Page 24 of Forbidden Sins

SEBASTIAN

I lean against the wall near the French doors that lead out to the gardens, wishing I had something to do with my hands as I watch Estella from across the ballroom.

I’d give anything for a drink right now—maybe a glass of the whiskey I see a nearby guest sipping from a cut-crystal tumbler—but I can’t drink on the job.

I imagine the burn of it sliding down my throat, but I know it would do nothing to ease the tightness in my chest. The room is swirling with light from the chandeliers and laughter and the warmth of mingled bodies, the cream of mafia and billionaire society from at least three different large cities here tonight, but I feel as if I’m under a cold, gray cloud.

Antony was calling this a ‘small, intimate gathering,’ from what Estella told me, but she and I are both aware of what this really is. It’s a parade of suitors for her, each one wealthier and more well-connected than the one before.

It’s been a week since our ill-advised night out for her friend’s birthday.

The way it ended, with my finger brushing her lip and the sound of my voice murmuring promises that I’ve thought over and over but should never have said to her out loud, was enough to tell me that I shouldn’t have encouraged it.

That, and everything else that happened in between.

I press my lips together, catching sight of her in the crowd.

She’s wearing dark blue silk tonight, a gorgeous evening gown that drapes over her perfect body and splits up one leg, sapphires shimmering at her ears and neck, and wrist, her thick dark hair piled up on her head.

Just looking at her makes me fucking ache.

I see the sapphire pendant glimmering from where it rests just below the dip of her collarbone, and my lips tingle with the desire to press them against her skin there—to find out how warm she would feel against my mouth, how sweet she would taste if I ran my tongue over her skin.

My cock twitches, and I grit my teeth. Here I am, in a room surrounded by men hoping to get their chance to court her, and I’m getting a fucking hard-on for a woman I can’t touch.

It would be pathetic, if not for the fact that a week ago, Estella Gallo, perfect mafia princess, had an orgasm on the back of my motorcycle.

Don’t think about it, I warn myself, but it’s impossible not to.

I’m not one hundred percent sure, of course.

But I felt the way she grabbed me suddenly, felt her back arch, felt her gasping against the back of my neck.

I’d thought she was just scared, and I’d felt like shit for not going back and getting my car instead of talking her into riding with me on the bike.

But then I’d helped her down, and saw her face.

God help me, but I know what a woman looks like right after she comes. I knew that soft, heavy-lidded look, that slight part to her lips, that glazed expression in her eyes. I would have sworn on any book I was asked to that Estella had just had an orgasm while clinging to me on my motorcycle.

My cock was so hard in that instant it could have fucking snapped in two.

It took everything in me not to tear her clothes off and fuck her right there in the parking lot.

I’d felt like a fucking animal for an instant, looking at her, primal and feral and like there was nothing I could do but take what I wanted.

For a moment, looking at her, I’d thought I knew what it must feel like to drown.

But I’ve been drowning in her for a long time now.

I stopped myself, of course. I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to reach down and adjust myself, because I’m now well on the way to being rock-fucking-hard in the middle of this goddamn party.

Estella is still standing there, talking to some woman I don’t know, and I can’t stop tracing the creamy line of her throat with my eyes, the curve of her shoulder where that fucking asshole at the bowling alley touched her and where I touched her later, desperate for her to feel my hand there instead.

Maybe I could sneak off for a few minutes. Just long enough to get some relief. I could slip off to the bathroom, claim that I needed to take a piss. There’s enough security here tonight that no one would probably even notice?—

“Admiring the view, Sinclair?”

I nearly jumped, startled by Brick’s voice in my ear, cutting through my musings over whether or not I can sneak off to the bathroom for a quick stroke to get my head back on straight.

I twist around, seeing the man standing there, wearing the usual all-black uniform of Gallo’s security.

He’s built like the brick shithouse that he’s nicknamed after, an imposing man in the middle of all this glitz and glamor, and right now he’s pinning me with a look that makes me feel uncomfortably seen.

“Just keeping an eye on things,” I manage, keeping my voice as carefully neutral as I can. “You know. What I’m paid to do.”

Brick chuckles darkly. “Sure. Keeping an eye on the boss’s daughter in particular?”

“Also what I’m paid to do.” I shift uncomfortably, both wishing he’d go away and grateful that his presence has at least helped to quell my erection. “I’m her personal bodyguard, Brick. Where the fuck else should I be looking?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Brick’s voice is overly casual as he leans against the doorframe next to me, his voice low enough for only us to hear.

“The windows. The doors. The gardens. Any entrance or exit where someone looking to make trouble could be coming in or going out. Not at her mouth for five minutes straight, I can tell you that.”

Actually, I was looking at her throat, and thinking about the sound she’d make when I ran my mouth down it. My cock twitches again, and I clear my throat, pushing the thought aside. That certainly isn’t what I’m going to tell Brick.

“Careful,” I mutter, glancing at him with irritation. “Someone hears you say that, they’ll start thinking I have ideas that I don’t.”

“You sure?” Brick looks at me, his gaze heavy. “You’ve been here three years, Sinclair, at her side the whole time. I can see how that might fuck with a man’s head, being so close to something he can’t have. Make him start thinking things he shouldn’t.”

“Fuck off,” I bite out. “You’re full of shit. My only interest in Estella Gallo is the money her father pays me to watch out for her.”

The words burn my lips like the lies that they are. But what the hell else am I supposed to say? Not the truth—that every moment I’m around her, my thoughts get filthier with every passing day, my need for her turning into something that surpasses desire.

I haven’t even gotten laid in months. For weeks now, it’s felt unthinkable. I can’t imagine touching any woman but her.

Maybe that will change, once she’s married and I have to come to terms with the fact that some other man is putting his hands on her .

But for now, I can’t summon desire for anyone else.

It’s driving me mad, living like a monk and fucking nothing other than my fist, but I don’t see any solution to it.

Brick raises his hands in mock surrender. “Just a little friendly advice, Sinclair. Making sure you haven’t forgotten who she is—or what could happen to a man who gets ideas above his station in this family.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I grind out from between my teeth, but Brick is already walking away.

My gaze drifts back to Estella, drawn like a magnet to iron.

She’s talking to a middle-aged man dressed in an impeccable suit, his hair swept back and gelled stiffly, his eyes glued to her like she’s a meal being served up for his pleasure.

My jaw tightens at the sight, and I feel my fingers press into my palms, my hands curling into fists as he leans in and whispers something in her ear.

She laughs politely, but I can see that her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

I see her fingers tighten around her champagne flute.

I’ve been her bodyguard for three years now—I’m attuned to her every movement, her every quirk, her mind and body, and every single thing about her.

I know she doesn’t want that man near her.

It takes everything in me not to close the distance between us and physically pull him away.

I tear my gaze away from her, scanning the room. From the other side, Antony Gallo catches my eye and gives me a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes watching me like a shark’s. A reminder to do my job. A reminder of my place.

It’s a bitter thought, tonight more than ever.

My place is in the shadows, not at her side. A weapon, not a lover.

Especially not hers.

I watch as Antony moves through the crowd toward Estella, another man at his side—this one taller than him by a head, with curly black hair and deeply tanned skin.

He gestures for Estella to walk with them, and she follows with a hint of reluctance that I think only I see, following alongside them to a spot by the windows not far from where I’m standing.

“Estella, let me introduce Nico Adamos,” Antony says, gesturing to the man standing next to him, who nods respectfully to Estella.

From where I’m standing, I can see that he’s maybe in his mid-thirties, well-dressed and handsome enough to make my blood boil.

I have the strange feeling that Antony has maneuvered them so that I can hear the conversation, which is confusing.

I’ve always been careful to never cross any lines where Estella’s father could notice, to not seem too familiar with her around him.

He has no reason to think that I have any feeling for her beyond that of a bodyguard—not that I’m aware of.

All the same, a prickling sense of danger creeps down the nape of my neck as I listen to their conversation.

“His family controls a great deal of shipping in the Mediterranean,” Antony continues. Estella holds out her hand with practiced grace, a smile on her lips.

“A pleasure, Mr. Adamos.”