Page 16 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

SIN

I ’d expected Theo to push me away. To shut down. Pretend like what had happened between us had been a lapse. A mistake. But he didn’t. Not entirely. As days bled into weeks, it kept happening. I became his dirty secret. A drug he couldn’t quit because I offered him a taste of freedom.

Behind locked doors. Between half-breathed lies. In linen closets, staff bathroom stalls, the walk-in cooler after closing, the back seat of his car parked behind the dumpsters like we were teenagers too scared to be seen.

He’d look at me like he wanted to stop. Then he’d devour me like he wanted to die with my name in his mouth. Like his shame could be drowned in sweat and friction. Like his sins could be repented on my lips.

Theo kissed me like he was burning alive, and I was the only oxygen left. Fucked with me like he could outrun the guilt crawling under his skin. But he never let it go further than a quick release.

A hurried handjob, a rushed blowjob between shifts with both of us still half-dressed. As if he kept his belt and shirt on, it didn’t count. Like if he didn’t say it out loud, he didn’t want me. Not really.

But I saw it in the way his hands shook after. In the way he lingered, his forehead pressed to mine for a second too long before pulling away like the world would end if he stayed.

And every time he left—eyes blown, jaw tight, shame rising like steam off his skin—I told myself I was fine.

That I liked it this way. The thrill of catching fire and pretending we weren’t the ones holding the match.

No strings. No expectations. Just lust in a box.

Just your regular fuckboy getting his fix.

That’s who I’d always been.

But the thing no one tells you about forbidden things? If you taste them enough, they stop being forbidden. They start feeling like yours .

And maybe that’s what scared me most.

Because I wasn’t supposed to want him. Not like this. Not in the way that made me start watching the clock between his texts, even though they only ever said “Upstairs. Now.” or “meet me out back in 10.”

Not in the way that made my heart skip when I smelled his cologne in the hallway before I saw him. Or the way that made me crave his attention, like I was drowning, desperate for sweet oxygen only he could provide and hating myself for needing it.

I told myself I was still in control. That I wasn’t falling. Even as I memorized the rhythm of his footsteps. Even as I lingered in rooms for too long, just hoping he might walk in. Even as I reached for my phone like a fucking addict, knowing it wouldn’t be him unless he wanted something physical.

Never I need you.

Never I miss you.

Never I want you.

Just enough to keep me crawling back. A secret. A sin. Something dirty he couldn’t stop touching.

I told myself I didn’t care. That this was what I wanted, and soon I’d get bored and move on.

Until Thalia cornered me mid-shift, her brows drawn tight in that no-bullshit way that made her look more like a general than a friend.

“You’re off your game,” she stared at me, arms crossed. “That guy from Table Five? Walked out with a smile and your dignity.”

“What?”

“He didn’t pay?! I thought he left a card,” I mumbled, rubbing a hand through my curls.

“No,” she deadpanned. “He didn’t. I comped it. And I’m not covering your ass again.”

I swore under my breath.

Thalia didn’t flinch. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

She tilted her head. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?” I snapped back.

“The ‘I’m chasing something dangerous and pretending I won’t get burned’ look.”

I laughed, sharp and hollow. “I’m always chasing something dangerous.”

“Yeah,” she murmured, softer now. “But usually you enjoy the ride.”

That hit harder than I expected. The truth always did when it smacked you in the face. Like learning your parents didn’t love or want you at the age of eight. Some shit dug its claws in, slowly shredding you apart piece by piece the longer you allowed yourself to feel.

That’s why I didn’t do feelings. Didn’t do emotions. I locked them in a box and buried them in a dark vault inside my mind. The heart had no place in my life.

She stepped closer, searching my face like she was trying to decode something written in a language she didn’t want to learn. “This time it looks like it’s eating you alive, Sin.”

I looked away. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve got it handled.”

“Like you handled your last fuck-up?” she snapped, then immediately regretted it. I saw it in her face. “Shit. Sorry.”

I forced a grin. “It’s cute that you care.”

“Don’t deflect.”

“Seriously, T, I’m good. I know what I’m doing.”

She didn’t believe me. Smart girl.

“I’ve never seen you doubt yourself before,” she said quietly. “Never seen you let someone make you small. ”

That got to me.

Because I did feel small. Smaller every time Theo looked at me like he was about to kiss me, only to shove me away a second later. Every time I gave him my mouth, my hands. He chipped away a piece of me every time he touched me. It hurt more than I’d ever admit when all he gave me was shame.

I smirked anyway. Because that’s what I was good at. Faking it. Pretending nothing got to me. Acting like everything was a glancing blow.

“Some people are just worth the bruises.”

Thalia huffed, lips parting like she was going to say something. But I walked away before she could see how deep her words had cut—how easily she’d peeled me open.

I shook my head and dragged in a sharp, unsteady breath. My hands trembled, so I shoved them into my pockets and curled my fingers into fists. I didn’t let people get to me. I didn’t let them matter .

This was exactly why.

You open the door even an inch, and they walk right in with muddy boots, stomp all over the things you don’t talk about, and leave you there—naked in the ruins.

If you let someone close, they could hurt you. If you let someone in, they would .

I was a fucking island.

Untouchable. Cold. Alone.

Just the way I liked it. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Truth was, I didn’t even know why I was still here. Why I kept waking up in this town, breathing this air, pretending the open road wasn’t calling me with every beat of my restless heart.

I could go anywhere. Disappear. Leave no forwarding address. Live life on my terms for once. But I had to play it smart. Save enough. Keep my head down. Then I could get the fuck out of here before I turned into someone else’s ghost.

The crash of dishes and the roar of the lunch crowd snapped everything back into focus like a rubber band to the skull. I turned toward the kitchen—a hand wrapped around my arm, yanking me sideways.

I was pulled into the cleaning closet with a jarring thud, the door slamming shut behind me. The scent of bleach and lemon cleaner curled around me like smoke. My spine hit the shelves. A mop handle clattered to the ground.

It was barely big enough to stand, let alone move. But I didn’t need space. I needed him . I needed a break from caring. A moment to lose myself in something so goddamn intense it hurt.

Theo had me pinned in an instant, chest heaving, eyes wide and stormy. His hands slammed against the shelves on either side of my head, caging me in like he couldn’t trust himself not to grab me too hard.

“I shouldn’t,” he rasped, his voice low, ragged, already closing the gap to mouth at my throat like he’d been starving.

I felt my pulse jackhammer under his lips. Soft, sinful, desperate . “Then don’t,” I said, defiant even as I trembled. “Walk out.”

He didn’t.

Of course, he didn’t.

Instead, he dropped to his knees like gravity had finally won. And whatever war he was fighting inside had collapsed under its own weight.

His fingers worked at my belt, clumsy, frantic. His breath hitched as he dragged my pants and briefs down in one rough movement. Then he was on me. His mouth closed around me with need . Like he’d forgotten how to live without this.

Without me .

I choked on my own gasp, one hand flying to the shelf behind me, the other fisting his hair. I bit down on the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood; to keep from crying out. But it was no use.

He was devouring me.

Desperation in every drag of his tongue, every wet, obscene sound that echoed in that tight, too-bright space. The closet felt like it was spinning, tilting, heat climbing the walls like vines.

My hips jerked forward, my cock nudging the back of his throat. His hands gripped my thighs harder. The kind of grip that said don’t move . The kind of grip that said I need this more than you know .

I looked down and saw him—cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, lips red and slick, his jaw working like he couldn’t stop even if I told him to.

He looked like he was in pain. It looked like worship . I felt like something holy and blasphemous all at once.

My voice came out rough, wrecked. “Still think this means nothing?”

He didn’t answer. Just pulled off me with a gasp and kissed the inside of my thigh, open-mouthed, lips trembling. A string of spit still connected us, obscene and shining in the light.

I reached down, thumbed his swollen bottom lip. “Say it,” I whispered. “Say this doesn’t matter.”

His eyes met mine, glassy and wild. He didn’t answer me with words, instead he surged up and kissed me. Not rough. Not frantic. But slow. Deep. Breaking. Like maybe if he kissed me softly enough, it wouldn’t hurt. But it did. God, it did.

His kiss turned rough again. Desperate. Like he wanted to crawl inside me and hide from himself. Like if he kept touching me, it would drown out the guilt screaming in the back of his throat.

He spun me, chest flush to my back, one hand wrapping around my throat—not squeezing, just there , grounding me, like a tether. The other snaked around and gripped me tight, stroking with practiced precision. His mouth pressed to the back of my neck, breath hot, words trembling.

“I hate how much I want this.”

I didn’t answer. I Couldn’t. Because I wanted it, too. This was our dirty secret.