Sinners Anonymous (Sinners Anonymous, #1)

by Somme Sketcher

I peel out of the driveway, trying to concentrate on keeping the car on the road, which is near impossible. All I can think about is the shape of her tits under that hoodie, and the small strip of golden hair on her pussy mound.

Coming to a halt to meet the gate, I drop my head against the backrest and close my eyes. “Don’t test me today, Aurora. I’ve spent nine years resisting temptation. You’re making it very hard for me to get to a decade.”

I dare to look up at her, I immediately wish I hadn’t. She’s gazing up at me under those thick lashes, breathing heavily through her plump, parted lips. I harden my glare. “I mean it.”

She swallows and twists in her seat to glare at me with surprising venom. “And if you tell Alberto, I swear, I’ll set fire to your car.” I bite back a laugh. “You’ll what now?” “You heard.”

But this girl? She’s “Rory” all of a sudden. She has a bite, and it’s irritatingly hot.

Rafe’s words bounce around my brain: Don’t make me go to war for a piece of pussy. And Gabe? Well, he seems to think he’s psychic these days, and I can’t be assed for his slew of I told you so.

She laughs bitterly. “I’m not even allowed a passcode on my phone. What makes you think I’ll be able to hide a diary?” Fury burns low and slow in the pit of my stomach. Not my problem. Not my problem. Not my problem. I can’t get attached to this girl.

“Wait.” Her eyes dart back to the confession booth. “So, your father used to listen to confessions. You do too. You’ve modernized your father’s confession booth.” “Wow. Gold star for Detective Aurora.”

I huff out a laugh and shake my head. “God wouldn’t approve of a lot of things I’ve done. Anyway, after our parents died, Rafe had the idea to modernize our childhood game. And that’s how Sinners Anonymous was born.”

“So you still eavesdrop, and what you deem to be the worst sin, you…” “Take care of it. Once a month.”

“You find it hard to be good.” My gaze drops to her mouth. The need to run a finger over my bottom lip makes my hands itch. “Impossible.”

“And on Wednesday?” she rasps. “Were you…taking care of it?” For a moment, I leave her question to hang in the air between us. Then slowly, I nod. She sucks in a sharp breath. “How?” “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, Aurora.”

“I want to know.” Her voice is coated with something thick and delicious, and it’s enough to make my dick swell. I study her more intently and realize her breathing is ragged and her pupils are expanding in those cinnamon eyes. She’s enjoying this. Fuck.

When I turn my attention back to Aurora, my gaze darkens.

“Did you enjoy it?” I take another step toward her, dropping my head so my lips almost brush against the tops of her golden curls. “Yes.” Her breath skitters across my shirt. “I thought you went straight.” “I did.”

“I need release, Aurora. Avenging sins gives me the same release you feel when you confess them.”

I bite back a smile. Fuck, she’s adorable.

Slipping my hand under her chin, I tilt her head up to look at me. “You’re a silly little girl, Aurora,” I grind out. Her gaze hardens. I feel her jaw flex against my thumb pad. “That’s not what you said last night.” A hiss escapes through my teeth. “Seems like you can’t get last night out of your head.”

“Is that what you’re so desperate to confess? That it felt so good to have me watch you finger-fuck yourself last night?” I tighten my grip, stifling a moan when her breath skitters over my hand, hot and hard. “Or that you’re wet at the thought of it happening again?” Silence. It fills the space between us, suffocating me with sickly sweet tension. “Both,” she finally whispers.

Shift my gaze to above Aurora’s head, because if I look at the torment in those big fucking eyes I’ll know I’ll lose my shit. I’m not this guy anymore. I’m not Vicious Visconti.

“There’s an alternative to confession, you know.” Our eyes clash. Hers sweet and innocent, mine dark and corrupted. “What’s that?” she rasps. But by how fast her chest is rising and falling, I know she already knows. “Atonement.”

He pauses. Cocks a brow. My cheeks grow hot. He’s waiting for me to say it. But I can’t. The idea is so obscene that I can’t physically put the word out in the open. “Do you mean what I think you mean?” “I’m not psychic, Aurora. What do you think I mean?”

“Spanking me.” His Adam’s apple bobs, but his expression remains neutral. “Another gold star for Rory.”

Angelo Visconti wants to spank me with his belt and he’s hard at the thought of it. My head spins, perhaps because I keep forgetting to breathe. I turn around, placing my hands against the altar to steady myself. Staring at the glossy wood surface, I beg myself to claw back some sort of composure.

A slow, dark chuckle comes from behind me, coasting up my spine and forcing all my hairs to stand to attention. “Rory.” Angelo’s voice drips in syrup. “Okay is not good enough.”

“You’re really going to make me ask you to spank me?” I ask with a little laugh. “Are you serious?” “Deadly,” he growls.

But my smugness is fleeting, evaporating the moment I hear the clink of his belt buckle. The thwap as he slides the leather out of the loops of his slacks. Something rough catches in his tone. “Bend over.”

think you like being punished,” he drawls.

Behind me, the floorboards creak. Then I feel a whisper of a breath against my clit; a graze of stubble against my inner thigh. Oh, holy crow. Angelo’s on his knees behind me, his mouth just millimeters from my pussy. It’s instinctive to arch my back and lower myself onto him. But a strong hand grips the top of my thigh long before I get to feel the heat of his lips on my clit.

“Now, now, Rory,” he rasps, voice strangled with lust, “that would count as touching. And it'd be wrong to touch you, wouldn’t it? You’re a taken woman.” His voice darkens. “Reach over and spread yourself for me.”

“You like atoning for your sins, don’t you, baby?” I rake my teeth over my lip. Christ, I like it when he calls me baby. “You know how I can tell?” “How?” I croak, although I know what he’s going to say. Because I can feel it. Carving a wet, hot trail down the seam of my leg.

“Getting so wet for a man that isn’t your fiance?” He leans over, holding the fabric and bringing it up to my face. “That deserves another spanking.”

Irritation digs under my skin. He’s right, of course. Rory isn’t the first young, hot thing Alberto’s sunk his claws into, and when he’s got what he wants out of her, she’ll be cast aside and the next will take her place. He’s crazy. I’m crazy.

I especially hate her. I hate that she’s exactly what I like: a girl who doesn’t back down when I have my wicked way with her. I hate the sound she makes when my belt meets her ass. I hate the shade of red her skin turns, and how that fucking ring glints on her finger when pleasure makes her hands clench into fists. I hate that “look but don’t touch” is a hard and fast rule. It has to be, because I know the moment I taste those lips—either set of them—there’s no way I can go back to London. I know I’ll have to stay and fight for her.