The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers Book 1) by Heather C. Leigh
I followed him into the elevator and breathed. This was really happening. My pulse was brisk, but I wasn't frightened. Something about the man at my side kept me calm. Like his very presence soothed my nerves. Seb made it easy to do what felt right, even as my brain shouted at the top of its lungs that it was inherently wrong.
The door beeped as it unlocked and Seb held it open for me to enter first.
“Nice.” I glanced around the large room to mask my anxiety. It was the same hotel Rocco and I were living in until we found something more permanent, so I knew what to expect. While Seb didn't have a suite—because, let’s be real, why bother for a booty call—the room had the same inviting décor as ours, done in cool shades of blue and grey. My gaze locked onto the king-sized bed, with its fluffy white duvet and piles of thick pillows. I gulped.
“Drink?”
I tore my gaze from the bed to find Seb standing by a small bar in a corner of the room, a decanter of amber liquid in his hand. I knew he wasn't interested in drinking. He was giving me a chance to relax.
I shook my head. No way did I want my senses compromised. Not because I thought he’d take advantage of me, but because I wanted to remember every single second of whatever happened next. Sear the images onto my brain so I could recall them any time I chose.
Seb’s mischievous smile returned. It’s amazing how the one tiny action sparked every nerve ending in my body. Little electric jolts crackled and snapped, sending a flush of heat from the top of my scalp to the soles of my feet. He took a step toward me and my breath hitched.
Nervous? Yep. But mostly, I was exhilarated. Being on the receiving end of the gorgeous, dangerous man’s focused attention was completely addictive and entirely too arousing.
Seb stopped in front of me, eyes searching my face for a brief moment before he lifted his hands to cup my cheeks. His fingers were so long they curved all the way around the back of my head. He leaned in and pressed his lips to mine. When our mouths connected, it felt like a pile of TNT detonated. Instantly, I went up in flames, from passive observer to active participant in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, I couldn't get enough of him. I shoved my greedy hands under his jacket and swept them up his sides, then gasped at the rock-hard muscles that shifted beneath my palms.
That gasp gave Seb the opening he needed, and likely never one to miss an opportunity, he took full advantage. When my lips parted, Seb thrust his hot, slick tongue into my mouth, devouring as much as he could get. He tasted amazing, dark and sinful, and wholly masculine. I couldn’t believe it. Sebastien St. Clair, object of most of my fantasies over the last year and a half or so, was kissing me, Kylie Calloway.
At some point Seb’s hands wandered, because he was kneading my backside in a sensual massage. He used a firm grip and tugged me forward until our bodies collided. The hard ridge of his erection dug into my hip and Seb groaned into my mouth. The vibrations traveled straight between my thighs. Knowing I was the one who got the infamous Sebastien St. Clair, the “bad boy” of hockey, all worked up and growly and desperate, was so erotic I was shaking.
I clawed at his clothing, trying to push his jacket over his shoulders, but Seb wouldn't let go of my ass long enough for me to succeed. When he tore his mouth away, I whined. Literally whined. I should have been humiliated, not just for sounding so pathetic, but because after one—granted, smoking hot—kiss and two minutes of dry humping, Sebastien reduced me to a trembling, needy mess. Good thing in the heat of the moment, I couldn't have cared less what he thought. In the bar less than an hour ago, I said I wouldn’t, but honest to god, I was ready to beg if that was what it took to get Seb naked.
“Strip.”
I blinked at the command. He wanted me to…?
“S-strip? You… you want me to, ummm, strip?”
I might have been willing to beg, but putting on a show was a whole different disaster in the making considering I was about as graceful as a baby giraffe on ice skates.
Sebastien's eyes darkened and he licked his swollen lips. “Yes.” He let go of me and sat on the edge of the bed, expectant.
Oh my god. I could be persuaded to do a lot of things, but not that.
I opened my mouth to say no and my throat practically closed up. Dress shirt wrinkled, tie loose and tugged haphazardly to the side, hair mussed—Sebastien St. Clair was a sight to behold. His cheeks were flushed and his full lips were all puffy and red from kissing me. He looked like pure sin. And as tempting as he was, it wasn’t his physical beauty that did it for me. No, it was the look in his eyes that had me saying, “Yes.” The man was so turned on, the black of his pupils eclipsed the bright blue.
The fact that I, Kylie Calloway, a girl who scurried away like a coward when faced with having sex with the lowly Grant Pierce, could affect a man like Sebastien St. Clair, that was the rush I was after, and it gave me the confidence to do what he asked.
I ran my fingers along the waistband of my jeans flicked open the button. “Like this?” Sebastien made a strangled sound and I preened at the response. As I lowered the zipper, I pulled my lower lip between my teeth and sucked.
“Mon dieu, oui. Just like that,” he whispered, his breaths coming fast and hard. Sebastien’s glorious chest heaved up and down, causing the buttons of his shirt to strain. “Tu est parfait.”
I didn’t know French, but he could have made a comment on the weather and I’d have been turned on.
Ignoring my zipper, I reached for the hem of my shirt. Sebastien's eyelids were half-closed, and he licked his lips like he couldn’t wait to get a taste. He reclined on the bed, upper body propped on one elbow as he massaged the straining bulge through his pants. I inched my shirt to expose the taut skin of my abdomen a sliver at a time. As I pulled it over my head, I heard a low growl. Large hands grasped my waist and I squealed as I was tossed onto the bed.
I bounced on the mattress and was divested of my shirt before I reacted. I blinked twice to regain my bearings and found Sebastien already kneeling between my splayed legs. His jacket was gone and his shirt halfway undone. Face-to-face with his perfect, rippling six pack, I could only gawk. Seb chuckled and I glanced up. He froze, mid-unbutton, his eyes burning with need.
“Sorry, I changed my mind about the show.”
I had no response. My brain short-circuited. I couldn’t think. Not with Seb’s shirt hanging open, exposing the most exquisite torso I'd ever laid eyes on. Wide, sculpted pecs that were surprisingly smooth, with only a tiny amount of dark hair sprinkled in the center, topped a set of abs cut with so many grooves and ridges it would take a week to explore them all… preferably with my tongue.
“You going to help me out, or just lie there?” I tore my gaze from his mouthwatering body to look at Seb’s face. He smirked and gestured toward my jeans. “Take them off.” His fingers continued to work on removing his own clothes. Seb unbuckled his belt and the clang of metal made me flinch. Seb shucked his pants and waited for me to obey the command.
Yes, sir.
I couldn't move fast enough. Unfortunately, skinny jeans cannot be removed quickly. It took a bit of maneuvering, but after the most frustrating fifteen-seconds of my life, I finally kicked them free. I turned back to Seb and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from pouncing on him like an animal. Stripped down to only a pair of charcoal gray boxer briefs and a rosy flush that stained his neck and upper chest, Seb was without a doubt the most stunning human being alive.
Once I was down to a matching lacy black bra and panties—thank you Jesus for reminding me to do laundry yesterday—Sebastien lunged. In one swoop, he gathered my wrists in one of his huge hands, maneuvered them over my head, and held them there, using his body to press me into the mattress. He was no lightweight. I was trapped beneath him with no way to escape. And I loved it. The walls of my pussy clenched around nothing but empty space and I whined with need. Desperate, I lifted my hips to get some friction.
“Ah, ah, ah. No moving,” Seb chastised. I stared into his eyes, and wondered what he saw
Was it possible he shared my darkest fantasy? The carnal look on Seb’s face said yes, so I pushed every ounce of embarrassment aside, and for the first time in my life, confessed my desires to another person.
“Y-yes. I like being held down. I mean, I like having you hold me down,” I clarified, because, let’s be honest, I’d never been held down. Seb’s eyes flashed hungrily and another wave lust crashed over me. I had to concentrate not to arch off the bed or rub up against him like a dog in heat.
“Can I tie you up?” Seb thrust his hips down, finally pressing his hard, thick length where I needed it most. Of course, Seb knew what I wanted and ground his hips in teasing little circles, enough to drive me crazy, but not to get me off.
A plaintive wail escaped before I could stop it. Oh god. I did want him to tie me up. So much. But… I didn’t really know him. Being rendered vulnerable sounded good in the recesses of my fantasies, but to do it for real? The thought was daunting. I chickened out with Grant Pierce, afraid of being helpless. Only, I wasn’t afraid of Sebastien St. Clair. For whatever reason, I trusted him.
I gave a sharp nod. “You can tie my hands together. That’s it. Not my feet, and not to the headboard.”
Baby steps.
Seb grinned. “Couldn’t do that even if I wanted to.” He winked and once again, ground his cotton-clad erection between my thighs, driving me wild. I thrashed beneath him as pleasure rippled through me. “Which I do. God, I really do. Too bad the headboard is solid and mounted to the wall. There’s nothing to tie you to.”
Oh.
Without letting go of my wrists, Sebastien groped behind himself with his free hand. He found what he wanted and brought it around where I could see it. My nostrils flared.
His tie.
“Now,” he said, his voice so sexy and deep, he may as well have reached down and caressed my wet slit with his fingers. “You’re going to be good while I do this.” Slowly, building up my excitement until I was practically shaking with desire, Seb wrapped the silky material around my wrists. “I won’t make it too tight, that way you’ll be able to get free if you need to.” The swish of the fabric sliding against itself as he tied the knot added to the erotic atmosphere. “There.” Seb tugged on one end and sat back on his haunches to inspect his work. His pupils grew as his gaze flicked up and down. “Fuck, you’re even hotter than I ever could have imagined.”
By that point, my attention had fixated on Seb’s body, taking in every last dip and curve. I was too busy studying the flex and ripple of muscles beneath smooth, tan skin, and the tantalizing trail of dark hair that disappeared under the band of his boxer briefs, to notice the way he was staring at me. Until, that is, I finished my perusal and glanced up. He stole the breath out of my lungs.
No man ever looked at me the way Sebastien St. Clair did. Like he wanted to devour me whole. Like he had so many delicious options spread out in front of him, he couldn’t decide where to start. The ensuing blush burned all the way to my ears. I squirmed and rubbed my thighs together, horny, wet, and beyond ready.
Seb shuffled back and placed his hands on my ankles. He took his time torturing me, sliding his palms up my legs inch by inch. I couldn’t take my eyes off of him and held my body perfectly still as I waited to see what he would do next. When he neared the place I so desperately wanted him to touch, the bastard skipped over it, instead shifting up to caress my ribs. When he reached my shoulders, Seb straddled my hips. The pressure felt good, but wasn’t nearly enough. He knew that, of course, and that crooked, handsome smirk came out to play. In an unexpected move, Seb stuck his index fingers in the cups of my bra and yanked them down, hooking the material beneath my exposed breasts.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn gorgeous.”
With him sitting on my hips, looking but not touching, I was beyond desperate, ready to beg for something… anything, to ease the pressure that throbbed between my thighs. He cupped my breasts and gently kneaded them. The callouses on his hands provided an amazing sensation, rough and abrasive against my delicate skin. Watching my reactions carefully, Seb rolled my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. I was never much for nipple play, as it didn’t really do it for me. But when Seb gave the tender buds a firm twist, my hips flew off the bed and I nearly came.
“Yessss…” I hissed.
“Too hard?”
I stared up at my smoking hot, slightly deviant, sexy as hell bed partner through hooded lids. After licking my parched lips, I shook my head and admitted what I wanted.
“Harder.”
Seb’s expression transformed from turned on to wicked. He looked like a man who just received the best present of his life. Blue eyes glittered with an almost sadistic glee.
Seb did as requested and pinched my nipples with more force and twisted them. I screamed in ecstasy as my pussy spasmed. The orgasm took both of us by surprise. Seb grinned as I writhed and moaned and wriggled beneath him. By the time the final shudder ran through me, I lay on the bed, sweaty and panting,
“Oh baby, you and I are going to have so much fun.”
Seb
I had to be the luckiest bastard in the world. Not only did I have the sexiest woman I'd ever seen in my bed, but she was my perfect complement. Hands above her head, bound together with my tie, breasts exposed and trussed up by her own bra, and only a tiny scrap of black lace between me and her pussy, Kylie was my ultimate wet dream.
Her body was a work of art. But not one of those fussy, snobby paintings. More real. She was meant to be touched, played with, roughed up and used. Not kept on a shelf behind glass. All those sleek muscles and pale skin were the perfect complement to her swollen lips and her raw, red nipples.
I dared to hope Kylie was into the same kind of shit as me, not that it mattered. The woman was so damn hot I would have gladly fucked her even if she said hell no to being tied up. But she didn't say no. She said yes. Then she climaxed just from having her nipples abused. That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Kylie could easily become an addiction. A complication. One I didn't need.
You have a hot, kinky, half-naked woman in your bed panting for you to fuck her, you idiot. Worry about all that other shit later.
A light sheen of sweat glistened on Kylie’s chest and her breaths were hard and fast as she came down from her orgasm.
“Fuuuck. That’s so hot,” I said as I trailed my fingertips down her arms. She wiggled and goose bumps broke out on her skin.
“That tickles.”
I shifted and flexed my abs, pleased when her gaze lasered in on them. “And you don't want to be tickled, do you?” I didn’t give her time to answer. “No, you don’t. You want something a little harsher.” Already flushed from coming, Kylie’s cheeks grew even redder. She glanced away, unable to look at me. I grabbed her chin and tugged until she had no other choice. “You do, don't you? You want me to hurt you.” I waited, but she said nothing. Impatient, I huffed. “I need you to tell me, Kylie, otherwise I won’t do it. I have to be sure you want it.”
Lips parted and eyes clouded with lust, Kylie nodded.
“Say it. Out loud.”
She squirmed, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I want that. I want you to…” She swallowed. “To hurt me, just a little.”
A little. A lot. I didn’t care and neither did my neglected cock, which throbbed at her admission. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to get some friction on it or I’d go insane. I shifted until I lay completely on top of her, our bodies pressed together from chest to toes. In what must be a nervous gesture, she licked those thick, cock-sucking lips again. If only she knew how every tim
I wanted to linger on her breasts. See if I could make her come again by sucking and biting them, but I had a bigger goal in mind, and refused to be sidetracked. Kissing along her abdomen, I paused to lap at her belly button.
Kylie bucked and thrashed, and not in a good way. Her breath caught as she squealed, “Stop it.”
I grinned against her skin. “You're ticklish here too?”
Kylie sounded wrecked, her voice pure sex. “Y-yes. And I don't…ahhhhh, like it.”
I stopped what I was doing and met her gaze. Christ, Kylie had no fucking clue how stunning she looked, especially writhing at the receiving end of my tongue. Her pupils were blown and she had her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
“I didn’t think so,” I said. “You prefer the bite of pain.”
She surprised me by admitting it without hesitating. “Yes.”
Fuck, I had to have more. Needed to know everything Kylie liked, everything she craved, fulfill her darkest desires, leave no inch of skin unexplored. Make her scream until she was hoarse then make her beg until she cried for more. Then, when she was tapped out emotionally and physically, I wanted to start all over again.
I moved lower, my mouth hovering over her lace-clad pussy.
“Pleasure before pain,” I said with a smile.
“Oh god,” she whispered. Unable to stay still, Kylie wiggled her hips.
“Don’t move.”
She stilled, but I could tell she struggled to comply. Going by her heavy panting, Kylie really wanted what I was offering, which made me smile. I gripped either side of her hips and pressed them into the mattress, then exhaled over the damp fabric.