Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

I have visions of him seeing me from across the club. Seeing me dancing and drinking with Tacye, having a good time. For just one last time, I want to feel his eyes follow my every move. I know it’s wrong and I’m playing a dangerous game, but I want him to see I’m not the silly little girl he thinks I am. The one who wears fluffy, festive socks, gets worked up about stupid bad things I’ve done, and hasn’t said a real curse word in her life.

Just once. Just for tonight. Because tomorrow is my engagement party, which signals the beginning of the rest of my miserable life.

“Hey, where’s your costume?” “I’m wearing it.” I take in his three-piece suit. The silk handkerchief folded elaborately in his top pocket. His little diamond nose ring. “Well, what are you supposed to be?” “A made man,” he shoots back with a wink.

Tor slaps one on the chest and points at me. “See this girl? It’s Big Al’s fiancee.” The man’s eyes grow wide. “You keep an eye on her at all times, got it? Anyone touches her, you take their hand.”

Dancers in black leather leotards twirl and fall from orange and green ribbons, coming so close to the top of the crowd’s heads that I physically flinch, before they sexily climb back up again.

Tor chucks me under the chin. “Sure you don’t wanna go home, little girl?”

I glance up at my own guard, as if to say, what now? He responds by wrapping his arm around me and bowling through the crowd, until we reach a glass elevator on the far side of the room. We ascend, high above the sea of party-goers, and emerge onto the balcony.

“Morticia Adams, right? Which means…” I turn and lock eyes with Donatello. He raises a champagne flute in my direction, a grim smile underneath a thin faux mustache. “Donatello is Gomez. Nice. How’d you manage to convince him to play along?” “He lost our yacht in a poker game the other evening,” she says tightly.

“Or I tell him.” The ice threading through a voice behind me makes me spin around. Dante. Swan, I forgot about him. He’s sitting on a cream couch, glaring at me. “You shouldn’t be here, Aurora.” “Don’t be such a snitch, cugino.” Benny, one of the Hollow brothers, flops down next to him and picks up the bottle of Dom Perignon from the ice bucket.

I smile, feeling my cheeks heat at the kindness of his words. I don’t hear them very often from any Visconti, and especially not from the scarier members, like Benedicto. Like Tor, he and his younger brother Nicolas are well-known to women up and down the coast. I don’t think they have the same mom as Castiel, because they are fairer in complexion, with chocolate brown hair and stormy gray eyes. Even so, they are known as the Hollow enforcers, carrying out hits on anyone who dares get in the way of the Smugglers Club’s expansion.

“Who are all these people?” I shout at Amelia over the music. “Stupidly rich hotel and casino guests,” she calls back. “They are paying thirty-grand a booth.”

I balk at the amount, that familiar disgust swirling in my stomach. Devil’s Cove is swimming in wealth, yet forty minutes down the road, there are people in Devil’s Dip that work twelve-hour shifts doing hard labor, but can barely make ends meet. Life will never be fair.

She does a little twirl, flaunting her black corset, fishnet tights, and tiny tutu skirt. If she hadn’t scraped her long black hair into two pigtails and painted stitches on either side of her mouth, I’d have no idea she was meant to be a dead doll. As she comes to a stop, her eyes land on something over my shoulder, and then her gaze widens. “Holy shit, is that Vicious?” Ice trickles down the length of my back. Between dancing with Amelia and seeing Tayce, I’d forgotten to keep an eye out for him.

“Everyone knows Angelo,” she says with a little laugh, not taking her eyes off him, even when Benny brings her over a glass of champagne and hovers awkwardly next to her. “Christ, he’s definitely the hottest Visconti. And have you seen those muscles?” “How have you seen those muscles?” I snap back, sounding angrier than I meant to.

“He doesn’t have any tattoos?” When suspicion narrows her eyes, I clear my throat and add, “Just weird, that’s all. Every Visconti is so inked.” “Yeah,” she sighs, shooting Benny a sideways glare. “Not like this idiot, who doesn’t have an inch of flesh left on his body to tattoo. What do you want, Benny?” He flashes her a dazzling grin. “Is that how you speak to all your customers?”

“You must be the only person who can speak to a Visconti like that and not get a bullet in your head.” She laughs breezily. “They are all pussy cats masquerading as lions.” Her eyes darken as she takes a sip of her drink. “I’ve known worse.”

He’s closer than I thought he was, cutting a sharp figure just a few feet past the red rope. He leans casually against the railing while next to him, a long-legged cat talks animatedly in his ear. As usual, his expression is indifferent, bored. He takes a lazy sip of whiskey and stares out into the crowd. The sight of him winds me.

There’s a dark figure standing on the other side of Tor’s desk. He’s leaning on his knuckles against it, and when I open the door, he looks up at me through half-lidded eyes. They take their time scraping over every inch of my body, coming to rest on my face. Angelo Visconti. A barely audible puff of air escapes his lips. “You wore your hair curly.”

Gasping, I dare myself to look up at him. He’s not looking at me like a piece of meat anymore. No, something darker licks the walls of his irises. Something dangerous. Hatred.

“I need to know what the fuck you meant when you said you touched yourself in the sea thinking about me,” he growls. His hot whiskey breath grazes my nose, and my knees threaten to buckle underneath me. I can barely breathe, let alone reply. In response to my silence, he winds his hand through the roots of my hair and yanks my head back.

He hisses something dark in Italian. “Fuck, you’re annoying.”

His eyes squeeze shut. “Thinking what about me?” “Thinking about your fingers inside of me. Wondering what they’d feel like.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “And?” he rasps. "What was your conclusion?” A sly grin spreads across my face and I squirm as his gaze automatically drops to my lips. “That it would feel incredible.”

“At first, I used just one finger, but then…” I trail off, flustering. His shoulders hitch. “But then?” “I realized one of your fingers is equal to two of mine.” “Fuck, Aurora.” When he turns around, his eyes are as wild. Hungry. “You’re my uncle’s fiancee. I can’t touch you.”

The vein in his temple ticks. His gaze mists over. In one, large step, he closes the gap between us. “Do. Not. Tempt. Me.”

His gaze carves a trail down to my collar bone. To the silver zip keeping my dress closed. And then, slowly, he reaches out and hooks his finger in the zip ring. His eyes meet mine. “Show me.” My breathing shallows. “What?” “Show me what you did to yourself.”

Ahhhhhhhhh

“You said you couldn’t touch me.” “I won’t,” he says thickly. “I’m going to watch.” And then he tugs. The zip opens inch by inch, revealing my breasts, stomach, panties. Then it falls to the floor at my feet.

Swallowing hard, I let my eyes flutter closed. I can hear his sharp intake of breath, feel his gaze scorch every inch of my flesh. He shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you always wear pink panties?”

Angelo hisses. Runs a hand over his jaw. “Take them off.”

With trembling fingers, I lift my hips and slide my panties off. He turns to look at the thin pink lace crumpled up on Tor’s rug. “Christ,” he mutters. Then his attention moves back to my face.

“Lie down,” he demands. “And. Show. Me.” Biting my bottom lip, I slide my back down the sofa and part my knees, baring everything to him. When a groan rumbles deep in his chest, a wave of pleasure washes over me. “Fucking hell, Aurora. You’re perfect. Of course you’d be perfect.”

“And then I slipped a finger inside of myself.” “Show me.” I slide my finger in, heat flooding my insides. Holding his lustful stare, I say, “And then I put in two fingers.”

He drops his eyes back to my pussy expectantly. I slip a second finger in, moaning in pleasure as my walls stretch to accommodate the extra digit. “Does it feel good, baby?” Baby. Heat rises from my pounding clit.

BABY!!!

Then I catch his eye and smile coyly, “I bet it’d feel better if you did it.” Dark amusement flashes in his eyes, but his hands clawing over the curve of his arm rest tell me he’s restraining himself. Seeing him so worked up is driving me wild. “Tell me what you’d do to me.” His nostrils flare, and for a moment, I think he’s about to come to his senses and shut this down. But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes himself off the armrest and lowers himself to his haunches by my hip.

“First of all, I’d take that silly little bra off,” he growls. Arching my back, I reach around and unhook it. With a mischievous grin, I toss it onto his lap. He groans, fisting the fabric and bringing it to his face. I pump my fingers into my pussy harder, faster, getting off on the sight of his big hands clawed around my lingerie.

“And then what?” I whisper. His gaze falls to my chest, and he rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “And then I’d take those perfect tits in my mouth, see if they taste as sweet as they look.”

His eyes glitter. “You like it r...

“Then I’d want to find out,” he growls, inching closer. I raise my hips up so he can get a better look at what’s going on between my legs. “I’d slap that tight little cunt just to hear you scream.”

“Don’t you dare look away from me, Aurora. I want to see the look on your face when you come.” I turn back to him and he cocks his head, satisfied. “Good girl. Now, rub your clit as hard as you can.”

“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” he snarls, leaning over my knee and not taking his eyes off my pussy. “I want to see your cum trickle out of that cunt and down your thigh.”

A huge bulge strains against the crotch of his slacks. Christ. He runs a final, hungry gaze over the length of my body and lands on my face, a dark smirk playing on his mouth. “I was wrong about you, Magpie,” he says huskily, licking his lips. “You are a bad girl.”

Just before he slips through it, I see something pink and lacy in his hand. My bra. He subtly slides it in his pocket and leaves me reclined on the sofa. Fully naked and spent.

The image of my uncle’s fiancee naked and fingering herself last night is burned so deep into my retinas that I fucking see it every time I close my eyes. The ghost of her shallow breathing still rings in my ears.

And when her face flushed and her whole body shook as she came, I knew I had to get the fuck out of there before I did something I couldn’t take back. Christ himself doesn’t have as much restraint as me.

I couldn’t go back to seeing Aurora wriggle around in that obscenely tight dress now that I knew what shade of pink her pussy was. And besides, I was in no mood to deal with Dante, who, for some reason, was glaring at me from the other side of the VIP booth like I fucked his prom date all over again.

I bite back my smirk and cock my head. “You’re not dressed.” “And you’re not meant to be here,” she whispers back.

“You don’t want to see your father today?” “I can’t.” She shifts her attention to her bare feet. Of course her toes are painted pink too. “It’s…my engagement party tonight.” My stomach flips. I’m surprised at how quickly her comment digs under my skin, carving a bitter, angry path around my body.

“But—” My hand around her jaw cuts her off. Her eyes widen, cutting back to Alberto’s office. “What happened to no touching?” she breathes. I let out a dry chuckle and reluctantly drop my hand to my side, dragging my thumb down her soft cheek as I go.

“Right,” I say dryly. “I can look but I can’t touch.” Christ, I was so hard for her last that I’d have made up any excuse just to see what she had going on under that slutty dress.

Again, she glances over at Alberto’s office and the pulse in my temple ticks. Fuck, I hate how much power he has over her. “I’m not allowed today.” Without another word, I turn on my heel and burst into Alberto’s office without knocking.

Less than ten minutes later, she slides into the passenger seat of my Aston Martin in a pair of gray leggings and an oversized hoodie. Fuck. I don’t think I’ve met a girl who looks as good in sweats as they do in leather. Her hair falls in loose curls around her shoulders, and she must have just washed it, because the smell of her cherry shampoo fills the whole car and makes my damn dick ache.