Page 24 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

His inked skin was already familiar, but I traced the lines again with my tongue anyway—like worship, like prayer.

I yanked down his pants and underwear in one motion, and his cock sprang free, flushed and hard, slapping against his stomach.

I could feel the heat pouring off him. The scent of his arousal curled around me, thick and dizzying.

My fingers wrapped around him, slow and reverent, reacquainting myself with the weight of him, the texture, the impossible softness over steel. My mouth watered, craving the taste I’d missed like an addict.

I ran my thumb over the slick head, collecting precum, and brought it to my lips. I moaned at the flavor—salty, musky, unmistakably him.

“I want to try something different,” I said, voice low and shaky, surging back up to crash my mouth against his. He tasted himself on my tongue as I tore at my own slacks, frantic and clumsy.

His hands slipped under my shirt, and everywhere he touched I ignited. Goosebumps flared. My breath hitched. My whole body vibrated with tension.

I wrapped a hand around my cock, stroking it once, twice—just enough to ease the edge—as I fed on his mouth like it was the last thing I’d ever taste. I ached to be inside him. To feel him clench around me. To take him, ruin him. But we had no lube, and not enough time.

And even if I wanted to destroy him for what he did to me, I didn’t want to hurt him. Not like that.

It was cruel, how much I played with his emotions. All the push and pull. The games. I hated myself for it. But I couldn’t stop. I was selfish. Weak. Addicted to the way he looked at me like I was still worth saving.

“Hold yourself still,” I whispered.

His hand wrapped around his own length, eyes wide and questioning. Dark, blown pupils stared up at me through thick lashes—hungry. Trusting? I shuffled closer, our cocks brushing—slick heads kissing, the moment electric.

“Oh fuck,” Sin moaned, back arching slightly as I pulled my foreskin forward, enveloping the tip of his cock with mine.

His whole body shuddered, and so did mine. It was blistering. Raw. Divine.

Saliva spilled from my mouth and dripped where we were joined, slicking the heat between us as I wrapped one hand tight around our lengths and began to stroke.

Sin’s mouth crashed into mine, tongue fucking its way between my teeth, stealing the air from my lungs. We were feral. Animalistic in our need. Chasing the inevitable high.

My balls drew up tight. My spine arched. My whole body buzzed like it had been lit on fire. The friction of us—skin on skin, heat to heat—was unbearable and perfect.

“Fuck—I’m not gonna last, Theo,” Sin gasped, eyes glittering black, locked onto mine like I was the only thing in the world that could keep him grounded.

I didn’t look away.

His hand joined mine. Fast. Tight. Desperate. Our cocks slid together, leaking, throbbing, pulsing with the weight of what was coming.

He kissed me again—soft this time. Just a breath, a whisper. Our foreheads touched, and our breath mingled, shared, like we were the same body trying to split in two.

My cock thickened, every nerve ending blazing. A groan rumbled in my throat.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispered into my mouth.

And I broke.

Stars burst behind my eyes. My foreskin swelled with the heat of his release as he came inside me, and the sensation—that wet, sacred connection—ripped the last of my restraint away.

I came hard. So hard I felt it in my teeth, in my knees, in the marrow of my bones. Endless. Shuddering. Wild. It spilled out between us, sticky and hot, our joined hands milking every last drop.

I collapsed into him, breathless, my body spent and tingling. His chuckle vibrated through me. My lips curved up even as the world blurred, distant and soft like we were underwater.

Then he was on his knees.

Sin used that wicked, beautiful mouth to lap up our combined release from where my foreskin had slipped back, moaning as he swallowed every drop. The vibration shot up my shaft and made it twitch, another shiver skittering down my spine.

He knew what he was doing. He always knew.

When he finished, he smeared the last of his cum across his fingers and pushed them into my mouth.

“Clean them up.” I sucked them obediently, moaning as I tasted him again, and he purred, “Good boy.”

Before I knew it, his hand was on the back of my neck, pulling me into him. All I could hear was his breathing and the thunder of my own heartbeat. The world was distant, muffled. Like we were suspended in something holy.

He pressed our foreheads together. Lungs syncing. We were lost in each other. In a bubble in time. Not silence—just a hush, soft and ragged stillness.

And in that stillness, something like peace. Something like love. Something I wasn’t sure I deserved—but couldn’t help reaching for anyway.

“Tell me what’s really going on,” Sin breathed, fingers curled in the collar of my shirt like he was holding me together by the seams. “Tell me before I forget why I keep letting you back in.”

His voice trembled, like it had scraped its way up from somewhere broken. I closed my eyes. God, I didn’t want to say it. Saying it made it real.

“He’s pulling my hours at the club. Wants me glued to his side—meetings, dinners, parties, press.

Whatever his agenda is, I’m suddenly his golden asset.

A showpiece. The next generation. The future.

” I laughed, but it came out sharp, bitter.

“Like I’m something he built and now wants to parade around. ”

“Because of me?” His voice cracked on the last word, and it nearly shattered something in me.

I nodded once. That was all I could give.

Sin pulled back, just enough to look me in the eye. His were red-rimmed and etched with exhaustion, like he hadn’t slept, like he’d been carrying every unsaid word between us for days.

“Then tell him you’re done,” he said. “Tell him to go to hell.”

I laughed again, this time a quieter thing.

Bitter. Hollow. “You don’t tell Washington Astor to go to hell.

You don’t tell him anything. You obey, or you disappear.

It’s not just a job—it’s a cult. The only way out is a body bag.

” I swallowed hard. “If I push too far, he’ll strip me of everything.

My job. My identity. The trust I’ve spent my whole life bleeding to earn. ”

Sin’s breath hitched. “And what?” he whispered. “I’ve no place in that future you’re protecting?”

“You’re the only part I want,” I said, so quiet it nearly broke me. “But I don’t know how to keep you without setting myself on fire.”

His face twisted, and for one raw, unbearable second, I saw it—the pain. The grief. The way want doesn’t soften when it hurts. It sharpens.

“You don’t have to destroy yourself,” he said. “Just stop pretending you’re not already bleeding.”

I broke. Buried my face into the crook of his neck like I could crawl inside his skin and live there, like I could glue myself to him before we were ripped apart again.

“You’re the only thing that feels real,” I whispered.

He kissed me, and it was careful this time—like he was trying not to scare me off, or maybe not wake us up. Like if he kissed me slowly enough, the world would stop spinning, and we wouldn’t have to go back to pretending this wasn’t doomed.

We stayed there, clinging to each other like survivors in the wreckage. Breathing the same air. Sharing the same ache.

And even though I knew we were on borrowed time, I held onto him like I never planned to let go. Knowing if I let go, I’d never be whole again.