Born Sinner by Cora Kenborn
Chapter Six
Sam
The table flips.
Pizza goes flying in all directions.
Blind rage heads for the front door, with sweet confusion trailing after him.
Flexing my grip, I loosen the gun’s connection with the back of the guard’s head as I glance at another security feed that shows Santi Carrera slamming his fist into the wall outside the restaurant.
“Expand on camera three,” I order, and the terrified strip mall guard complies with shaking fingers. Within seconds, the main screen is a forty-six-inch display of satisfaction.
Some say it’s an unparalleled feeling when your blade penetrates deep into the heart of your enemy. For me, their reaction is even better. The look on Carrera’s face right now is more stunning than a sunset over the Grand Canyon.
It’s a brief euphoria, though.
The dark clouds roll in the moment he takes Lola’s chin. The moment he touches what’s mine.
“P-please, don’t hurt me.”
I glance down to see that I’ve rammed the muzzle of my gun into the guard’s head so hard his face is bowed over a keyboard.
“You’ve done well,” I say, easing up on the contact again. “Don’t ruin it. Tell anyone I was here, and you’re a dead man.” Tossing a couple of hundred-dollar bills onto the desk next to him, I drop my gun and exit the security booth.
By the time I reach my Bugatti, Lola is on the move. I placed a tracking device on her white BMW the night she switched my world to monotone. The moment she made it all about her.
Glancing at my cell, I watch her take a right. My lips curve into a smile.
So pretty.
So predictable.
I know exactly where she’s headed—my apartment. She wants to raise hell about what I did last night, but I’ll always be one step ahead. Once she reaches her destination, I have a fun surprise in store for her.
Lola, Lola, Lola.
She burns as bright as the sun, and I can never get enough.
Pulling out of the parking lot myself, I set a course for the opposite direction. If I can’t have her body, I’ll satisfy myself with the next best thing.
Twenty minutes later, I’m parking outside her apartment. I kill the block’s security feed with a swipe of my finger. My phone starts beeping as I’m reaching the front door.
My office. Two hours.
I expected this. The senator has eyes and ears all over the East Coast. It was only a matter of time before I was dragged before his court of reckoning. Well, guess what, stepdaddy dearest? I have a little reckoning of my own to toss around.
Her apartment smells of her.
I cut a trail down the hallway, through her bedroom and into her bathroom. I run my finger over her bottles of perfumes and moisturizers, shampoos and conditioners. I find her birth control tablets stashed at the back of the vanity unit, and force myself not to pop out every little yellow pill and crush them beneath the heel of my sneakers.
The idea of my child growing inside her turns my dick to stone.
My child.
No one else’s…
Fuck.
Kids?
I’m driving myself insane with these thoughts. I’m only twenty years old. I can have any woman I want, but no one else can satisfy me like she can.
I want to use her.
Complete her.
Dirty up her tongue.
Stain her insides.
Spread her perfect ass cheeks and lavish attention on the most secret part of her.
Hissing out a curse, I fall against the vanity unit—gripping the white porcelain basin with one hand as I tear at my zipper with the other. Tipping my head back, I fill my lungs with her scent and her ghost as I work my cock like a man possessed.
Longing.
Needing.
Hard, for the diamond edges of this insatiable lust.
Fast, for how quick this descent into her madness has become.
My wrist aches.
My cock swells.
I groan in pain and elation as lightning zips down my spine and my balls draw tight to my body. I shoot my load so violently, thick ropes of it streak across the porcelain, blemishing the polished silver faucet and mirror.
With my head still swimming, I clean myself up and head for the door. I don’t bother wiping away my sin. This won’t be the last time I corrupt a part of Lola Carrera. As long as there’s breath in my body, no other man will take their pleasure from hers.
My phone beeps again as I slip out of her apartment and make my way down the exit stairway to the parking lot.
You’re in deep shit, Sam. Care to make it an abyss? I told you to stay away from her. My office. Time is ticking.
Despite my stepfather’s fighting words, I’m in a conciliatory mood as I slide into the driver’s seat. After checking Lola’s car tracker and seeing she’s headed home, I tap out a brief response.
On my way.
It’s high time the senator had a lesson in generational deposition.
There’s a new Sanders in town, and he better get used to it.