Page 16 of Forbidden Sins

I follow her upstairs and into her room. There’s a tray of dinner that’s been brought up and left on a side table, and Estella immediately shakes her head. “Can you get rid of it?” she asks softly. “I’m going to take a bath. I can’t—I can’t eat.”

“You need to eat,” I remind her, thinking of how I haven’t seen her eat a single thing all day. She might have eaten at breakfast while I was going over security for the funeral with Brick, but I know she hasn’t eaten since then.

“I can’t,” she whispers plaintively. “Please, Sebastian, don’t try to make me. Can you just get them to take it back downstairs?”

My jaw tightens. I want to give in to her, to tell her that yes, of course, I’ll get rid of anything that upsets her—up to and including the innocuous plate of food on the side table. But she needs to eat. She’s not helping anyone by fading away into nothingness.

“No, princess.” I shake my head, placing one hand on her back to guide her toward the chair next to the side table. “You need to eat. When you’ve finished your dinner, you can take that bath, and then you need to rest.”

A stubborn defiance flashes in Estella’s eyes, and she glares at me, digging in her heels.

“How are you going to make me?” she challenges, and I wince, a dozen things that she probably doesn’t know about and could never imagine flooding my head all at once.

I was already struggling the moment she mentioned the bath, fighting the image of her naked beneath the steaming hot water, mounds of soapy bubbles clinging to the tops of her breasts, or oil-slick water sliding over her skin.

I was half-hard just imagining it, but now, as the bratty princess in front of me demands how I’m going to enforce my instructions, other thoughts flood my head instead.

Images of her bent over the bed while I spank her with my belt, or across my lap while she counts out the number of times my palm strikes her pretty, full ass.

Thought of her on her knees, apologizing for talking back to me by taking my cock in between those full, plush lips and swallowing all of my cum once she’s sucked me well enough to earn it.

That ass, striped pink while I sink into her from behind, denying her her orgasm until she begs me for it as a punishment.

Arousal throbs through me, sharp and sudden, and once again I’m suddenly harder than I’ve been in years, my cock so stiff I’m half afraid it might fucking snap off.

I shift, turning so that she can’t see it as I take the lid off of the food, moving the table closer to her—and conveniently blocking me from the waist down.

I reach for a fork, pushing it into her hand.

“Eat, princess,” I command sharply. “If you won’t take care of yourself, then someone else needs to. ”

Estella’s mouth is already open on a retort, but she stops as I say that, her mouth abruptly closing as she presses her lips together.

Don’t look at her lips. Don’t fucking look, Sinclair.

Her mouth is by far one of the most tempting parts of her. Soft and perfectly shaped and so plush and full that I can only imagine how sweet it would feel around my cock. A painful throbbing shoots through my dick just at the thought, and my jaw clenches as I look at Estella.

“Fine, I’ll eat,” she snaps, clearly interpreting my expression as my being angry with her. I hate that, but I can’t exactly explain why that’s wrong. Not without opening up a whole other bunch of questions and problems that we don’t need right now.

Things she never needs to know. And I’ll do my best to keep it that way.

Estella eats every bite. When she’s done, she tosses the silverware down onto the plate, glares at me, and huffs off to the bathroom. A moment later, I hear the running water, and it takes everything in me not to imagine her stripping her clothing off on the other side of that door.

Instead, I grab her tray from dinner and take it downstairs, hoping that the distraction will ease my arousal. When it doesn’t, I duck into the nearest guest bathroom on my way back from the kitchen, locking the door behind me and leaning back against it as I fumble my zipper open with one hand.

I need to fucking come. I need to get my head straight.

This time, I don’t bother forcing myself not to think of Estella.

It’s a losing fucking battle, so instead I let myself imagine her in that bath, let myself picture her standing up, water sluicing over her wet, damp skin, pink from the heat, her nipples, soft and rosy, tightening in the cool air when she looks up and sees me standing there.

“ Fuck ,” I mutter under my breath, my hand moving feverishly over my straining cock.

I won’t last long, not letting my fantasies run wild like this.

I imagine her watching me from the bath, seeing the flex of my forearm as my hand runs along my length, the way my stomach muscles tighten with each delicious burst of pleasure, my jaw clenching as that heat builds at the base of my spine.

I imagine her looking at my cock the way she did that morning by the pool, her pink tongue running over that plush lower lip as I thumb pre-cum away from the head and slide it over my shaft, and I can feel my balls tighten, my orgasm rushing headlong toward the finish.

I grab the edge of the sink, angling my cock over the edge of it as I stroke furiously, desperate for release. There’s no other way I can go back in that room, no way I can look at Estella right after she got done bathing while I’m rock-hard and foggy-headed with lust.

You’re right there, Sebastian. Come for me.

I imagine her sweet, husky voice whispering it, her eyes bright and eager as she watches my cock stiffen and strain in my fist, and then my orgasm erupts, my cock spraying cum against the side of the sink as spurt after spurt erupts from the throbbing tip.

I let go of the sink’s edge, pressing my fist to my mouth in an effort to keep silent as the pleasure races through me, every muscle locking with the force of it.

I stand there for a long moment, breathing hard as my cock softens and my senses return.

That now-familiar guilt washes over me immediately—that I’m down here jerking off instead of upstairs outside of Estella’s room guarding it, as I should be, because I can’t stop thinking of her in a way that should never have entered my mind in the first place.

“Get it together,” I hiss at myself, tucking my dick away and washing my hands. “Fucking get your shit together, Sinclair.”

I head back upstairs, ashamed of myself and determined to do better.

I manage to keep my thoughts clean when I knock on the door and Estella calls for me to come in, and I find her sitting on her bed in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top.

I keep my eyes fixed on her face, and when she looks at me curiously, I don’t say anything at all.

“Can you sleep in here again tonight?” Estella asks softly. “I know it’s probably not very comfortable, but?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her, dropping into the armchair next to the fireplace without further argument. She nods, eyeing me from across the room, but she slides under the covers, switching off her bedside light. The room goes dark, and through that darkness, I hear her soft voice saying my name.

“Good night, Sebastian,” she whispers, and I swallow hard. Every fiber in my body wants to go to her, to slide under those covers with her and take her in my arms, but I resist.

I do my fucking job, and I stay where I am.

“Good night, Estella.”