.

  The look in her eyes was one for the ages. Her lips parted and she breathed heavily, sighing in admiration as I wrapped my hand around my cock. The chorus of the song built, and she backed away, returning to the center of the room, inching up her skirt, revealing her panties.

  Moving. Dancing. Swaying.

  So fucking sensual. So incredibly seductive.

  Her body was a dream.

  Her eyes feasted on me with each thrust of her pelvis, each sway of her hips. The way she gazed at me unleashed tremors of pleasure inside me, knowing she was savoring the sight of my hand on my cock. My fantasy—her stripping for me as I enjoyed the view—was her fantasy too.

  I stroked harder, faster, not needing much right now because I was so damn aroused already. She unzipped her dress, sliding the straps down her arms, then to her waist, revealing those naked twin globes of gorgeous flesh.

  “Bring those beautiful tits to me,” I growled out, and she came to me, sinking down on my thigh, rubbing herself on me as she brought her breasts closer.

  “Anything for you,” she whispered as she pushed them in my face. My tongue darted out, sampling a rosy peak. “Mmm,” I murmured as I licked her nipple, then drew her deeper into my mouth.