Union of Sin

by Eden Summers

  But he’d started this for a reason. He still needed answers. Sleeping at night wouldn’t be an option if he didn’t find out when she’d been here and what she’d done. He pulled back, waited until her eyes blinked open, before he wove her hair around his fist, making it impossible for her to move. “I need to know.”

  “And I need you.” She trailed her fingertips down his chest, over his stomach to the crotch of his pants. Her hand palmed his cock, releasing a needy little moan as she did it.

  He snarled, hating how weak she made him, fighting the burn of attraction as she nuzzled her nose against his. “Tell me.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer he knew wasn’t coming. Instead, he smashed his mouth against hers and gripped the back of her head to hold her tightly. He parted her lips with his tongue and ground his erection into her He could feel her everywhere—against his chest, in his mind, through his soul.

  “Tell me,” he demanded into her mouth.

  She whimpered, her body going languid against him. Her lips were the most delicate silk, her scent an intoxicating blend of everything sweet and vulnerable in the world. She gripped his shirt and pulled it from his waistband, brushing her fingers against his skin like a branding iron.

  His need for answers became lost in the urgency to have her. Twelve months, he kept repeating to himself. He’d done without this for twelve months. How had he lived? How had he breathed?

  He lifted her, placed her on the clean sheets of the bed in the middle of the room and then strode for the door, slamming it shut with a hard shove of his trembling hand.

  When he turned to her, she was on her back, resting against her elbows, her body a vision he’d been starved of. He wanted to make it right, to turn off the fluorescent lights and bathe her in the warm glow of the lamp, but this wasn’t about setting a mood or deepening her already infallible appeal. This was about finding answers. It was. It really, really was. If only he could focus.

  He stormed for her, not stopping until his knees hit the mattress, jolting the bed frame. “Tell me,” he demanded. “When were you here?”

  She frowned, breaking the glazed look of arousal. “I guess this was a mistake.” She pushed to a seated position, her body turning briefly to the opposite side of the bed in an attempt to flee.

  Like hell. He lunged for her, caught her around the waist and dragged her back to the center of the mattress. When he released her this time, something new twinkled in her eyes. Something fierce and deliciously naughty. Something he’d never seen from Cass before.

  He lunged for her again, this time her mouth, slamming his lips into hers with enough force to steal the breath from her lungs. She clung to him, digging her fingertips into his shoulders, running a hand through his hair. He was lost, delirious, inching closer to being sated.

  He parted her legs with a shove of his knee and sank his body between her thighs, pinning her to the bed. She didn’t protest, didn’t deny him, yet when he pulled back, the look she gave him was lethal. A warning he was sure he’d regret not adhering to in the near future.

  With his pelvis holding down her lower body, he reached for the bedside dresser and removed a scarf from the drawer. She licked her lips as he slanted over her, her gaze tracing his movements as he tied her left and then her right wrist to the wrought-iron bedhead.

  She was a sight. Splayed for his gratification. A goddess at his mercy. Exquisite. All he needed was her clothes on the floor and her legs parted with restraints, then she would be perfect.

  He cascaded one hand over her body—down her arm, over the curves of her breasts to the softness of her waist. “I could touch you for hours.”

  She bucked her hips, pulsing her abdomen into him, making his fingers itch to go lower. “Yet you haven’t in months.”

  He ignored her, unable to give her an answer that wouldn’t incite self-loathing. He’d vowed to stay away, to let her move on. More importantly, he’d promised himself not to succumb to his desires, not wanting to give her hope… And now look where he was.

  Fuck. He needed to get out of here. Now. “When were you here, Cass?”

  She whimpered, undulating her hips against his. “Kiss me.” Her voice was breathy—a seductive plea.

  He lowered his head to her neck, hiding his pain from view. There was no doubt she thought this was about lust, and, yes, he was burning to have her. But what kept him here was fear. The panic that she was curious enough to attend a sex club without him. That she could walk into another predator’s trap in the future if he wasn’t there to look after her. And it was jealousy too. So much goddamn jealousy he wanted to cry out at the pain of it.

  There was no other man for her. There couldn’t be.

  Not now. Not ever.

  He brushed his mouth against her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Each touch resulted in a tiny whimper from her lips, and a harsh pulse of blood to his cock. “I suppose I can’t blame you for your curiosity,” he murmured in between delicate kisses. “I’m just disappointed I wasn’t here to witness the first time you came to the Vault.”

  Devastated was more accurate.

  Her eyes were closed, her hands gripping the scarf woven around her palms. He licked the seam of her lips, teased her tongue with his own. She was so receptive, her body rising to meet the glide of his hand as it travelled lower, over her thigh to the hem of her short skirt.

  He didn’t want to go this far. He’d die a million deaths getting over this. Only she felt too good. Too right.

  “God, how I’ve missed this body.” He hadn’t meant to say it aloud. Her curves did crazy things to him. She was the perfect fit, a flawless woman in every sense of the word. He closed his eyes as the tips of his fingers reached her panties, the heat of her sex so close to his touch. “Tell me, gorgeous. Did you come here to see me?”

  She whimpered again, this time tilting her head to demand a kiss he wouldn’t give.

  “You can tell me.” He was struggling to find the strength to speak. The power to stop. He wanted to shuck his pants and drive into her, knowing full well her pussy would be dripping wet for him.

  “Yes.” She nodded, straining against her restraints. “I was here.”

  He froze, every nerve tense, every muscle taut. “When?” He spoke even though his throat threatened to close over.

  “Does it matter?” she panted.

  He growled, his frustration barely contained. The tips of his fingers ran through the brief patch of hair at the apex of her thighs, his touch stopping on the swollen nub just beneath. “Everything matters,” he grated into her ear. “Tell me everything.”

  She shook her head, her hands pulling tighter against the scarf.

  He flicked her clit, once, twice, gaining sadistic satisfaction every time she whimpered. The need for her ran heavy through his veins, pulsing with undeniable intent. He had to pleasure her. To bring her to climax like he had so many times before.

  “I was here last week.”

  He stopped breathing. His vision blurred. “At the masquerade party?”

  She mewled, nodding.

  Vertigo assailed him, and he sank the arm he rested on deeper into the bed to keep him stable while his fingers clung to the sheet. He forced his other hand to continue stroking her clit, denying himself the need to flee before he knew every little detail.

  “Were you with someone?”

  She opened her eyes, the arousal flickering under the scrutiny of her narrowed gaze. “Yes.” The word was emphatic, confident, shooting an arrow through his chest.

  “Tell me who, Cass.” He couldn’t control the steel in his tone. He would kill the man. Maim him, at the very least. “Who were you with?”

  Her features softened, the caring, sweet woman he knew came shining through. She leaned forward, then fell back and huffed in frustration over the restraints. She snaked out her tongue, moistening kiss-darkened lips. “I was
with the man I love.”

  Fuck. Her words were like dynamite, blowing him to pieces. He slid back, moving from the bed, unwilling to believe what her words implied.

  “I was with you,” she continued.

  “No.” His heart pumped at the speed of a freight train. His mind flashed images with vivid clarity. The new member—the woman with black hair and brown eyes. Jesus Christ. She’d gone to a lot of trouble to trick him.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “You kissed me, T.J. You were attracted to me.”

  Fucking hell. He’d died ten times over from guilt because of her. Yet he’d known. Somehow. There was no way he could’ve kissed someone else. His subconscious had known it was her. Even under the disguise.

  “I knew you still loved me,” she announced with conviction. “Thursday night was proof of that. You couldn’t resist. Just like you can’t now. We weren’t meant to be apart, T.J.”

  He ignored her, wiping a hand down his face as he began to pace. “How did you get in?”

  She tugged at her restraints and huffed. “Can you untie me?”

  “How, Cassie?”

  She flopped back against the pillows. “Fake ID.”

  He stopped pacing, nodded and succumbed to defeat. He’d received the answers he needed to sleep at night. He’d also received a reprieve from a small part of his guilt. It was now time to leave.

  He strode for the head of the bed, focusing on her restraints instead of the glimmer of hope in her eyes. He was a fucking bastard. A coward, like she’d accused earlier. He leaned down and kissed the smooth skin of her wrist, right above the scarf.

  “I know you still love me.” She reached for his face.

  He pulled away, unable to withstand the affection in her touch. This was it. The final blow that would make her stop doubting that their marriage was over. He needed to convince her to move on. And unfortunately, he knew exactly how to do it.

  “The affect you had was desire.” He straightened to his full height, glancing down at her with what he hoped was a convincing look of pity. “Nothing more.”

  The lie stung, and each word he spoke crumpled her determined features into a mass of heart-wrenching anguish.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  A part of him cheered that she knew him so well. The rest of him died under the need to push harder. He shrugged, giving her a look that belied the guilt assailing him. “I’m not going to waste time mourning our marriage. I’m moving on. I suggest you do the same.”

  Her face paled, the final blow hitting its mark. He turned, unable to see her like this. Unable to withstand it when he was the one tearing her apart. He strode for the door, each step away from her bringing more agony.

  She wouldn’t recover from this. He knew it, because he wouldn’t recover either.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “T.J.!” Cassie screamed at the door her husband had closed behind him and sank back into the pillows. Humiliation assailed her, dragging tears from her eyes to trail down the side of her face.

  He wasn’t coming back to untie her.

  She was alone. Sobbing. Trying in vain to fight herself free of the silk scarf he’d tied her hands in. Her skin already burned from the friction, and the pain came nowhere near what she felt inside her chest.

  The far-off beat of footsteps approached, the click of a door releasing and the squeak as it was pushed open an inch.

  “T.J.?”

  “You decent?” Brute. Perfect. Her night couldn’t get any worse.

  “Not really,” she muttered. Her nose was a running mess, her skirt raised to her hips, displaying her silken underwear. The only saving grace was the panties that covered her intimate parts…the same parts that still throbbed from her husband’s touch.

  He’d never had a problem arousing her. He’d always made it his mission to make her come before him. Usually more than once. So walking away while she was wild with need was a sign she finally needed to sit back and listen to. Her husband was gone, and the man who’d taken his place wasn’t afraid of making her feel worthless and dirty.

  “Too bad.” Brute shoved into the room, his features schooled, not showing shock or disgust at how she was tied to the bed, her cheeks tear-streaked, her clothes and hair disheveled. “Looks like you had fun.”

  She glared at him as he came to the side of the bed and untangled the scarf on her right wrist. “Yeah,” she grated. “It’s like fucking Disneyland in here.”

  He paused, at her uncharacteristically bad language or the crack in her voice, she wasn’t sure. Her wrist fell free with the release of the material and she looked to the far side of the room, unable to stand his impassive scrutiny.

  “You took a risk by pushing him.” Brute made his way to the other side of the bed. “Unfortunately, it backfired.”

  She glared straight ahead, tugged down the hem of her skirt with one hand while he approached her other wrist.

  “Are you going to give up now? I assume it would be better to maintain some sort of friendship, or whatever you normal people have, instead of being unable to communicate at all.”

  Neither option had been acceptable before she’d come downstairs. Now she wasn’t sure if never seeing T.J. again was such a bad idea. He’d tainted memories she’d never thought could be spoiled. He was not only destroying their future, he was contaminating their past.

  “I couldn’t believe he’d give up on us.” She wiggled her wrist free as he loosened the scarf. “I had to fight for what we had.”

  He inclined his head, his expression devoid of care. She would’ve denied he had compassion at all if it wasn’t for the cotton handkerchief he pulled from his trouser pocket and thrust in her direction.

  She blew her nose and dabbed at her cheeks. “I was here the night of the masquerade party. He kissed me.”

  “You think I didn’t know you were here?” He gave a harsh laugh. “Nobody passes through those doors without me knowing. Although, you did a good job on the fake ID, I wasn’t entirely convinced it was you until you showed up.”

  “You knew?” Her voice rose. “Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell T.J.?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t my place to do so. You obviously went to great lengths to gain entry to the club, and I had no doubt it was to try to win him back. And besides, I wanted to see if you had the balls to show up. I never thought you were the devious type.”

  He settled onto the bed at her side, reached for her with a furrowed brow and swept the tear-soaked hair from her cheek, as if the gentle gesture was foreign. “He doesn’t want to hurt you.” The words were barely audible, barely believable from such a harsh man. “We all know that. This is his way of protecting you. Let him. That’s all he has left.”

  She growled and pulled away from his touch. “Protecting me from what?”

  “The past.” His lips tilted. “The present.” His grin increased. “The future.”

  “Is this a game to you?” she snapped, sliding from the bed.

  “No.” He stood, facing her from the far side of the mattress. “Kinda feels like I’m in an X-rated soap opera, though.”

  She scowled, seeing his actions for what they were—a diversion. He’d shown too much sympathy, and now he was making up for it by being an asshole. Hiding the softer side of himself in an effort to protect his vulnerability.

  “I feel sorry for you.” She did. She really did. He was cold. Heartless. Lacking the ability to step out on a limb because he was too scared to be hurt. “You must be lonely.”

  “Lonely? Why? I have everything I need—money, prestige and innumerable women at my disposal.”

  “You don’t have love.”

  He scoffed. “Does it even exist?”

  It was her turn to look at him with pity. “Sure it does. I should know. I experienced it with T.J. for years.”

  She g
ave him a sad smile in farewell and then strode for the door. Once she reached the threshold, she paused, realizing she was unable to leave without making her way back up those stairs toward her husband.

  “Need me to get something for you?” Brute spoke over her shoulder.

  She sagged and nodded. She needed to leave out the back entrance. To scamper away like the dirty vermin T.J. had made her feel like. “Please,” she murmured. “My purse and keys are under the main bar.”

  Brute squeezed past her, doing her bidding without a falter in his step. He was probably happy to see the back of her too. The secured door clunked in the distance, cocooning her in silence. She sucked in a breath, waiting, the minutes ticking by like slow, dreary days. She memorized her surroundings, strolling around the furniture, brushing her fingers along the sofa backs.

  She refused to glance toward the mirror behind the bar. Her reflection would tell her what her aching heart already knew—it was over. There was no more will to fight. All hope was lost.

  In a few weeks, she would be single. Alone. Broken. As if she could shatter any more than she already had.

  The swoosh of the door opening startled her, and she made her way toward the newbie area.

  “This it?” Brute asked, holding out her purse and keys.

  “Yeah.” She nodded, taking her belongings from his hand before wrapping her arms around her chest. “I guess this is goodbye.”

  He pressed his lips together, the harshness of his features becoming more sterile as he frowned down at her. “I guess so.”

  She held in a caustic laugh and turned on her heel. A Shot of Sin had been a big part of her marriage when it first opened. Now it would be a memory. A brief flicker of remembrance.

  “Cass, wait.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, to the steely expression that hadn’t faltered. The only difference was Brute’s stance, his arms were raised, held open in front of him.

  She pivoted back to him, frowning.