Billionaire’s Sins Read Online By L. Steele - Read Billionaire’s Sins(30) Online free

Ava

"What?" I stare up at him. "What the hell did you say?"

"You heard me." His lips twist in a smirk that is Edward, and yet, it isn’t.

"What do you mean, Ed?"

"I mean..." He pulls out of me, then thrusts forward with just enough force that my entire body jolts. Tendrils of heat shudder out from the impact. My pussy clenches around his dick. Moisture pools in my core and my nipples tighten.

"Oh, god," I groan.

"That too." He stares at me with such burning intensity that my chest tightens. "But what I was going to say is that you had to give up your virginity some time. May as well have been to a man of God, right?"

Something hot stabs at my chest. My vision tunnels. Before I can stop myself, I snake out my palm, which connects with his cheek.

His face snaps back. The thud of the slap echoes around the room.

There’s silence. Then thunder rumbles in the distance. Lightning flashes outside. The brightness illuminates his features for a second, highlighting the hollows under his cheekbones, the darkness that rings his eyes. For a second, he looks feral and wild…so unlike the quiet, if dominant, man I’ve come to know.

But do I? Do I know him at all?

I only met him a week ago and fell for him. I’d known there was more to him than the front he presented to the world, but at that time, I’d put it down to the fact that behind his guise as a priest there was a passionate man, someone who felt so deeply; someone who, when he'd finally admit his feelings for me, would burn me up with his passion.

And right now, watching him, I know I was right all along. Behind that civilized veneer is a beast… someone who I have no clue about, someone I do not know at all.

"Edward—"

"Shut up," he barks.

I gape. "What are you—?"

"I told you to keep quiet, didn’t I?" he growls as he pulls out of me, then plunges forward. His dick fills me, stretches me, and his balls slap against my inner thighs. The crown of his cock hits that secret spot deep inside of me and I cry out.

Above me, he tenses, then begins to move. He saws in and out of me, in and out. Each time he pushes in, his shaft hits that spot, again and again. Goosebumps pop on my skin. My nipples tighten into hard nubs of agony, my pussy clenches down on his shaft, and he groans. He tilts his hips, propels forward with enough force that the entire bed frame shakes. The headboard slams into the wall and vibrations of heat and lust shoot up my spine. "Omigod, I am going to—"

"Come for me," he snarls. "Come all over my cock."

His voice shoves me over the edge and I shatter. Moisture gushes out from between my legs and my body bucks. I throw my head back as the climax overwhelms me. When I open my eyes, he’s above me, watching me, tracking my every reaction.

I blink at him, watch as the tenderness in his gaze slips away to be replaced by a coldness, a single-minded intent that sends a shiver of apprehension crawling down my spine.

"Edward—"

"Shh." He cups my breast, dragging his thumb across my sensitized nipple. "So, fucking beautiful." His voice is remote, his tone hard. Almost as hard as his shaft that’s still inside of me.

"Ed—" I shiver as he hooks his arms behind my knees, shoves them up so they are bent on either side of my chest. I am splayed out, open and vulnerable. A sacrifice on the altar of this priest who seems to have shed the last vestiges of his humanity along with his robe. "Ed, please—"

He shakes his head and I subside. I draw in a shuddering breath, watch as his nostrils flare. His shoulders bunch, then he pulls out of me, stays poised with his cock at the rim of my slit.

"You are going to come again with me."

"No," I beg. "Please, not yet."

"Yes," he insists.

"I can’t."

"You will." He pistons forward, and I am so wet, so ready, that he slips inside easily, his thick shaft sheathed inside me, filling me again to the brim. I’ll never be this…full again. This crammed with Edward.

"No." I surge forward, wind my arms around his neck, push up and fit my lips to his. I open my mouth over his, and maybe I take him by surprise, for he parts his lips. I thrust my tongue inside his mouth, suck from him, draw from that minty darkness, inhale that cut grass scent that is so very Edward.

His big body shudders, then he kisses me back. Of course, Edward takes control of the kiss. He angles his head, deepens the kiss. Pushes me back into the mattress, swipes his tongue across my teeth, drags it along the inner seam of my lower lip. He plunders my mouth like it’s his last kiss, his last time that he’s going to be this close and... No, no, no. I can’t let him go. No matter that he’s trying to make me hate him. As efforts go, it’s pathetic. If he thinks he can simply say and do things in the hope that it’s going to make me dislike him, he is so wrong. I cling to him as he pushes forward and thrusts into me. As he impales me over and over again. As he pistons his hips forward and rams into me with such force that both our bodies jolt with the action. As he hits that spot again deep inside me and the climax shudders out from the point of contact, races up my back, my neck.

He tears his mouth from mine and whispers, "Come."

And I burst into flames as he roars above me and empties himself inside of me.

He stays poised above me for a few seconds more, sharing my breath, his lips a hair’s breadth away from mine, his eyes open and holding mine, as if he can’t bear to shut them.

I hold his gaze, tracing the webwork of fine lines that radiate from the edges of his eyes. The thick hair that falls across his brow. The ridiculously long eyelashes that fan out above his cheeks. The patrician nose, the stern upper lip, that pouty lower lip, that I want to kiss. I draw my finger down the scar on his cheek, then tip my chin up. I raise my mouth to his and he moves away.

He releases his hold under my knees, pulls out of me, then rolls over the side of the bed. He turns to walk into the bathroom and I take in the marks on his back. What the—? Did someone whip him? Did he whip himself? And not too long ago, by the looks of it.

He comes back with a wet towel that he uses to wipe between my legs. He tosses the cloth aside, then turns to leave, when I jump up and throw myself at him. "Edward, don’t go."

He stays silent.

"Please, just hold me. I need you, Ed. Please."

He draws in a breath and his shoulders shudder. Then he turns. He pushes me back onto the bed. He pulls the covers up over me. I am about to protest when he slips in next to me. He presses down on my shoulder indicating that I should turn over, and when I do, he winds his arm around my waist and pulls me to him. I weave my fingers with his where they rest on my belly. His hand is so big that his palm covers the expanse of my stomach. My back is pressed into his chest; his half-erect dick settles in the valley between my arse-cheeks. His thighs cradle the backs of mine; his knees lock into the grooves behind mine.

His warmth envelops me. His scent is all around me. And I know I should turn around to face him, throw my arms around him and hold him close and tell him not to leave me, because I know he’s going to. As soon as I close my eyes, he’ll be gone, and I’ll never see him again. I half turn, when he slides his arm under my neck, curls that big forearm above my breasts. He tucks my head under his chin and orders, "Get some sleep."

I shouldn’t. I should ask him what happened that had him come to me and simultaneously decide to leave me. I want to tell him I didn’t tell him I was a virgin because I wanted him to be the first. My first. That there will never be anyone else. Instead, my eyelids flutter down and darkness drags me under, but I resist it.

Instead, I mumble, "Ed?"

"Hmm?"

"I saw the lash streaks on your back."

He stiffens, but doesn't say anything.

"Do you whip yourself, Ed?" I bite down on my lower lip. "Is that how you punish yourself? Is this how you deal with the aftermath of the incident?"

Tension radiates off of him and his big body seems to grow even more tense. Then he blows out a breath, "Sleep Ava, close your eyes."

I can't. I don’t want to. If I do, you'll leave and I don’t want that. I don't want you to leave.

"Ed," I swallow, "don’t go, please."

"I have to, Eve."

"I can’t live without you."

"You can."

"No," I whine, "I’ll die if you go."

"You'll regret it if I stay."

"It’s not true," I insist. "You know it isn’t."

"So far, I’ve done what was best for me, but from now on, everything I do, I do for you."

"That sounds like a bad Bryan Adams song."

He chuckles, the sound without humor. "That’s me, one bad pun after the other, baby."

"I love it when you call me baby." I yawn so widely that my jaw cracks.

"Sleep, baby." He presses his lips to the top of my head. This time sleep envelops me.

I come awake with a start, knowing something is wrong. I turn on my back to find I am alone in bed. Pale light filters in through the crack between the curtains. I spring up, throw off the cover, swing my legs over the bed, and race into the living room to find his backpack gone. I run back into the ensuite bathroom and his clothes are gone. Shit, shit shit. I knew I shouldn’t have slept. Knew he’d leave. Knew he’d take off, and now I’ll never see him again. No, don’t even go there. You’re going to find him, wherever he is.

I am not going to let him walk away from me like this. I round the bed, stare at the nightstand next to where he’d slept. Nothing. What had I been expecting? A note? What would he say? “Thank you for offering me your arse and your pussy and your mouth, but no thank you. It isn’t enough."

What had last night been all about, anyway? He’d walked in, filled with purpose, then seemed to lose himself somewhere in between. He’d shown he could be caring and tender, only to do an about-face and be nasty to me, then seemed to turn passionate again. Shit. Something had been wrong. All those hidden messages in what he’d told me… I’d almost grasped them, then put them aside because I’d been too focused on what he’d been doing to my body. Oh, he’d made sure to distract me alright, and I’d fallen for it. If he had known I was a virgin, he wouldn’t even have come to me, right? So, I should be grateful he had…but then he had left me. Bloody hell, what am I going to do now?

The sound of a bike revving reaches me. What the—? Has he been outside all this time? Has he been waiting for me to go out to him? Have I missed my chance to stop him? I race to my closet, pull on a dress, then run into the living room. I grab my house keys from the table near the entrance, then shove open the front door, run down the steps, over the short garden path and onto the road, just in time to see him round the corner on the bike.

"Edward," I scream and give chase. My bare feet thud against the sidewalk. The impact of each step ricochets through me as I race forward. I reach the bend, turn, my feet stumble over a crack in the pavement. The ground comes up to meet me. I close my eyes, brace for impact, only to be hauled up and against something hard.

"Watch where you are going," a rough voice rumbles. The vibrations shiver over the planes of the chest against which I am pressed.

My heart leaps in my chest and my belly trembles. "Edward." My lips widen in a smile. "You didn’t leave. Oh, Edward! I knew you wouldn’t go." I tilt my head up. "I knew you wouldn’t—" My gaze clashes with unfamiliar blue eyes. So cold, so chilling. Eyes so dead that, surely, the soul behind them belongs to someone who's seen too much, who has no humanity left in him. Eyes which are the exact opposite of Edward's smoldering golden ones.

"Y... you?" I stutter. "Who’re you?"

"Baron." His jaw tics. "I’m Baron, and you’re in my way."

To find out what happens next read Billionaire’s Promise HERE

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Ava

Baron? I blink, why is that name so familiar? "Do I know you?" I scowl, "And what do you mean that I am in your way? I almost fell—"

"Until you didn’t," he points out. "I saved you from hurting yourself."

"I thought you were someone else." I take in his harsh features, the dark blonde hair that falls over his forehead, the rich tan of his skin which hints at a life spent outdoors, the dark eyelashes that fringe a pair of brilliant blue eyes. The kind of eyes you could drown in, get lost in. So deep that they hide secrets. Secrets which I have had enough of. I no longer want to be drawn into something I can’t fathom. I yank at his grasp and he releases me so suddenly that I stumble back. He grips my shoulder, holds me long enough to ensure that I’ve found my balance, then releases me.

"You’re better off without him." His lips twist.

"How do you know that?" A chill runs up my spine and I wrap my arms around myself.

"Anyone who has you running barefoot on the sidewalk at," he glances at the watch on his thick wrist, "six in the morning, clearly doesn’t deserve you."

"And I suppose you do?" I purse my lips together. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I baiting him? Why does he rub me the wrong way, and after he’d saved me from a bad fall? I could have hurt myself… Not that I could be hurt any worse, after how Edward had turned and left.

Edward. I swing around and stare at the now deserted road. The houses on either side of the quiet London street mock me. The fog that envelops the street clears, and for a second, I think I see him in the distance. I take a step forward, trip over the same crack in the pavement. Damn it! I stumble once more and when thick fingers wrap themselves around my wrist, I try to shake them off. "Let go of me," I huff.

"Why should I when, clearly, you can’t put one foot in front of the other without hurting yourself?"

"You’re hurting me now." I glance down at where his massive palm is curled around my hand. Warm tanned skin, scarred knuckles that lead up to a veined forearm, peppered with hair. The sheer masculinity of this man is overwhelming. I glance up again into those blue eyes. The scowl that laces his features, the grooves etched into his forehead hinting at his permanent dark mood.

He releases me, and I turn back toward the image I’d seen, but the road is empty. The early morning sun’s rays slant down, and the fog seems to disperse in front of my eyes.

"He’s gone," I mumble. "I couldn’t stop him." A tear squeezes out from the corner of my eye and I slap it away angrily.

"No one’s worth crying over."

"Oh?" I swallow down the ball of emotion that clogs my throat, then pivot and brush past him. "And how would you know that?"

"Because I spent a lot of my early years crying over something that could never be righted."

"You?" I pause, then stare at him across my shoulder. I tilt my head up, all the way up, to take in his massive height. He’s as tall as Edward… No, taller. And his shoulders are broader. His massive chest hints at hours spent in some kind of physical work. Maybe he trains a lot? Or he’s in some kind of profession that demands he stay in top condition? What do I care anyway? Edward is gone. He hadn’t left behind even a note. He’d shagged me—okay, so I’d asked him to shag me, fine, not denying that—and then he’d left.

He’d crept away while I was asleep, after promising we’d be together, and now I am never going to see him again. My stomach twists, my guts churn, and the bile rolls up my throat. Goddam it. I spring to the side, fall to my knees, and am violently sick. I retch so hard, tears run from my eyes again, my hair falls over my face, and then he’s there. He piles my hair on top of my head, holds my forehead while I empty my guts out. Somebody, kill me. This has to be the worst day of my life. Getting sick, and because that’s not bad enough, in front of a stranger.

When I am done, he offers me his handkerchief. I glance up at him, and he jerks his chin, "Take it."

When I don’t reach for it, he pats my mouth with the fabric. I snatch it from him, turn my face away and dab at my lips. I rise up, and he’s with me. I turn and am about to hand the cloth back to him, then grimace and stuff it in the back pocket of my jeans. "I’ll wash it and give it back to you."

I turn away, take a step forward and my legs seem to turn to jelly. Fuck me, what the hell is wrong with me? The ground comes up to meet me again, and this time, I am not surprised when he scoops me up.

"Put me down," I mumble.

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he begins to walk back the way I’d come. "Which house?" he asks, his tone brusque.

"That one." I point toward the first house on our right.

He walks toward it, up the garden path, then takes the stairs two at a time, as if he isn’t carrying me. Not that I weigh much, but hey, he could, at least, be out of breath or something. But there’s not a hitch or any change in his breathing pattern to indicate that he is carrying the weight of another person. He stops at my front door.

I reach into my front pocket, pull out my keys. He shifts my weight, takes the key from me, unlocks the door, then walks through, before crossing the floor to the settee where he deposits me. He straightens then points a finger at me. "Stay there."

"Not that I was going anywhere, but seriously, what the hell is your problem?" I huff. "And I didn’t give you permission to come into my house." I frown.

He arches an eyebrow, trains those piercing blue eyes on me, and I subside.

He places the keys on the coffee table then pivots and walks toward my kitchen as if he owns the place. Shit, the way his massive frame takes up space, he does, actually. His physical presence seems to absorb all of the oxygen in the space and my lungs burn.

Or maybe that’s because of the growing realization that I’ve lost him. I’ve lost Edward. Had I ever had him? And he never told me that he isn't returning, but the sick sensation at the bottom of my stomach insists that he won't be anytime soon. My palms sweat and my chest hurts. I sit up and the world swims around me again.

"I told you to stay put," he chides as he appears from the direction of the kitchen. He squats down in front of me, handing me a glass of water.

I take it and drink from it, upturn the glass, but he grips my wrist. "Not too much or it’ll make you sick again."

I lower it, glance through my eyelashes at him. He takes the glass from me, places it on the table.

"How are you feeling now?" He searches my face.

"Better," I mutter. "I need to brush my teeth."

He peruses my features then nods, rises to his feet, and scoops me up with him.

"I can walk," I protest.

He simply stalks into the bedroom, putting me down at the entrance to the bath.

I step inside, turn to shut the door to find him standing, hands folded, a stillness about him that is at odds with just how alert his eyes are.

"You can go," I mumble, "I’ll be fine."

He doesn’t move. Not so much as blinks an eye.

"Whatever." I sigh, then close the door and lock it. Not that I don’t trust him. Okay, I don’t trust him. So what if he saved me from hurting myself, then hauled me back in here and made sure I was hydrated? I’d trusted Edward and what did he do…? He broke his vows for me. He fucked me. OMG, he took my virginity and then left me. He’s not coming back, and once more, I’ve screwed up my life.

I had gone after the impossible. He’d been a priest, for hell’s sake. Why did I have to fall for him? Why had I been so attracted to him that I couldn’t conceivably want anyone else but him? Of course. Not only had I spoiled my career by leaving behind the safety of a degree and a possible nine-to-five job, but then I also had to go after a completely unsuitable man. Typical Eve.

Eve. Now I’m calling myself Eve? My heart seems to shatter. I crumple to the floor, hide my face in my hands and begin to weep. Large sobs that hurt my chest, fill my throat, and overflow until I am sure I am going to shatter into a million pieces, and every one of them would still cry, Edward. Get over the dramarama, bitch. Clearly, I’ve been reading too many romance novels if I am becoming so over-the-top sentimental. But damn him, he broke my heart.

In such a short period of time, he’d crawled under my skin, and imprinted himself into my soul in a way… A way that only a man of God could have. Someone who was in service of a higher purpose than himself. Shit, what am I thinking? Why am I making excuses for him, when all he’s done since I met him is give me second place in his life? He may have broken his vows for me, but then he left, and I simply cannot fathom why. Hell, maybe it wasn’t even for me that he broke his vows. I may not know what happened, but clearly, there was something bothering him when he got here.

More tears well up and my pulse thuds at my temples. A banging sound fills my head and I am sure it is my heart pounding in my ears, but then a male voice calls behind me, "Open up, or I swear, I am going to break down this door."

"Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit." I scramble up, grab hold of a hand towel and wipe my face with it.

The banging increases in urgency, then the sound of a shoulder crashing against the bathroom door reaches me.

"Stop," I yelp as I rush toward it. The last thing I need is for the door to be broken down. The bloody landlord would definitely take it out of my deposit. I reach the doorway, yank it open and come face to face with Mr. Grumpy Pants himself.

"What’s your problem?" I snap.

"You," he looks me up and down, "you’re my problem."

"Jesus." I gape at him. "You insult me in my own home? If you hadn’t helped me earlier—which, by the way, wasn’t required. I can take care of myself, but you did and I am grateful for it, but now you can leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I’m not going anywhere," he informs me. "Not until you have a shower and get a good breakfast. You need it after your crying jag."

"Crying jag." I flush. Of course, he heard me weeping my stupid heart out. Why the hell does he care how I feel? Why is he so concerned about me? "Who the hell are you anyway?" I scowl. "You’re seriously giving me the creeps, the way you’ve barged into my life."

"And you are getting antsy for no reason." He holds up his arms. "You can pat me down if you want. You’ll see I’m not dangerous."

Dangerous? He doesn’t need weapons to be dangerous.

I look him up and down. "No, thank you, and by the way, I am taken."

"Taken?"

I nod. "My uh…man… He just left earlier."

"That’s who you were chasing after?"

"Only because he forgot his phone," I lie.

"He forgot his phone..." he says slowly.

"Y…yeah." I swallow.

"So, you were chasing after him, barefooted?"

I nod.

"So, where’s his phone?"

"None of your business." I scowl. "Will you please step away now so I can shower?"

"Not stopping you."

Anger twists my guts and it feels good. Good to be able to focus on something else, other than that jerk-hole who walked out of my life. How dare he play with me like this? How dare he stalk in here, claim me, imprint himself all over me, then walk out without looking back once? How dare he?

I fist my hands at my sides, then step back and slam the door shut. I lock it again, march over to the shower and turn it on. I shed my clothes, step under the hot water and allow it to flow over me. A few hours ago, he’d stood here as I had sucked him off. Hell. Hell. Hell. No need to figure out if I will be going to hell for having teased the Father into breaking his vows… Clearly, I am already there.

Is this my punishment from the other One in our relationship? The One Above. The Almighty who, no doubt, is displeased with me for having tempted one of His own to sin. Gah, stop that. Why are you questioning things as if the Father’s influence has rubbed off on you? Not long ago, he’d been here rubbing off on me. Ugh. Stop that. He’s gone, remember?

He left you.

Walked out without a backward glance. So why are you still so…so…hung up on him?

I raise my head toward the spray, let the hot water wash away the tears. I stand under the pelting drops until my head clears somewhat. Then switch it off and dry myself. I wrap the towel around myself, secure it and walk into the bedroom. It’s empty. Of course, it would be. Why had I thought otherwise? I walk over to my closet, pull on my underclothes, a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt.

I need to stop holding onto hope that he’ll return to me. There’s no reason to think he will. His actions had all been intended to hurt. Clearly, he wants me to forget about him. Except, he took my virginity, something I’ll never forget. To be fair, I hadn’t mentioned to him that I was a virgin. Thank God for that. I got to spend some time with him. Yeah, and he broke your heart too, how about that, hmm?

It’s only your heart… It will mend… Unlike whatever he is facing. It has to be something catastrophic that propelled Edward to leave behind the priesthood and take off. Something I intend to get to the bottom of.

I grab a hair tie, pile my hair on top of my head, then walk out of the bedroom, across the living room toward the kitchen.

The scent of toast and coffee reaches me. My stomach growls. I step inside the kitchen, pause. His back is to me and his broad shoulders are framed against the first rays of the sun that pour in. They halo him, highlight him, make him seem larger than life. A behemoth. Someone who came into my life, for what? To save me? From Edward? From myself? A shiver runs down my spine. I shake my head, walk over to the coffee pot to pour myself a cup. He turns to me then. "Sit." He jerks his head toward the table. "I’ll pour it for you."

"But—"

"Go on," he says, his voice impatient. "This will go much faster if you cooperate."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"I mean," he schools his features into an expression of patience, "sit down, please."

I hesitate. That please? It didn’t sound like he meant it. In fact, it sounded as if he’d said it with much reluctance. He raises an eyebrow, turns his gaze to the table then back at me.

Fine, be like that. I slap the mug back on the kitchen counter, stomp over to the table and seat myself. I play with the ends of my hair, pull off the band and place it on the table. Then drum my fingers on the table. He turns, surveys my restless fingers, and I cease the movement instantly. Goosebumps flare on my skin. What is it about his glare that makes me want to rush to obey him?

He pours me a cup of coffee, brings it over, along with a stack of pancakes on a plate. On a second plate he's piled hash browns, baked beans and toast, which he places between us.

I blink down at the two plates, then up at him. "Uh, who is all this for?"

"You." He turns to grab his own plate, then sits opposite me. "I substituted flaxseeds for the eggs for the pancakes," he remarks.

I glance at him. "You did?"

He nods.

"How do you know that I am vegetarian?"

"Because you don't keep any meat or fish or eggs at home?"

Right. "I do eat milk and eggs," I mutter. "Just happen to be out of them..." I shuffle my feet, "the eggs, I mean." Gah, shut up, what's wrong with me? Why do I tend to babble in his presence? Why does he make me nervous?

He picks up his fork and knife, then eyes me across the table. "You’re not eating," he admonishes.

"Neither are you."

His lips quirk, then he glances down and digs into his food.

I follow his lead, manage to make my way through a quarter of the pancakes, before I give up and lean back. I watch him demolish the food on his plate like he hasn’t eaten in years.

When he glances up, I push my half-filled plate toward him.

He scowls at it. "You haven’t eaten nearly enough."

"It’s enough," I insist.

"It’s enough when I say it is."

I blink at him, "Seriously, you didn’t just say that."

"What’s wrong with what I said?"

"Are you trying to be funny or something?"

"I’ve never been more serious." He leans forward, "You need your energy; you are wasting away."

I scoff. "I wouldn’t call this," I point at myself, "wasting away."

"You’re right."

"I am?"

He nods. "You have decent curves. I’ve seen better, of course, but you’ll do."

I gape at him. "You…you’re…something, you know that?"

"I often have that effect on women."

I jump to my feet. "Out. Get out."

He meets my gaze with a cool glance. "You’re overreacting."

"And you’re not welcome here anymore."

"I’m afraid that’s not your call to make."

"What?" I frown. "This is my apartment and you are seated at my table—"

"In front of a breakfast I cooked for you."

"A breakfast you can shove up your—"

He tilts his head, and there’s just enough warning in that single glance for me to press my lips together. Why the hell had I allowed him, a complete stranger, into my home? And yet, why does that jut of his jaw, the spark of anger in his eyes, feel so…right?

No, no, no. This can’t be happening. I just had one man walk out on me a few hours ago, and already, I am attracted to another? Talk about being a slut. Only I’m not one. Hell, I’d never wanted to sleep with anyone else before Edward. And now, suddenly, here’s another man, someone to whom I am attracted just as much? With as much intensity as Ed… It’s the same... Yet different, though. With Ed…the pull had been sharp, incisive, almost clinical in the precision with which my heart had gravitated toward him. Probably because once I'd realized that he was a priest, every single interaction with him had felt wrong...but with Baron…there’s a freedom. A need… An overwhelming pull to throw myself at him, throw myself at his mercy, and beg him to do anything he wants with me. Maybe the need Edward ignited opened up a hotbed of something… Some nameless emotion, some twisting sensation that I had hidden away for too long. And now it's out there, and I feel like I am exposed and aching and throbbing and crying out for attention.

My chest tightens. My scalp tingles. My skin suddenly feels too tight for my body. I take a breath and my lungs burn. My knees knock together and I sit down in the chair so suddenly that the legs creak.

"You okay?" His gaze intensifies as he peruses my features and I look away.

Heat flushes my skin and my toes curl. My own thoughts have aroused me in a way that I never would have expected. My thighs clench and my center throbs. The soreness in my backside and between my legs pulses and writhes. Shit, what’s wrong with me? I place my elbows on the table, bury my face in my hands.

I sense him move then. Hear his chair scrape as he pushes it back. The pad of his footsteps, the sound of a glass being filled with water. His footsteps approach, then I hear the thunk of the glass hitting the table in front of me.

"Drink," he commands.

I stiffen. What the hell is his problem?

"Do it," he insists.

I lower my hands and scowl at him.

He simply folds his arms across his chest and glares at me.

Jerk.

I glower back, and his gaze simply intensifies. Hot, burning, overwhelming. The flesh between my legs throbs. Heat flushes my cheeks. I glance away, take a sip. And does the man move away? Of course, not. He waits until I tilt the glass and drink half its contents.

Satisfied, he sits down, pushes my untouched coffee mug toward me.

I reach for it, take a sip. The bitter taste of the java blooms on my palate. I sigh out my appreciation, take another sip. Dark, rich notes of chocolate, laced with a sweeter taste of honey, and in between, the characteristic bitterness of coffee flickers across my tongue. "It’s good." I blink up at him. "Which coffee grinds did you use?"

"The one you had in your coffee canister?"

"Oh." I glance down at the cup, take another sip. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

There’s an amused edge to his tone. I glance up to find his lips twitch.

"No need to make a national joke out of my question," I mutter. "It’s simply that the coffee tastes so much better than when I make it."

"It happens." He raises his shoulders. "When someone else cooks the same dish you do, they have a different touch, a unique way of assembling the ingredients, which will, therefore, be perceived differently by your taste receptors."

"Oh." I blink. "Are you a chef?"

His features close. "No."

He gets up, takes both our plates and the used cutlery over to the sink and begins to wash up.

"I can do—"

He glares at me over his shoulder, and I shut up. Of course, Mr. Growly Pants will do what he wants, when he wants. He finishes the washing up—returns for my now empty coffee cup—which he takes to the sink along with his, and washes that up too. He finishes drying them, puts them away—in the correct places on the shelves, then wipes the counter clean.

"Make yourself at home," I bite out. "In fact, why don’t you move in, while you’re at it?"

He pauses, then turns to me. "Not yet."

My jaw drops. "What do you mean, not yet? I don’t know you at all. You’re a complete stranger and—"

"My point exactly." He folds his arms across his impressive chest and his T-shirt stretches across those beautifully sculpted pecs. His biceps bulge, drawing my attention to his thick veiny forearms.

My throat dries. My tongue seems to be stuck to the roof of my mouth. All the moisture in my body has drained to that single pulsing point between my legs. I gulp. "What…" I clear my throat, "What are you trying to say?"

"That you are too innocent."

I laugh, "Trust me, if you knew what I’ve been up to, you wouldn’t say that."

His gaze narrows and color smears his cheeks. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. "What you have done or not done in the past is none of my business."

"Oh?"

He jerks his chin. "I am more concerned with the now, the present. The fact that you let me, a complete stranger, into your flat."

"You know what?" I scowl at him. "It’s time you left."

"Oh, believe me, I am. I have no intention of staying, now that I know you are safe."

"The only threat here is from you."

"As I was saying…" he enunciates each word slowly, "you...allowed...me—someone you don’t know— into your flat."

"You helped me earlier," I point out.

"I could have been simply trying to gain your trust."

"Is that what you were trying to do?"

"No." He blows out a breath. "I was trying to stop you from hurting yourself."

"So, you’re not a stranger anymore."

"I was when you met me."

“Everyone’s a stranger when you first meet them!” I throw up my hands. "You caught me at a weak moment, okay? And this back and forth is making my head spin. What’s your point anyway?"

"That you shouldn’t let anyone you don’t know inside your home."

And sometimes, you shouldn’t let even those you think do you know, because actually you don’t…you don’t know them at all. Damn you, Edward. I squeeze my eyes shut. "You are right. I’ll be more careful next time."

"Good."

I open my eyelids to find him walking out of the kitchen. I reach for my hair band, find it's gone. Huh? I could swear I placed it on the table earlier. I shake my head, then rise to my feet and follow him. He snatches up the jacket he’d abandoned at some point on the arm of the couch; shrugs into it, then walks to the front door, opens it.

"Wait," I burst out. He pauses, turns to me. Waits as I try to figure out exactly what it is I want to tell him. What do I want from him? Why do I want anything from him? He’s a stranger, right? So why doesn’t he feel that way? Why do I feel like I already know him at some level? A wave of tiredness washes over me. I curl my fingers around the frame of the kitchen doorway where I am poised. "My name is Ava, Ava Erikson."

"I know."

"You do?"

He nods, then points to where I’ve placed my mail on the table near the doorway.

"Right."

He turns away, when I stop him again. "Wait." I call out to him and he stops, "Will I see you again?" I ask.

He hesitates then glances at me over his shoulder. "Do you want to see me again, Ava?"

Billionaire’s Sins by L. Steele

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