I am Dressed in Sin (Death by Daybreak MC, #2)

by C.M. Stunich

“Before you take that test,” Beast begins, and I shudder at the sound of his voice. It reminds me of how he felt when he was inside of me, and I hate that. I don’t want to remember it because then I’ll want to repeat it. “Know that I’m on your side. Period.”

“If you touch her,” Grainger said that fateful day, just after I gave my first time to him, “I will end you.”

“Four people you can trust; three people you can fuck.” He gives me a look as I crinkle my face in confusion. “I’m not touchin’ you until our wedding night.”

“Did you wrong more than once,” Beast admits, shaking his head. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He gives me a long, hard look. “This is the last time I’mma say this: three people. Nobody else. After our wedding, I can’t promise I’ll be inclined to share.”

“You little shit,” he growls at me, nipping at my lower lip and making me writhe. “How dare you? How fucking dare you do this to me?”

I hesitate briefly, but Crown fists his hand in my hair, forcing me to hold his gaze. “I lied for you, yes. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you run right over me. If you want to play games with grown men, then we’ll play. Get on your knees. This is the last time I’m going to ask.”

“Should I tell you how every groupie I fucked was a stand-in for you? Should I tell you that no woman has ever had power over me the way you do?”

This time, he takes me as hard and fast as he wants, no limits, no warm-up, just fast and frenzied fucking. His body is a comforting weight, pressing me into the mattress, making the old bed groan and creak. Crown grabs the edge of the headboard for leverage, slamming his hips into me, his muscles tightening as his breathing deepens and grows more ragged. He watches me, his eyes those of a starving man as he takes in my bouncing tits, my parted lips, my flushed face. With his right hand, he cups my left breast in a punishing grip, squeezing my nipple between the rough whorls of his fingertips. My back arches, pushing my body against his, melding us, blurring all of those hard lines that have been in place for years, those barriers, those mountains we’ve had to climb. “Fuck, Gidge,” he grinds out, and then his body is tensing and he’s pumping into me, filling me with his cum as I groan and writhe, wanting more, knowing that there will never be a time when I say that’s enough. Always, always I will want to be ruined by this man.

“I’ll go over the records again, look for patterns. Maybe even interview some of the girls—” “With me present,” I correct, and he gives me this look. “Oh, we’re going to play the possession game, are we?” he queries, sounding so young and cocky that I want to melt.

“God help you if you have my baby, Gidge,” he says, his fingers burning where they press into my skin. His eyes blaze, and that possession I’ve always seen in him becomes almost glaringly apparently. “I will never let you go.” He yanks me closer, spilling more coffee onto the floor. “Never.”