Page 34 of Sweet Sinners

Chapter twenty-nine

Connor

H er palm burns against my skin, pure fucking torture.

I want to lean into her touch, close my eyes, and let myself soak in the warmth. I want to demand to know why she was breathlessly moaning my name behind her door right before I knocked—if it was really me filling her thoughts and driving her wild. But I shouldn't ask. I shouldn't want to know.

Because knowing—being right or wrong—would change everything. And I'm not sure if I can handle that.

Cali is the only one who truly has my back, the only person who sees beyond the twisted cautionary tale I've become. If I blur the lines between us, I risk losing her. And losing her would mean losing everything.

Even if we weren't tied together by our messed-up family history, I can't drag her down with me.

She's stepping into a role that demands respect, and the last thing she needs is my fucked-up reputation casting shadows over her.

I won't let myself be the reason her world falls apart. I couldn’t live with myself if my presence destroyed the empire she was born to rule.

No matter what comes to light, no matter if someone else finally owns up to the murder of our parents, the whispers will never stop. People will always look at me sideways, convinced my hands are stained with their blood.

And beyond that, there's the real reason this goddamn monitor is strapped to my ankle.

Despite the powerhouse attorneys Cali’s grandparents hired, the judge didn't buy my claim of self-defense Self-defense, he said, doesn't stretch from the first punch to the third, or the tenth. By then, it's just violence.

Fighting was always my addiction. My mother warned me about it relentlessly, saying it would be my downfall.

God, I should've fucking listened to her.

Instead, I swung fists like my life depended on it, and when prison swallowed me up, that finally became true.

Dante knew it. I knew it. That first fight behind bars had been survival, pure and simple.

But it escalated, turned into a twisted spectacle until even the guards started betting on me.

I became their entertainment. Brad Pitt in fucking Fight Club .

Until someone didn't get back up.

Reporters say I got off easy—that I murdered my mother and stepfather in cold blood and, not satisfied, I went ahead and did it again inside .

A cold-hearted killer.

That's all the world sees when they look at me.

But not her. My Angel doesn't look at me like everyone else does—not anymore.

Not after nights spent in this place I'd sworn never to return to, reliving memories I wanted buried forever.

She was supposed to fade into the background, just another ghost haunting this mansion, yet instead, she's filling all my empty spaces with something dangerously close to hope.

And that's the fucking problem—hope. It doesn't belong here, not between us, not in this strange limbo we're trapped in.

All we're doing is dancing around lines we shouldn't cross, tangling ourselves in a mess we'll never be able to unravel.

Whatever this is between us—this raw, hungry tension—it won't lead anywhere good. It'll only burn us both.

Cali’s fingertips linger on another scar, tracing the jagged skin like she’s trying to memorize every dark moment it took to make it. It's too gentle—too intimate—so before I realize what I'm doing, I turn and grip her wrist, pulling her hand from my body.

"I don’t need you to kiss them better, Cali," I mutter, the words harsher than I mean them to be. "I’m not a kid. I can handle a few scars."

I try to make it sound casual—unaffected—like the scars are meaningless, like her touch doesn't burn through every layer I've carefully constructed around myself. But her breath catches, betraying that she sees right through my bullshit.

And honestly, so do I.

Yet, she doesn't pull away. She doesn't break free from my grasp or retreat.

Instead, she stays right there, her hand trembling slightly in mine, her lips parted softly in surprise or challenge—I can't fucking tell. Her eyes hold mine, the color impossibly deep, vivid like clear skies I’ve almost forgotten .

Fuck, she’s beautiful. Dangerous and beautiful, like the flower I’ve taken upon myself to nurture in the greenhouse. One wrong move and it could end me.

I tighten my grip, pulled deeper into her gravity, unable to look away even as every instinct screams at me to run.

"You can be grown up and still need someone to be gentle with you," she murmurs, her voice soft, hesitant. "Are there…more?"

I pause, swallowing hard as memories burn the back of my throat. "Not every scar leaves a mark on your skin," I say quietly.

Her eyes soften, cracking something deep inside me before she steps closer, crossing every boundary I thought I had.

She slides her arms around my waist, pulling me against her like she needs this more than I do, like she can erase the last three years with a single embrace.

My muscles tense automatically, my body conditioned to expect pain, not comfort—but she holds on tighter, refusing to let go until the fight bleeds out of me.

"Cali," I warn softly, voice strained.

"Shut up and let me hold you," she whispers fiercely, her breath burning hot through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"You spent three years locked away without anyone touching you like this.

Three years without family—without me. I never welcomed you home, never told you how fucking glad I am that you're here. I failed you."

Her words slam through me, breaking walls I didn't even know I'd built.

My heart pounds violently in my chest, a relentless drumbeat echoing in my skull.

She's right—it's been so goddamn long since anyone touched me without cruelty or hidden motives.

My breath shudders out of me as I slowly wrap my arms around her, closing my eyes as her warmth invades every dark corner of my soul.

"You treat me better than most people think I deserve," I rasp against her hair, my voice thick with things I can't say aloud .

She presses even closer, fingers knotting in my shirt like she needs the anchor to steady herself, her voice muffled but resolute.

"You're innocent, Connor. I don't care what anyone else says—you didn't hurt our parents.

You did what you had to do to survive in there.

If no one else can see it, fuck them. I see you.

" She lifts her face, eyes fierce with determination and filled with regret. "I’m sorry I ever doubted you."

Something tightens inside me, raw and painful, clawing at the walls of my chest. Because the way she's looking at me right now, like she'd fight the entire damn world just to prove I'm worth saving…it's dangerous. It’s reckless.

It's everything I've ever needed.

I hesitate, the words lodged deep in my throat.

Her support wouldn't have changed anything back then, wouldn't have spared me from a second of pain but it still matters.

It matters because it's her. The realization makes my chest ache, and my grip tightens instinctively, selfishly holding onto her warmth even though I should let go.

She's forbidden, off-limits, a line I'm desperate to cross, and yet I can't seem to push her away.

I've missed touch—missed this—more than I ever allowed myself to admit.

Closing my eyes, I draw her impossibly closer. "Thank you," I whisper roughly, my voice thick with everything I don't dare say aloud.

She nods against my chest, a quiet sniffle shattering what's left of my defenses. Tears didn't exist in prison—they were a weakness that could end you—but Cali's tears rip into me, slicing deeper than any blade ever could.

Slowly, carefully, I slide my fingers into her hair, gently tugging until she lifts her gaze to mine.

Her blue eyes are swimming, heartbreakingly vulnerable, a single tear sliding silently down her flushed cheek.

Before I can stop myself, I lean in, pressing my lips to her forehead, savoring the softness of her skin .

"I'm okay," I murmur, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "You're okay. Life is pain, Cali. We survive it until we can't."

"Connor," she whispers, her voice breaking on my name, shattering every last shred of my self-control.

"Prison wasn’t some bad dream I could wake up from.

It was hell—real, brutal, and inescapable," I tell her softly, brushing my thumb across her cheek, catching another tear as it falls.

"But thinking about it won’t help me move forward.

So no more tears, no more worrying about my scars, and definitely no more looking at me like I might shatter. "

Her brow pinches, lips parted as if to protest, and that only makes my chest tighten further. Cali’s blue eyes glisten, the pain in her expression cutting deeper than any physical wound ever could.

"But—"

"Cali, I’m a grown man," I say firmly, my voice quiet but unyielding. "I've survived this long on my own. I don't plan on stopping now."

She stares up at me, her fingers trembling slightly as they trace the rough stubble along my jaw, her touch achingly tender.

I can’t look away—her face holds me captive, every soft line, every fragile shadow in her gaze promising something I can't afford to want. We’re walking a dangerous edge here, one misstep from disaster, yet neither of us pulls back.

Every moment I’m around her is pure agony, and yet I crave the pain. I want her to lean on me, to need me, even if I know I’ll ruin her in the end. She’s invaded every corner of my mind, and it's becoming impossible to pretend that I don’t want her—body, heart, and fucking soul.

"Cali," I warn softly, my voice strained with everything I shouldn’t say. "You shouldn't let me touch you. "

Her eyes darken, defiant and determined as her fingers curl tighter into my shirt. "Too bad," she breathes, pulling me closer until the warmth of her body seeps into mine, drowning my resistance.

I lean down, my heart hammering as her lips part slightly, ready and waiting.

Her lashes sweep downward, a breathy sigh escaping her, and I almost lose it then—almost forget everything holding me back.

Our foreheads brush, mouths just barely grazing, the heat of her skin burning me from the inside out.

Then footsteps echo sharply against the marble floors.

I jerk upright, breaking the intoxicating closeness just as one of the maids appears in the doorway. Her gasp snaps the tension in the room, shattering whatever moment we nearly surrendered to.

"Miss Cali...your grandfather's on the phone," the maid murmurs, her voice wary and edged with judgment.

Cali spins around, cheeks flaming as she quickly steps away from me, hurrying toward the maid. The maid’s gaze slides my way, harsh and condemning, a bitter reminder of how the world sees me—how they'll see Cali if I let this happen.

To Cali, I’m innocent, worth trusting, even redeemable. To everyone else, I’m still the monster.

And now I have a choice: break her heart or drag her down into my darkness.

Neither option is good, but she deserves better than what I can offer.