Page 132 of The Sin Binders Ascent

I bark out a laugh.

Her weight isn’t heavy, but it’sthere. Real. Mine. And it’storture.

Kiss me. Lick me. Fuck, do something,please. That’s the scream running wild in my mind, clawing at the inside of my ribs while I sit here, still, obedient, trying not to drag my mouth over every inch of her exposed skin like some desperate thing. Her scent is soaked into me now, like moss after rain, like bruised fruit and smoke and everything I’m not allowed to taste.

She exhales again, soft, careless, and it hits the hollow beneath my jaw like a fucking prayer. My hands stay where they are, loose at her hips, not gripping, not claiming. But I want to. Iacheto. I want to pull her back tighter against me, thread my fingers through her hair, and guide her mouth to mine, just to see what she does. Just to hear the sound she makes when she finally gives in.

But I don’t. Because this isn’t just heat. This isher.

She’d never forgive me if I stole that moment from her. So I take the suffering instead. Let it build inside my chest like thunder behind my ribs. Let it eat through my restraint, slow and agonizing, as shenuzzles me again, the tip of her nose brushing just beneath my jaw like she’s tasting the pulse there.

“Comfortable?” I ask, voice a scrape of velvet over gravel.

She hums. A low, satisfied sound that vibrates right through my spine. “Weirdly, yeah.”

A pause.

Then she shifts again, just a little. Just enough that her thigh presses against mine, that the back of her head slides beneath my chin, that her body sinks further into mine like she’s forgetting where she ends and I begin.

And I can’t help it. My fingers tighten at her waist, barely. Just enough to feel her there.I can feel her heartbeat against my ribs now, steady and strong, like it belongs inside me. And I know,gods, I know, this isn’t a one-sided hunger. She’s holding back, too. She’s tasting this moment in pieces. Letting herself feel me before she decides how far she’s willing to fall.

I sit in the burn. In the ache. In the quiet storm of her breath against my skin.

If she turns her head even a little more, if she opens that mouth against my throat, if she whispers my name like it’s not a threat but a promise. I will give her everything. Every inch. Every secret. Every ruined part of me no one else ever wanted. Because of this thing between us? It isn’t a spark anymore.

It’s a fuse. And it’s already burning.

Luna

I want to believe I’m not slipping. That this isn’t surrender.

But I’ve stopped counting how many nights I’ve fallen asleep like this, with my back against Theo’s chest, his warmth pressed around me like he’s guarding something sacred and not just bracing against the next awful thing this place throws our way. I tell myself it’s survival. That it’s practical. That in this world where the trees regrow with eyes and the rocks hum names I haven’t told anyone, Theo’s body is the only shelter that doesn’t rearrange itself when I blink.

But then he exhales, slow, low, the kind of sound that ghosts against my throat instead of drifting away, and I feel it. That deep, crawling ache that lives somewhere beneath my ribs now. A desire I never asked for, never wanted, but grows teeth anyway.

I shift, slowly, just enough that my hip brushes his thigh. His hands tighten slightly at my waist. Not gripping. Just a warning. Just a promise. My pulse answers, thudding once, loud in my ears. I keep my head tucked under his chin, where I can pretend this is still innocent. That this is about body heat and exhaustion and nothing more. But his scent is everywhere, smoke, mineral heat, old spice curling at the edges. He smells like something that survived the fire instead of running from it.

He makes this world bearable. He shouldn’t.

“I think I’m losing it,” I murmur into the hollow of his throat. My voice comes out thinner than I want, laced with something I can’t name.

His chest moves behind me, not laughter, but acknowledgment. That’s the thing about Theo. He doesn’t coddle. Doesn’t lie. He just lets my words exist, raw and ugly, until I’m ready to shape them into something else.

“Theo,” I say again, softer this time, “if they could reach me, they would have.”

“They probably already tried,” he says. “And now they’re gutting worlds because they think you’re dead.”

The thought punches the breath out of me. My fists curl in my lap, nails digging into the meat of my palms. I want to scream. I want to believe that. But believing hurts worse than doubting.

“I think about Orin sometimes,” I whisper. “His hands. How calm they always were. Even when I was bleeding or furious or full of magic. He never flinched. He never, ”

Theo’s hand moves, slow, from my waist to the top of my thigh.

“Tell me about him.”

I don’t want to. It’ll ruin me. But I do anyway.

“Orin made silence feel like comfort,” I say. “Not punishment. He could put his hand on my back and it would quiet everything in my head. He didn’t talk unless it mattered. And when he did, it always did.”