Sinners Consumed (Sinners Anonymous, #3)

by Somme Sketcher

I reach for the First Aid kit and a bottle of Smuggler’s Club whiskey. “Vodka.” My shoulders pull taut. “Since when did you start drinking vodka?” “Since you said you wouldn’t kiss me if I drank whiskey.”

“Put some clothes on, Penelope. My men are onboard and I don’t want to kill anyone else today.” He drops back in the armchair, running a busted hand through his hair with a careless sweep. “Those fucking thighs,” he mutters at the bland bit of wall again.

“What did Blake do?” “Pissed me off.” I swallow. “So you killed him.” His palm presses harder into my stomach, and his chin comes to rest on my shoulder. “He was eyeing something up that doesn’t belong to him.”

“I don’t belong to you, either.” A humorless smirk stretches his lips. “I don’t want you, Penelope.” Before his omission has time to sting, he brings his hand to my jaw and grips me there. “But I’m going to take you anyway, and then I’m going to ruin you.” I blink. “What?” “It’s only fair,” he says, tone devoid of emotion. An awful sense of dread creeps over the planes of my shoulders and squeezes the nape of my neck. “Why?” I breathe. He doesn’t miss a beat. “Because it’s only a matter of time before you ruin me.”

“Where are we going?” Although, my heart already knows. “My bedroom.” “Why?” I whisper. He shifts his forearms under my ass. “So I can fuck you, Penelope. Why else?”

Despite the delirium-inducing warmth, I shiver when he grabs my bun, tugs my head back, and nestles his face into my throat. “Do me a favor, Penelope,” he growls against my racing pulse. “Unless you’re moaning my name or sucking my dick, keep your fucking mouth shut.” Another tug on my bun, another crackle in my clit. “I’m so sick of the shit that comes out of it.”

He glances up at me. “Mine now.” “You fucking my panties, or something?” A hard flick on my clit makes stars flash in front of my eyes. “Or something.”

“Lucky.” She frowns. “What?” “That’s your safe word, Penelope. I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” My belt comes down on her ass, halting her protest. It was the lightest, most restrained spank I could muster, but still, the crack is satisfying and her cry is electric. It soaks into my skin and charges all the atoms underneath it. “Can’t hear you,” I grind out. “Try again.” “I’m not staying—” I spank her again, this time a little harder. A pink blush blooms against her pale cheek, and I skim my thumb over its soft heat in morbid fascination. “Maybe say it louder?” “Maybe get a fucking hearing aid?” she hisses breathlessly into the pillow.

“Try not to burn the place down, Penelope.” “Rafe?” The way she says my name bounces like an echo in my chest. I pause, glaring at the wood grain on the door. “All my other fuck buddies call me Penny.” Violence hits me like a lightning bolt. “And all your other fuck buddies will be six-feet-under if you mention them again.”

“You know where my brother is, Penelope?” “Have you tried Find My iPhone, Angelo?” Tayce stills. Wren draws in a sharp breath, and Rory mutters something about flamingos under her breath. The air heats for a moment, then cools when dry humor softens Angelo’s expression. “I get it now.” I frown. “Get what?” But he doesn’t reply. Instead, he plants a kiss on his wife’s jaw, tells her to call him before she goes to sleep, and disappears out to the swim platform. I turn back to the lounge for an answer. “Get what?” Rory smirks. Wren turns red and looks away. When I glance at Tayce, she places a hand on my thigh and gives it a squeeze. “He means, he gets why Rafe is obsessed with you now. You talk almost as much shit as he does.”

“Jeez, what an ugly bookshelf,” Tayce mutters, following my gaze. Rory comes up beside me. “Are they the For Dummies books? Looks like the whole collection? I can’t imagine Rafe reading those.” “He doesn’t,” I whisper, my throat going thick. “Well, who does then?” I swallow. “Me.”

Dude, these made men are such simps 🥹

His stare traps mine. “You look like an angel when you sleep.” Before the tug of war can start in my chest again, he swipes the vodka glass off the desk and adds, “The snoring, though? Not so angelic.”

A bolt of lightning fissures the space between us. Before the thunder comes, I run toward him. It’s not until my face is buried in his neck that I realize he’s picked me up, his strong forearms caging me to him as he takes me into his quarters. A gentle hand runs down my braid. Soothing words touch the shell of my ear, drowning out the next rumble of thunder. He lowers me to his bed, pulls me into his chest, and traps us under the covers. I press my face against his chest and his fingers find purchase in the base of my hair. His other hand slides down my spine, traces the stupid heart on the small of my back, and a rough noise of approval vibrates behind his solar plexus. When the next lightning bolt comes, it flashes through the sheets. Rafe brings his palms to my ears, dulling the impending roll of thunder. “Thank you,” I whisper. I don’t specify what for. For shielding me from the storm, for killing Martin O’Hare. For giving me the two most ridiculous orgasms of my life. For the fucking key ring. But the thunder is loud; my acknowledgment is quiet. The only reason I know Rafe heard it is that his lips press down on my forehead, giving me the most gentle of kisses.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re not losing everything. You’ve won every game of Mario Kart we’ve played.” He lets out a soft laugh. “Yes, but you’re so bad I’m surprised you’re allowed to have a driver’s license in real life.” I scowl. “Fighting talk for a man who owns casinos yet can’t grasp the basic rules of UNO!” Biting back a smile, he drops his gaze to my collarbone. “I’m not concentrating on the rules, Queenie. Come here.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, letting my arms fall. “Did you just bite me?” I look at him seriously. “You know what they say. Eat the rich.”

His lips press against the space behind my hair. “Want to know a secret?” I can only nod in response. “I’ve never done this, either.” His confession slides up my spine and chokes me. I pull his head back and drop my forehead against his. Our mouths are so close, I can taste his last drag on his cigar. “Really?” Meeting my gaze, he slows his thrusts. The tiniest slither of unease mars his features. “Yeah,” he murmurs back. “Guess I just can’t stop breaking rules for you.”

His tone is cashmere-clad but I catch the irritated undercurrent. “Such a coincidence.” “Indeed. Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice all the female products. So…who’s the lucky lady?” My brain doesn’t have time to slow my impulse; I yank open the restroom door and stomp down the hall. Rafe’s at the end of it, and Anna with her back to me. His gaze slides to mine over her head, amused and all mine. Deep down, I know why I didn’t wait for his response: if he told a lie, something in me would shatter a little. My shoulder connects with Anna’s more aggressively than necessary as I slide in beside Rafe. I put a possessive hand on his chest, and when his hand slides around my hip and brings me closer to him, a warm satisfaction runs south. I turn my attention to Anna. “Mine,” I say sweetly. “Now, fuck off.”

“Fuck,” is all he says. “Fuck,” I repeat in agreement. He shakes his head, a grimace on his lips. “I have to take a walk or something. I’m too pissed off to sleep now.” I roll onto my knees, looking up at him. “Then we won’t sleep.” His gaze falls to mine, softening. “I’m sorry, baby.” “I’m sorry too.” His jaw ticks. “Don’t you dare say sorry.” He shifts over to me, gripping my hair and nuzzling his face in my neck. “You’re not a girl that says sorry.” “Not even for buying you ugly socks?” His laugh tickles my skin, and somehow it lightens the mood a few shades. “They are fucking ugly.” “Will you wear them?” “If you want me to.”

We look nothing like the King of Diamonds and The Queen of Hearts. Just two fucking idiots in love. I swallow the thickness in my throat and whisper my truth. “If I drown, you’re drowning with me. If you burn, I’m burning too. Pick your route to hell, Rafe. The destination and the company are the same.” He makes a noise of anger. Grabs a fistful of my sopping ponytail. And then he makes me a millionaire.

“Just give him a few more days, baby,” Rory pipes up, flashing her husband her sweetest smile. “He’s moping.” “Rafe doesn’t mope,” Angelo grunts. “He does now that he’s a heartbroken little fool.” Angelo’s eyes slide to mine, narrowing in disgust. I don’t care if he thinks I’m pathetic. I just know if he tries to pull me off this sofa I’ll put him in a headlock, stomach wound or not. “Fine,” he snaps, rising to his full height. “I’ll meet Tor in Cove alone. I’ll be sure to bring back a box of tampons and some ice cream.” He storms to the foyer. “Make it chocolate chip,” Rory calls after him. “Nah, vanilla,” I mutter, popping a Jolly Rancher into my mouth.

He’s hilarious 🤣

“You must have really liked her to give her the watch Mama gave you when you opened Lucky Cat.” I’m too distracted. Can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. “I didn’t give it to her; she won it.” “Did she win Mama’s necklace, too?” My gaze slides down from the rotting beam to his. “What?” “The four-leaf clover necklace. Did she win that off you too?”

“Come home, Queenie. Come home and let me worship you every day for the rest of your life.” I groan, palming his chest. Maybe because his lips aren’t assaulting mine, I manage to reply with a somewhat coherent answer. “I am home.” His palm skims down my spine and spanks my ass. “Our home,” he growls into my collarbone, planting violent kisses along it. “The yacht, baby. Hang your stolen clothes up in my closet, make your god-awful lasagnas in my oven. Light your girly candles in every room. I want all of it, all of you. Just come home.”

Christ, I used to pity made men who’ve walked down the aisle, and now I’m possessed with the thought of standing at the top of one, waiting for Penny. Bet she looks hot in white. She looks hot in everything. But first, grovel. Right. “Your first issue, is that it looks like you only came back for her because you found out the necklace belonged to your mama.” Rory scoops a heap of sugar into a mug and stirs it thoughtfully. “She’s probably thinking if that wasn’t the case, you’d have never bashed down her door.” She glances at me. “Very Gabe-ish of you, by the way.” Angelo laughs again. He’s in an annoyingly good mood today. “You kidding? Anyone with eyes could see Rafe was always going to go crawling back. I was so certain, I’ve got three different bets going on how long it’d take.” I frown. “You don’t bet.” “And you don’t wear sweats and watch trash TV with my wife. I made an exception.”

“Because you’re Rafe’s sister-in-law,” I say to Rory, before turning to Wren. “And every time anyone mentions the name Raphael Visconti, you clutch your chest and call him a gentleman.” I glance up at Tayce, who’s almost finished my milkshake. “And with all those tattoos he has, you’ve seen him naked more times than I have.” “What’s your point?” Tayce asks. “My point is that I thought you’d all be on Team Rafe because you know him better. And also…” I swallow. “I guess I was embarrassed about what happened.” Silence sweeps the table. I feel like such an idiot with all my vulnerability on show like this. I clear my throat, getting ready to crack an awkward joke, but Wren grabs my hand. “I’ll screw up my nose and call him an asshole from now on. Or dickhead, or prick. Whatever you choose.” “And then I’ll tattoo that on him the next time he comes into my shop,” Tayce pipes up. Rory slides into the booth beside her. “This morning, he told me how he left you on the yacht like that, so I dropped a laxative in his tea. He didn’t drink it, but I’ll try again tomorrow. He might be my brother-in-law, and yes, of course I love him, but you’re our friend.” “Friends call friends when they’re sad,” Wren says, giving my hand a squeeze. “You talk to us, cry to us.” “Plot revenge with us,” Tayce says with a wink.

Girl-friends 🤌🏻

“Do you have a vase?” “What?” He glances at me, amused. “For the flowers.” “Um, no?” “Figures. A jug?” He surveys my off-white counters, squinting in displeasure. “A bong?” His passive-aggressive dig at my apartment brings me back to my senses. “I have a trash can you can use. You can throw yourself in it too, if you’d like.”

Love her sass 💁🏼‍♀️

“Say please.” His gaze darkens. “Please what?” “Ask me out to dinner, but say please.” His nostrils flare, and by the way he glances at the ceiling, I know he’s wondering if I’m worth the humiliation. But then his stare falls back to mine, his jaw tight. “Penny, would you do me the honor of letting me take you out for dinner?” He grits his teeth. “Please?” Despite not being able to decide whether I want to claw his eyeballs out or not, pleasure skates down my spine. I think I enjoy it when that word slips from Rafe’s lips. “Hmm,” I muse, leaning back on my palms and pretending to weigh up my options. “Are you paying?” He laughs. “What kind of question is that?” “Will there be dessert?” “Of course.” “Can I have two?” “You can have anything you like.” I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip. “I don’t know. I have other options—” “Your only other option is getting bent over my knee and spanked,” he snaps, dragging his hand off my thigh and reaching for his belt buckle. “You can have two of those, too.”

Rory’s yelp fills her dressing room. “Not so tight. Goose, you’re holding the strands like a Neanderthal.” I meet her glare in the vanity mirror. “Last time, you said it was too loose. Now, it’s too tight. Maybe it’s your knotty hair that’s the problem.” She’s impressively quick, swiping her brush off the dresser and reaching back to crack my knuckles with it. I hiss, tugging on her wonky braid. “If you were anyone else, brother, I’d snap those fingers off.” I give a careless glance toward the door, where Angelo’s leaning against its frame, expression as sour as his voice. “Almost lost them in your wife’s bird’s nest, anyway.” Rory shakes out the braid and ruffles her curls. “Same time tomorrow?” “Unfortunately.”

Fuck off, he’s learning how to braid hair for her!!!!!😫😫😍😍

“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. I swallow. “Because even though I’m unlucky with you, I feel even unluckier without you.”

I suddenly remember why I brought her here: I need to know you’re not like the others. As her body trembled against mine on the headland, I realized all the money and the gifts and the fancy meals would never bring her reassurance. Only my actions and my words will. She’s damaged. Broken by men from our world, and it’s my responsibility to patch her back up and make sure she never shatters again. When I hook my fingers onto the latticed grate, my fingertips brush against hers on the other side. “I’m not going anywhere, Queenie. Not ever.” “Even if you almost get killed again?” My laugh filters through the grate. “I’ve just accepted that near-death experiences are a hazard of being with you.”

“Why?” It’s all I can manage. Rafe turns me to look at him and kisses a tear before it drips off my chin. “You know the answer,” he whispers against my jaw. Because he loves me. And there’s no doubt in my mind that I love him too. “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.”

“Rafe, we need to move.” He frowns up at me. “But I like having an ocean between you and everyone else.” I laugh. “Yeah, but it’s a pain in the ass. Besides, how can I walk around naked if there’s a chance I might bump into the first officer in the living room?” “You wanna walk around naked?” “Uh-huh.” He pauses. Rakes an eye over the hem of his hoodie. “Then we’ll start looking.”

“Where’s my wife, anyway?” “Out shopping with…Penny.” I almost say, out with mine, but stop myself. Unfortunately, she’s not my wife. Yet. “I don’t like it when they hang out.” Now, I pin him with a blistering glare, annoyance twitching my fingers. “Why not?” “Because she’s teaching her things.” “Like?” “Like how to play blackjack. Rory’s good at it now.” He swigs from his whiskey glass, eyes darkening. “Tell me why I’m losing every hand we play? Something’s not right.” Tor and I exchange amused glances. Angelo rarely gambles, and probably doesn’t even know what card counting is. I don’t snitch on my sister-in-law though. We’re starting The Real Housewives of Atlanta next week, and like fuck am I watching the franchise on my own.

Love made men simps

“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 steel my jaw. Give her one last warning look, then flick the box open. Immediately, my blood runs cold. Something thickens in my throat, and I can’t seem to get any words out, let alone in order. Eventually, I manage a strangled, “You’re not wearing it.” I can’t believe I didn’t notice she’s not wearing it. Her hand flies to her chest. “I’m lucky, with or without the necklace,” she says quietly. “I have you, I have friends, I have the best job. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.” Her fingers slide over mine, and she takes the box from me. “My socks didn’t work for you, nor did you taking your mama’s advice about believing you’re lucky. So maybe this will.” The four-leaf clover pendant winks as she lifts it off the cushion and dangles it in the space between us. “I had it put on a new chain, so it’s a little longer. More manly, too.” She chokes out an awkward laugh. “Here, let me put it on you.” 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. “There.” She slides the chain under my shirt collar and pats my chest, then looks up into my eyes. 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 ...