The Sinner (The St. Clair Brothers Book 1) by Heather C. Leigh
I moved faster, but never tore my gaze from Kylie's dark eyes. Her pupils grew so large I no longer saw the beautiful golden brown. Sweat dripped down my back and rivulets trickled down my chest. I braced my feet as liquid heat coiled at the base of my spine. No way could I last much longer, but I’d be damned if Kylie didn’t come first.
Snarling, I pressed closer and flattened Kylie against the wall, using my pecs to pin her in place. The added support allowed me to hold most of her weight in one-hand. I slid my other hand up and lightly wrapped my fingers around Kylie’s delicate throat. She cried out and her eyes misted over.
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit…
I gasped and my sack scrunched up tight. Kylie fucking liked my hand around her throat. I squeezed, not a lot, just enough for her to get a taste of my strength. A small bite of pain and an intoxicating rush of fear. Enough to let her know how easily I could cut off her air supply.
Kylie’s mouth fell open and her eyes glazed over with lust. She made no move to stop me or tell me to move my hand. I applied a little more pressure and those gorgeous eyes rolled back in her head. Sweet baby Jesus. She didn’t like it, she fucking loved it. Every last depraved thing I did to her, she loved. Kylie shook and trembled and let out a long wail, the perfect accompaniment to the slapping of our skin as I continued to take her apart.
Kylie let out a loud, erratic gasp that ended when every muscle in her body clenched tight. Her pussy clamped down, a scorching hot vice around my cock. She shuddered violently, threw her head back, and screamed.
“Ohmygod, Seb… Seb, oh god. Yes, yes!”
“Oh, fuck!” Her pussy gripped my cock like an iron fist, squeezing so hard it ripped the orgasm right from my balls. I came so forcefully I struggled to stay upright as I shot jet after jet after jet, the pleasure unyielding. Legs quaking, I pumped in and out a few more times to drag out the ecstasy. One final thrust, and the shout that burst from me was loud enough to shake the light fixtures.
I buckled against Kylie and let the buzz from the high of great sex hum through my veins. She didn’t complain. Probably couldn’t. I figured she screamed herself hoarse. We stayed that way for several minutes, me holding her against the wall—or the wall holding both of us—my softening cock still buried inside her. I was too sweaty and exhausted to attempt to move, and more than a little worried my legs would give out and we’d both end up on the floor with his and hers bruised tailbones. Seemingly content while she caught her breath, Kylie went limp in my arms.
Like everything else, all good things eventually came to an end. My dick slipped out, and Kylie hissed. She unwound her legs to gingerly place her feet on the floor. I didn't remove my hands right away, afraid she might be unsteady.
See? I can be a gentleman.
"I'm good." Kylie’s voice had a rough, sexy rasp, and she licked her lips. She looked at me and grinned. "Really good."
Really good?
Taken aback, I took a minute and gaped like an utter asshole. Kylie never ceased to amaze me. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t insulted, in fact, it was the opposite. I just had what I can definitively say was the best sex of my life and, unlike most women—scratch that, every woman—I’d been with, Kylie wasn’t acting all clingy or demanding or whiny. She wasn’t insisting we snuggle or make plans for the following day.
No, Kylie smiled and laughed; effectively shattering the stereotype that women believed fucking equals commitment.
"Me, too." Going by the ache in my cheeks I knew the width of my grin matched hers. In the pile of discarded clothes, I located my jeans and slipped them on. "Why don't you get cleaned up? I'll meet you in the kitchen."
Her eyes shone and she had a rosy flush to her skin. It was a good look on her, fucked out and relaxed, and not leaving a dust trail to the door.
Kylie nodded. "Okay."
It wasn't until I realized she wasn’t bolting that I truly relaxed. Shit, I sounded like a chick, but I was relieved. Part of me worried Kylie would do a repeat and run the second we both came. What was worse, the presence of Kylie’s car meant I had no control over when or if she left.
Not that I’d keep her locked up and chained to my bed, or anything like that. Probably. Maybe. Fine, I totally would. But she stayed, so no need to resort to extreme measures.
Feeling uncharacteristically optimistic, I whistled a random tune as I grabbed a container from the fridge and stuck it in the microwave. I set the time as written on the attached note. By the time Kylie joined me in the kitchen, the food was done and I had two place settings out on the island.
"What is this?" She eyed the plates suspiciously, which—dammit—made me nervous.
Contrary to the near crippling anxiety that reached out and seized my insides, I gave her a casual shrug. "It's nothing. I have a chef who makes meals for the week and labels them so I can reheat them. I figured, you know, you might be hungry.”
"Oh.”
Oh? What the fuck did that mean?
“Oh good I'm hungry?” or, “Oh, why did you bother since I’m taking off now? Bye, thanks for the fuck?”
“Here." I ignored my nagging thoughts and handed Kylie a glass of ice water. She took the tiniest of sips before putting it down. “Are you hungry?” Without taking my eyes off her in case she tried to disappear, I gestured toward the barstools tucked under the granite slab. Hoping to encourage Kylie to stay, I pulled one out and sat, feigning indifference, even though, on the inside, I was on my knees, begging her not to go.
"Okay." Kylie sounded uncertain, but she joined me and that was what mattered.
We ate in relative silence, then, with no other activities planned, it was time. I spent days preparing and plotting, grappling over the best way to get some answers without coming across as nosy, and came up with a pathetic, but simple solution—use food to keep her busy while I asked the approximately ten thousand questions I’ve saved up since the first day I saw her in DC, all stunning and furious behind a sheet of scratched up acrylic.
I put down my fork and wiped my mouth, then angled my body in Kylie's direction. After steadying my nerves, I took a deep breath and went for it.
"So, how come I haven't seen you at any games recently?"
Kylie froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down slowly, deliberately, but not before I noticed how her hand shook.
“I-I’ve been busy.”
Disappointment socked me in the solar plexus, though I wasn’t surprised. I pretty much expected her to give a vague response. That was why I started with an easy one.
“Busy with work? What do you do?"
"Um, I don’t. I mean, I’m doing an internship. Not exactly working. I'm still… I'm still in school. After the internship I’ll get my degree."
I gaped. Not only because Kylie actually answered the question, but because it never occurred to me that she might be a student. Which brought to mind an uncomfortable follow up.
"School? Um, how old are you?"
Kylie snorted, then she blushed furiously and covered her mouth and nose with both hands. It was fucking adorable.
"Don't worry, I'm twenty-one. Totally legal.”
I exhaled. Thank fuck for small miracles. I should have asked before taking her to a hotel. I knew better than to mess around with a chick without making sure she wasn’t a one-way ticket to registered sex offender status.
Yet another blaring alarm warning me that Kylie totally knocks me off my game.
Her giggle tore me from the overwhelming relief in finding out she isn’t jailbait.
“What?"
"The look on your face," she said as she stifled another laugh. “Like you missed stepping on a land mine and getting blown to bits."
Her light, ringing laughter penetrated the hard shell around my black, empty soul and filled me up with warmth. Seeing her smile, I don’t know. Something about it did wonders for my state of mind and I found myself smiling and laughing along with her.
What was her secret? I mean, how in the hell did sh
“Actually, that’s a pretty accurate description of how it felt,” I admitted. Heart done having an attack, I got back to the interrogation. Kylie’s guard was somewhat lowered, and I wanted to get as many answers as I could before she shut me down. “Who do you know in the Comets organization?” She frowned like I just asked her how much she weighed. I hastened to clarify. “It’s just that I know those seats of yours are owned by management."
The question went over like a high stick to the head. Kylie's frown deepened, and I watched those thick walls of hers crash down. Anxiety crept back in as I waited to see what she did. Eventually, Kylie shrugged.
"I don't know anyone. My boss gave them to me."
I squinted and tried to decide if she was being honest, and if not, what reason she had to lie about it. I didn’t accuse her of being untruthful. I know I’m an insensitive jackhole, but even I wouldn't do that.
“Well, who's your boss? Maybe I know him or her."
The words no sooner passed my lips and Kylie was shaking her head. "You don’t.” She pushed back the stool. I cringed as the metal feet scraped against the floor. Kylie stood and carried her dish to the sink. "I should get going."
Years of practice schooling my expression were the only reason I kept my distress from showing.
What. The actual. Fuck.
I was positive she was hiding something and, goddammit, I wanted to know why.
Doing my best to squelch the rising panic and failing, I darted around the island and toward the sink, which was wedged in a far corner of the kitchen. Kylie was busy freaking out about whatever shit she felt she needed to keep from me and didn't see me coming until I was practically on top of her. When Kylie turned around, I darted in and pinned her against the sink with my hips, then braced my hands on the countertop on either side of her body, effectively caging her in. Kylie’s face crumpled. She looked like she was on the verge of a meltdown.
Could whatever Kylie didn't want me to know really be that bad?
I had a difficult time imagining what she could possibly say that would scare me off. To be honest, the fact that she couldn't scare me off should be precisely what did scare me off.
After the intense moments we shared, staring into each other's eyes, watching our emotional bond deepen as we soared toward ecstasy—Me! Fucking emotional bonds!—I should be the one melting down. Not Kylie. I should be the one to send her on her merry way, not the other way around. I’m the guy who hides things, who doesn’t discuss his personal life, who remains emotionally out of reach.
The role reversal didn’t sit well with me. I fucking hated how it made me feel, and then I despised the fact that I was feeling anything at all.
"You’re lying and I want to know why."
Okay, so maybe I am a big enough jackhole to accuse her of lying.
I shifted closer, using my size to intimidate her. Of course, I forgot who I was dealing with. Kylie never did what a normal person would do, and, as a result, she was completely baffling, which made me want her that much more. Kylie didn’t shrink or back down and tell me what I wanted to know. She didn’t get all teary on me, either.
Kylie, my little firecracker, crossed her arms and glared. It was so harsh, it would reduce most people to a weeping puddle on the hand-scraped hardwood floor. Her lips curled back and she just about snarled.
"I don't have to listen to your bullshit accusations, Seb. Get out of my way."
I had to hand it to her, Kylie was no shrinking violet. In fact, seeing her stand up to me was a huge fucking turn on. My idiot dick, which should be plenty satisfied, started to grow stiff. Fantasies of wrestling a furious Kylie into submission filled my head and it got even harder.
"I said move."
I blinked and gazed down. Even fuming mad Kylie was gorgeous, though I found her level of anger confusing. I didn’t ask anything that warranted that much hostility.
“Sacrement. Calmez vous belle.” I held my hands up to show I wasn’t a threat. Kylie’s forehead crinkled and I shook my head. “I’m sorry. Let’s try that again, in English.” I took a deep breath. “Calm down. You don’t need to be angry. All I want is to get to know you.”
Her chin quivered and regret flashed across her face.
“This?" Kylie’s voice cracked and she gestured between us. "Is just sex. I don't owe you anything and I refuse to stand here and be interrogated like a criminal.” She cleared her throat and spoke forcefully. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have to go."
Dumbfounded, and admittedly, more than a little hurt, I reeled as if she hauled off and slapped me. My retreat left just enough room for Kylie to slip by. I followed, but by the time I got with the program, Kylie had her coat on and her keys in her hand.
I was certain I wouldn’t survive another round of cut and run.
“S’il vous plâit, Kylie, don't do this." She hesitated, and my hopes went up, then her steely resolve returned, and crushed those hopes under her heel.
"I can't do this. I-I want to, Seb. I do. I-I just—”
I clung to her admission like a life preserver in a tumultuous sea. "You want to do what? Be here? Be with me? But you think you can’t? Why not? Whatever it is, you can tell me. I'll understand."
She shook her head and mashed her lips. "You can’t, and you won’t. I'm sorry." Kylie looked at me. Her eyes were damp and glistening. "I-I'm really sorry."
I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
It didn't matter. She was already gone.
10
Kylie
Over the next few weeks I did anything and everything possible to keep my mind off of Seb. Being busy helped, but nothing could erase the fingerprints he left on my soul. We hadn't spent much time together, and yes, I didn't know Seb very well, but the few moments we shared altered the way I viewed the world, changed a vital part of me. A part I didn't know I possessed until Sebastien St. Clair reached inside and yanked it to the surface.
“Kylie?” Few things could pull my attention away from my computer. My boss was one of them. I stopped typing and glanced at Rita as she stood next to my chair, perfectly coiffed from head to toe, as usual. “You do realize you're not getting paid to be here,” Rita pointed out, her sculpted brows squished together. “These long hours aren't healthy, believe me, I know.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Ignoring my reply, Rita continued to stare until I squirmed like a little kid. With the exception of Rocco, she was the only person I’d met who could send you on a guilt trip with a single look. I had to hand it to them, Rocco and Rita had the “frown and make you feel like a disappointment” face down pat.
Rita's forehead smoothed and her eyes expressed genuine concern. She rested a hip on the corner of the desk and crossed her arms. “Then go home. Or did you not notice your shift ended three hours ago?”
Three hours?
I leaned back to stretch my stiff neck and casually glanced around the cavernous workspace. The bustle of activity appeared par for the course, but then, CNN is a twenty-four-hour news network. The graveyard shift was as busy as during the day. There aren’t any windows in the main newsroom, so I couldn't look outside to see if it was dark out. But the fact that I didn't recognize a single face in the crowd, well, that in itself said plenty. Plus, the um, roughly million or so clocks that hung on the walls and represented cities in every time zone across the globe, including Atlanta. Those were pretty telling, too.
“Are you in trouble?” Rita asked, her voice low. “If there’s a reason you don't want to go home, HR has people you can talk to.”
“What?” My eyes just about bugged out of my skull. The last thing I needed was for my boss to think I had an abusive home life. “No! I mean, no thank you. I'm fine. It's nothing like that, I promise.”
I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair as I tried to explain my situati
I sighed and rubbed my temples. “I guess… I guess you can say I'm, uh, going through a breakup of sorts. Kind of.” I winced at how lame it sounded.
Shockingly, it worked. Understanding crossed Rita's face and she looked relieved. “Ah, those can be tough. Sorry about that.” She leaned closer and tipped her chin toward my computer. “I’ve dealt with my share of breakups by burying myself in work.” I nodded, glad she could sympathize. “But… to be honest?” Rita continued. My optimism shriveled. “In the long run, the only thing that heals you is time.” She patted my shoulder. “Go home and get some sleep.”
Rita turned and walked away. I knew her parting words weren’t a suggestion. They were an order. Wonderful. I powered down and cleaned up my area. Satisfied everything else could wait, I grabbed my bag, shrugged on my coat, and headed out. The closer I got to my car, the worse I felt. My insides twisted and I thought my heart might flop out of my chest and land on the oil-stained concrete of the parking garage.
“Go home and get some sleep,” I muttered. “Fat chance.”
Between the stress of avoiding Seb, and somehow still making Rocco happy by attending home games, sleep had become a precious commodity. On top of that, ignoring the constant flurry of texts and phone calls from Seb was draining. Worse? The total silence that followed a couple days later when I didn’t respond to a single one.