Sins of Seven Series 1-3: Boxed Set

by Dani René

  “Don’t worry about me. You need to worry about yourself, baby girl.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I nod.

  “You’re my brother. Worrying is something that comes naturally.”

  “Let’s go shopping,” he declares, pulling me into the living room as the door to my apartment opens, and I find Savannah dressed in a pair of jean cutoffs and a purple tank top.

  “Let’s get this party started.”

  The three of us giggle as we make our way out the door.

  My stomach is a flurry of excitement and I just hope that Carrick is still waiting for me when I get to him.

  21

  Carrick

  After my talk with Callan, I haven’t had the balls to call her.

  The pain in my chest has nothing to do with the gunshot that grazed my vital organs. The pain ebbs and flows. I shouldn’t have the alcohol with my pain meds, but I can’t help it. I’m doing it to stop the agony of losing Peyton.

  The night is hot, humid, and heavy with want. Sins is packed to the rafters with beautiful women and good-looking men. There’s an energy that drips from the pores of every person in here. Mason and Savvie are at the bar, but I don’t see Peyton. She’s been here a handful of times since she walked out, and that’s when I tend to steer clear of the main area of the club.

  She made her choice. She walked out when I bared my fucking soul. She left me cold and barren, and that’s the asshole I now play. Heartless and domineering. I pass by the bar, lifting a finger toward Dylan who’s pouring drinks for a couple. His gaze flits to me. He nods in acknowledgment. Seconds later, a tumbler of gin and tonic is sitting on the counter for me.

  Giggling from the corner booth grabs my attention, and I turn to find two brunettes sitting together. I don’t think twice as I take my drink and make my way over to them. The soft sounds of their whispers and gentle giggles cause my blood to heat. Since I’ve been single, I’ve attempted to go back to who I was before Peyton by indulging once more. The problem is, each time I take a woman to my playroom, there’s only one face in my mind and I can’t go through with it.

  “Ladies,” I murmur, lowering my voice so only they can hear me. Both sets of eyes drag to me, taking me in from head to toe. “I trust you’re having a good evening thus far?”

  “Thank you, yes,” one of them responds. Her cheeks turning a soft shade of pink.

  “How about you and your friend join me for a scene?”

  Their gazes dart to each other in surprise. Lifting my glass to my lips while waiting for a yes, I take a long sip of the alcohol. I may be overly confident, but they look like they could be ready to drop to their knees right here.

  “That would be lovely,” the other one smiles.

  “And your names?” I quip, watching as she blushes as well. The color turning my cock to steel behind the metal zipper of my slacks.

  “I’m Amy, and this is Lyra,” she introduces herself and her friend.

  Both women are beautiful, with not much make-up and big brown eyes I can already picture tearing up as I feed them both my cock.

  “Good,” I respond. “Get the barman to escort you to my playroom. He’ll know which one.” I turn to walk away, lifting my glass to Dylan with a slight nod. His response is a knowing smile. My gaze is torn from before me to the staircase where I find Peyton glaring at me.

  She chose to walk away. To tell me it’s over. I’m only doing what I’ve always done. Fuck and dominate. Stalking into the room, I set down my tumbler and shrug off my jacket. The bed has been set up with cuffs on the headboard, which I’ll be using in a few moments.

  Grabbing the whip, I set it on the nightstand. I strike a match, lighting three pink candles. Once the soft orange glow offsets the shadows in the bedroom, I settle in the armchair with my drink. The room itself has a bar, so if I really wanted to get fucked up tonight, I can.

  The door slides open, and both women walk in dressed all in black. The lingerie that hugs their curves is mouthwatering. Nothing, and I mean no fucking woman can compare to Peyton, but this is what she chose.

  “Amy, I want you on the bed. On your back. Lyra, cuff her to the headboard,” I order gruffly, while palming my cock through my slacks. The women move without uttering a response. Such good submissives. Not feisty like the blonde who currently holds my heart. They’re not a challenge. Anything I ask them to do, they’ll obey.

  “Lyra, take off that bra. I want your tits out.” She reaches around to unclasp the black lace. Once it pools on the floor, she places both hands on her tits, lifting them, tweaking the nipples until she whimpers from the bite of pain. “Panties next,” I utter, draining my glass with my eyes glued to her movements. Once she’s naked, I set the tumbler down. Crooking my finger, I call her to me.

  “Yes, Sir?” she mumbles. Her voice tentative, nervous, and I can’t help smiling.

  “I want you on that bed, between Amy’s thighs. You’ve eaten cunt before. Haven’t you?” I question, my mouth quirking into a smirk when her eyes widen.

  “I-I . . . no, Sir.” Her whisper grates on my nerves, but her smooth cunt is all I need.

  “Get on the fucking bed,” I bite out, my blood heating with anger, frustration.

  She moves quickly, settling herself between her friend’s thighs. I watch as she slides Amy’s panties down. Then, she leans in and kisses her friend in the most intimate area.

  “Good girl,” I utter the two words every submissive would want to hear. I’m being an asshole. This is who I’ve always been. Uncaring. Cold. And right now, I can’t do much more to prove that I’m anything else. I tried. I gave Peyton everything, and I still lost. The one woman who finally showed me that love was possible. That my heart wasn’t cold and barren. As soon as I opened myself to her and I offered her the truth, she walked out.

  She fucking ran.

  “I’m not going to go easy on you, Lyra,” I tell the pretty brunette.

  Her gaze darts up, her mouth wet with the arousal from her friend. “I want it,” she utters, and I know I’ve chosen well.

  The thought has me rising from my seat, stalking to the two girls. I lift the whip, raising it in the air with a loud swish, then bring it down on Lyra’s ass. The resounding swat echoes, and her screams are music to my ears. I’m punishing her for what Peyton did, and I can’t fucking stop myself.

  Again and again, like a savage, I rain down the leather on the tanned flesh of the woman who’s currently whimpering into her friend’s cunt. Rabid anger races through my body when I see the welts rising on her flesh.

  Dropping the whip, I shove my slacks down and sheath my cock. But I don’t do what I’m tempted to. I want to sink into Lyra’s tight cunt, but my heart stops me. It fucking grips me, causing the breath to leave my lungs. I fist my cock, fucking it as I watch the two women do my bidding.

  I’m an asshole.

  I’m a fucking prick.

  I hate myself and my needs. I hate that I hurt Peyton. Allowing her to see me with someone else made sure I fucked everything up. She’ll never want me again. I jerk my dick, faster and faster.

  “Fuck her cunt with those fingers. Make her scream,” I bite out. My anger surges along with my desire as I feel the deep pull inside me. Harder and faster. My hand rains down a spank, causing extra marks to form on her already marred flesh. I can’t rein in my control. It’s unleashed, and my body moves of its own volition. My hips slam into my hand.

  Her screams are louder now as I spank her almost violently. She’s moaning, begging, as it mingles with the sound of sex. Pure unadulterated filth. I want Peyton. I love Peyton. But my body has shut down.

  My eyes shut tight. I see her, the blonde beauty who stole everything from me.

  Again, all I see is Peyton Moore.

  “Rick.” My name echoes through the haze. I blink. Once. Twice. My heart aches. I hear her. I hear Peyton, but I know it’s a lie. I’ve seen her, heard her, fucking imagined her for weeks, and each time I believed she’d come back, it was nothing more
than my mind playing tricks on me.

  “Take it,” I growl. My hand stinging with agony as I mark the porcelain skin, seeing the welts rising in bright red. I know I’m bruising her, but I don’t care. Because that’s the type of asshole I am.

  “Carrick!”

  The scream of my name shatters me in that moment. I empty my seed into the rubber I almost fucked into another woman. Turning, I find the blonde beauty at the door watching me jerk off with two other women. Her big green eyes are wide, glistening with agony and unshed tears.

  Her mouth opens, then closes as she takes in the scene before me. Two women, my softening cock in my hand.

  “Peyton,” I utter her name in surprise when I finally find my voice. She looks like an angel, an apparition sent to destroy me, which she’s already done. I’m off the bed, tugging my slacks up when she turns to leave. With a quick glance behind me, I know what I have to do.

  Righting my clothes, I don’t cast a second glance at the women behind me. I race from the room to find her standing in the hallway. Tears stream down her face. Her body is wracked with sobs as she chokes on her emotion. My lungs are once more attempting to draw in breath, but I can’t because it hurts too much. She’s walking away again, because I’ve fucked up.

  “You . . . What are you doing here?” I lean in, whispering the words over her cheek. I inhale her for a moment, reveling in her scent. I’ve missed her. It’s like not having air for so long and suddenly my lungs are full.

  Her body trembles against me. Her eyes peeking up at me as she regards me. She’s nervous. I’m nervous too. I want to kiss her. I want to fucking claim her. I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw her in the darkened hallway.

  I realized it wasn’t because she reminded me of Rory, it was because it was her. Those pretty green eyes that lured me in like a siren. She took everything from me that day—my attention, my smile, and my heart.

  Her gaze drops for a moment. She watches her hands tremble, and she regards them. Then she lifts her gaze to mine, meeting my worried stare. “I came back for you.” Her confession sends heat through me, tingling down my spine.

  Five words. My resolve cracks. My heart stutters. The ache in my chest turns to a tightening emotion, clawing its way up to my throat, thickening. It threatens to choke me. To kill me, because I watch the woman who has my heart in her hands crying.

  “Why?” The word falls from my lips before I have time to comprehend what this means. Why she came back. She should’ve stayed away. She knows I’m bad for her. That’s what she told me. “I’m not good for you, Peyton. You have to stay away from me.”

  “I tried,” she whispers with sadness hanging on every word.

  “What?” I sound idiotic. One-word questions, but I feel as if fate is playing a cruel joke on me. “I mean, what do you mean?”

  “I tried staying away, but what you said about us . . .” Her words trail off, and I recall our last conversation. I remember the moment I realized I loved her. When I told her three words I vowed never to say to anyone, and she turned away. I didn’t blame her. “But you seem to be busy with your friends in there,” she bites out, fire burning in her eyes.

  Is it bad that I love when she’s angry? When all her anger is racing through her like a wildfire, threatening to take me out in its heated blaze?

  “That,” I gesture toward the door, realizing it might seem as if I’d moved on, but I didn’t. I could never replace Peyton. “That’s nothing. I needed to forget you, and I tried. Fuck, I tried.” I reach for her, but she pushes me away, shoving me backward.

  “Don’t. I came here because I love you, Carrick, not to watch you fuck other women.” The venom in her voice is blazing hot, molten lava dripping over my heart. She prods my chest, causing me to retreat against the wall. I allow her to continue her tirade. Watching in awe as my woman fights me. “You didn’t need me ten minutes ago when you were watching them fuck each other,” she grits out through clenched teeth, her eyes are filled with fire. “I’m not a fucking toy, Carrick. I’m yours. Do you understand what I gave you?” Her voice rises, and I can’t take it anymore. “Fuck you, Carrick Anderson. Fuck you and your—”

  Gripping her shoulders, I spin her around and pin her against the wall. She fights against me, pushing and clawing at me, but I don’t allow her to move. “You will stop this, right fucking now. Do you understand me, Kitten?”

  “Let me go!”

  “No, not until you stop fighting me,” I inform her, my lips brushing along the lobe of her ear. She sighs, but I don’t let her go. My hands trail down her arms. Finding her hips, I hold her steady and press my erection against her ass. “You feel that, baby? That’s yours. Every part of me is yours. I do love you, Peyton.”

  “Let go of me, Carrick, or I swear to god, I will knee you in the balls when I turn around.” Her threat causes me to chuckle, but I let her breathe. Stepping back, I watch as she turns to face me.

  “If I ever, and I mean ever, see you near another woman again—”

  “There will never be another woman. Because you’re the only one I want.”

  “So, they didn’t get you hard?” she quips with a bite of jealousy and anger twirling side by side, her chin gesturing to the door that’s still closed.

  “No. I was stroking my cock imagining how good you’d look being eaten out by another girl. I was picturing you bound to that bed while both women pleasured you. But as soon as I wanted to touch them, it was you who I wanted in there with me, taking my cock like you were made to. Peyton, I love you. I need you to understand that.”

  She nods. Her face a picture of happiness. She tangles her fingers in mine, tugging me toward the club. I’m about to protest when she turns toward the stairs, taking them two at a time. I’m not sure what she’s doing, but I follow. Like a man lost at sea, I allow her light to guide me as if she’s my lighthouse in the dark.

  We reach my office, and she shoves the door open.

  “Peyton,” I whisper her name with confusion in my tone. I watch in awe as she slips the slinky straps of the pink dress she’s wearing over her shoulders. It pools to the floor, and my breath catches in my throat.

  Her lace underwear is see-through. There’s a small tattoo above the waistline of her panties. She smiles when she looks down, her fingers tracing the letters reverently. Then, she kneels. She drops down, her thighs parted slightly. Her hands, palms up holding onto my favorite paddle. I’ve not used it on her yet, but this is her, submitting, giving me her all.

  “Eyes up,” I command, watching her raise her chin. “You got a tattoo without my permission?” I question. Her eyes widen in shock. She didn’t realize that all permanent changes to her body are my decision to make.

  “I-I . . .” She shakes her head. “I thought you’d like it.” Her tentative voice is filled with confusion. She’s pleased me more than she can ever know. But I like to test her. To see how far she’s willing to go. If ever I see an ounce of real fear in her eyes, I’ll stop. But for now, we’re playing.

  “It does please me that you wear my brand, Kitten,” I confirm, watching her body sag in relief. “However, there’s a time and place where you need to ask permission. Tell me, is this it? We’re doing this?” I’m unsure of myself. For the first time in a long while, I feel excited by the prospect of finding a long-term sub, but also, I know I’ll fuck up more times than I can count, and I need her to stay beside me. Not run and hide.

  “I’m giving you me, Sir. I want this. I want you. I ran because I was afraid that I couldn’t ever live up to her memory. There was pain in my heart that I couldn’t deal with while you were around. I thought that each time you look at me, fuck me, spank me, you’re wishing I was her. And it hurt.”

  Her words are honest, raw, dripping with every emotion under the sun, and I know I am to blame. I didn’t explain myself to her the first time. I should’ve given her more of who I was in the beginning rather than hiding.

  “You are mine now, Peyton,” I growl, low and feral. I
t’s a commanding confirmation.

  “Yes, I am. But I need your honesty as much as you need mine, Sir,” she bites back.

  “You will have it,” I affirm with confidence. I’m tired of us being apart when we were always meant to be together. I was just too blind to see it. It’s time we make things right. It’s time to finally admit how we really feel for each other. And I may not have a collar for her yet, but soon, I’ll put one around her neck and properly claim her.

  My mind is awash with things I want to do to her right now. To hurt her, make her cry with pleasure, to fuck her until she’s limp from orgasms. She’d look beautiful wearing my welts. But it’s the tattoo she has on her left hip that makes me smile. I can’t wait to see her wearing my ring and my collar.

  I don’t want to play here, so I scoop her up and walk her up to my apartment.

  Where she belongs.

  22

  Peyton

  He sets me down on the sofa, his eyes boring into me as if I’m naked before him. I always feel exposed with him looking at me like that. I’m open to him. My chest is cracked wide, and I allow him to see me. My pain. My fear. And the anxiety of everything that’s hit me the past few weeks.

  We sit in silence for a while as if we’re both waiting for the other person to speak first. Perhaps I want him to confess the pain he lived with while I was gone. Maybe I want to tell him how much I wanted to run into his arms. Or even the moment I saw him in the room with two other women, how the anger had erupted from me, but I don’t tell him because all I want is for this to stop.

  I want our stupid decisions to stop and for us to finally get back on the right path. Back to each other where we are meant to be. His fingers reach for mine as he takes my hand, brings it to his mouth, and presses kisses to my knuckles, then my palms. He takes his time. His lips feather over my wrists, up my arms, until he reaches my shoulders.