Page 51 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

Voices echoed. Cheered. Someone whistled.

“You still over me, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing my spit-slick nipple, eyes locked on mine.

I gasped when he licked a line up my throat, hot and possessive, biting my jaw before moving lower again. Then his hand was between my legs, shoving my skirt up to my waist.

He didn’t bother being gentle. He grabbed my thong, yanked it aside, and shoved two fingers inside me, deep and filthy, knuckles grinding against my clit.

I cried out, nails in his hair, dragging him closer as my hips bucked against his hand.

He fucked me with his fingers fast, rough, obscene.

Then his mouth went back to my breast, sucking until it stung, biting down until I choked on my breath.

“Are you still fucking over me, Scarlett?”

“No,” I choked. “I’ll never be over you.”

He smirked against my skin, lips dragging back to my throat.

“That’s fucking right,” he whispered. “You’re mine. Every part of you. Especially this one,” he said, pushing deeper, curling his fingers so I gasped and tightened around him.

I couldn’t even speak. My body jerked under his grip, shaking, needing.

“ Dis-le . Putain , say it. Say you’re mine,” he growled, voice cracking against my mouth.

I looked up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“I’m yours, Théo,” I breathed. “I’ve always been yours.”

His eyes darkened.

“And I yours,” he said, grabbing my jaw, crushing our mouths together.

I yanked his face closer, kissed him harder, deeper, like it was the last breath I’d ever take.

His hands tore away from mine, and I felt him fumble his shorts down just enough, his cock already hard, already leaking, already pressed against me.

Then he dragged it against my slit, pushing in inch by inch, forcing my body to take him.

My jaw dropped, nails dragging down his skin in a blind, gasping grab for balance.

“C-condom,” I whimpered, choking on the stretch.

He kissed me again, his tongue rough, voice buried in my mouth.

“You’re the only one I fuck, and you fucking know that, baby,” he snarled. “My body’s yours and only yours. But I’ll pull out, I promise.”

I moaned loudly, high-pitched, my cheeks flushed, my body already twitching from how fucking deep he was.

Far off, I heard Nicholas yelling something.

Bottles clinked. Laughter rose.

“Ready, Miss Harper?” he whispered, lips on my neck, tongue wet, breath ragged.

I nodded, already clenching around him. “Yeah.”

“ Parfait .”

He slammed into me. Hard. Over and over. His cock pounded into me, fast and merciless, the sound of our bodies slapping together echoing loudly and wet in the air.

His grip on my hips bruised. His breath came hot and filthy against my mouth.

“You fucking feel that?” he grunted. “You hear how wet you are? That’s what you sound like when you’re mine.”

He licked into my mouth, then bit down on my lower lip as he fucked me so deeply my legs trembled around him.

His hand moved between us, fingers finding my clit, rubbing fast and messily.

“You’re dripping,” he whimpered.

I sobbed against his mouth, nails clawing into his scalp, pulling his hair as my back slammed the wall with every brutal thrust.

“Théo, fuck —” I cried out.

His lips crashed back to mine, swallowing the rest of my words as his cock slammed into me harder, faster, filthier.

He was grunting into my mouth, desperate, obsessive, lost in it. Lost in me .

“Did you hear that?”

A voice. Close. Too fucking close. Maybe two yards from the shed.

I froze. Théo clamped his hand over my mouth, his cock staying buried so deeply inside me I could feel it in my tummy.

He rolled his hips, slowly and deliberately, dragging every inch out before slamming it back in, like he didn’t give a single fuck who was outside.

His lips dragged up my throat, hot and wet.

“Don’t make a sound,” he breathed in my ear.

I moaned against his palm, my body shaking, nails tearing into his back as my walls squeezed around him.

“What?” Nicholas slurred. I heard him hiccup, glass clinking.

“I don’t know,” Pierre said. “Thought I heard someone crying.”

“Crying?” Liya laughed. “You’re drunk.”

Footsteps. Closer now. Shadows moving past the shed door. My pulse pounded in my ears.

But Théo kept going. Deep, slow thrusts, each one filthier than the last.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing my jaw.

“Does it make you wetter? Knowing they could walk in right now and see this tight little pussy milking my cock like it was made for it?”

I whimpered behind his hand, heat spreading through me, panic and pleasure blurring together.

“Okay,” Nicholas laughed. “Want me to check? Worried you’ll get killed in your sleep?”

Théo’s cock twitched inside me.

He pulled out almost to the tip, then drove back in, brutal and full, pinning me to the wall.

My teeth sank into his palm as my orgasm threatened to tear through me.

“Probably a raccoon or something,” Liya muttered. “Whatever. I’m drunk and my bed’s calling.”

“Okay,” Nicholas laughed again. “Or maybe it’s a ghost jerking off in the bushes. Either way, not my problem.”

More footsteps. Bottles clinking. A door creaked open somewhere, and the lights inside the house flicked on, then off again. The window shut with a dull thud.

They were gone.

Théo didn’t even wait for silence to settle. His cock slammed back inside me, hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs.

His hand stayed clamped over my mouth, his other gripping my hip.

“Good job, pretty girl,” he whispered, licking the sweat from my neck.

My orgasm hit, violent and raw, my body locking around him as my moan got trapped behind his palm. I came so hard my vision went white, legs spasming around him.

He pulled out with a snarl, gripped the base of his cock, and stroked once, twice, then groaned as he came all over me, thick and hot, ropes of cum splattering across my stomach and thighs, dripping down the inside of my leg.

His forehead dropped to mine, his breathing ragged.

I grabbed his chin, yanked his face up, and licked his lips—slow, messy, claiming him the same way he’d claimed me. Then I kissed him, open and rough, teeth dragging his bottom lip.

He groaned into my mouth, voice breaking.

“ Je t’aime , Scarlett.”

The words hung between us, thick and suffocating.

They lodged in my throat, heavy and wild, burning to get out from my lips, too, but fear sat like lead in my chest, caging them there.

I stared into his eyes, drowning in them, torn between wanting to scream it back and the terror of what it might mean if I did.

My gaze dropped, desperate for something else to anchor me.

That was when I saw it—the gold chain resting against his skin, glinting beneath the edge of his shirt.

I reached for it. Fingers brushed the damp golden metal, trailing lower, slipping under his sweat-soaked shirt.

Resting against the center of his chest, right over his heart, were two tiny gold stars.

I froze.

No air. No sound. Nothing but the blood rushing in my ears.

The necklace. My necklace.

The one my father had given me for my sixth birthday. The one I’d lost. The one I’d searched for everywhere: under beds, between floorboards, in old drawers I hadn’t opened in years.

The one that had vanished without a trace.

Théo had it.

He’d been wearing it.

All this time .

“Do you remember me now, mon étoile filante ?”