Sinners Consumed (Sinners Anonymous, #3)

by Somme Sketcher

Rafe must sense the switch in my mood when he slides into the driver’s seat, because he tenses. There’s a click-thud as he locks my door. “You’re not changing your mind. I already said please.”

I stare at his profile, emotion swelling in my throat. “Why are you bothering?” His gaze is lazy, trained on the windshield as he pulls out onto the road. “Because I love you,” he says simply.

His grip on my hair tightens. “I’m getting a goodnight kiss, and that’s non-negotiable.”

“It’ll cost you.” He shakes his head in amusement. “I already paid you a million bucks when I lost the bet. Surely that’ll cover all kisses in this lifetime?”

Rafe’s hand grips my wrist. I turn around, expecting a final plea, but I’m met with a hard set of his jaw. His eyes search mine, something vulnerable dancing behind his serious expression. “Just tell me I have a chance, Queenie.” His thumb skims over my pulse. “That’s all I need to know.”

“The Birkin didn’t work then?” I glance behind me to see Rory has joined her husband at the top of the stairs. “Which one?” I grunt back.

No, the fucking Birkin didn’t work. The next three didn’t work either. Or the Cartier bracelet, or the Benz that’s been collecting parking fines outside her apartment.

Holy fuck. She looks unreal. I let my phone drop into the cup holder, and step out onto the street. I’d be lying if I said it was only to open her door—really, I want to get a good fucking look at her.

Her white heels are so high, they’re going to make stealing kisses from her even easier.

“You’re late,” is all she says. I open the door for her and study her ass as she climbs into her seat. “And you’re beautiful.” I rest my palms on the top of the door frame

I slide my hand over her bare thigh. Of course, she swats it away immediately, but God loves a trier.

“You’d be stupid to mistake my obsession with you as me being a limp-dick little bitch, Queenie. I’ll play your games and jump through all your hoops until you blow the whistle on full-time. But what I won’t do is tolerate you mentioning another man, hypothetical or otherwise.” When I glance up, I notice the white puffs of condensation leaving her lips have ceased. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Do you really love me?” she whispers. I press my temple against the iron grate. “Yes.” There’s a pause. “That night in the phone booth, you told me you’d never been in love before. If you’ve never felt it, how do you know?” I close my eyes. I’ve got too many words and not enough ways to order them. How do I know? Because saying it aloud is as easy as breathing. Because even the mention of her name lights my skin on fire. Because she’s my first thought in the morning, and my last at night. Because I just. Fucking. Know.

“Look at me.” Through blurry eyes, I meet his soft, green gaze. “I’m your hotline now, Queenie. All your mundane thoughts, all your ramblings: they’re mine. I want them all, no matter how trivial. Do you understand me?” I can only nod. “Good,” he murmurs. He swallows hard, frowning at a tear rolling down my face. “Now stop crying. I don’t like it.”

For all I care, he can lock me up and throw the key into the Pacific. I’m in Raphael Visconti’s trap, and I never want to be freed.

“Fuck, I think I’ve finally found a fetish: you spending all my money. There must be a name for that, right?”

I hold my breath while Rafe slowly climbs up my body and pins me under his weight. He presses his lips to mine. “I promise, Queenie. I’m here forever.” I sigh. Wrap my legs around his hips and draw him closer. “Then it’s yours.”

“Rafe, we need to move.” He frowns up at me. “But I like having an ocean between you and everyone else.”

My girl’s only been gone a few hours, but I’m already itching to see her. Feel her. Fucking kiss her. Christ, I’ll even settle for staring at her like a simp from across the room at this rate.

I grip her chin and plant a kiss on her lips. It’s my new, nice way of getting her to shut up. Always works like a charm.

“I love you,” she whispers when she reaches my ear. And that? That’s enough to set my skin on fucking fire.

It’s ironic—I fucking hate cheats. Yet here I am, hosting an event set up especially for my thieving, sticky-fingered girl to cheat anyone she pleases. I guess I’ve broken every rule and moral code I set in place for myself, anyway. There’s one more I’m dying to break. “Make her marry me,” I blurt out.

“Chill out; it’s been, like, a month.” “You married my brother after a month.” “Yeah, but only because he begged.” I stare at her. “What?” “Oh, swan. Don’t tell him I told you that. He’s peeved with me already.”

“I’m not into any of this new-era shit, Pen. If you’re proposing to me, I’ll throw the fucking ring out the window, and maybe you with it—” “Jesus Christ, shut up and open it.”

I don’t say anything as her soft hands reach around my neck. Can’t. Can’t seem to fucking think about anything other than how I’m stupidly obsessed with this woman.

I stare back at her for a beat, while my heart bursts into flames. My fist finds the back of her hair, and my lips find her mouth. My heart has caught fire, and I’m in love with the Queen who lit the match.