Page 28 of The Lies Of Omission (Without Limits #3)

“Fuck, baby—” His voice shattered against my lips. “You feel so good against me.”

His name—Sin—wasn’t a title. It was a prophecy.

I gripped his hair, dragging his head back, needing to see the strain in his throat, his pulse fluttering under the skin.

I latched on to that exposed hollow, sucking down hard enough to bruise.

To claim. He was panting, his breath catching on each exhale—a stutter, a break, a crack in his armor.

I wanted to destroy him and worship him in the same breath, wanted to ruin him for anyone else and be the only one who could put him back together.

“I’ve missed you.” The words came from him like a confession. Like they hurt to speak. His voice scraped through the air, rough and frayed, like he’d pulled it from some dark place deep inside. “You know that, don’t you?”

My chest ached. That ache you get when you look at the thing you want most in the world and realize you’ve already carved it into your soul. I smiled against his throat, but it wasn’t sweet. It was dangerous.

“I know.” But I didn’t know what to do with it.

Instead of saying more, I turned, dropped to my hands, bracing myself against the cold tile as I looked back over my shoulder. I offered him everything without saying a word—offered myself up to be filled. To be worshipped.

His dark eyes blazed like oil-fed fire. He licked his swollen lips and let out a low, reverent curse.

“What do you want, baby?” he asked, voice rough like gravel and sex.

He palmed my ass, thumbs spreading me, holding me open like I was something sacred and obscene all at once.

“I want you.” My voice cracked around the words, sharp and clear as a blade. “I want you to break me open. Ruin me. Put me back together again.”

I want to say I’m sorry that I keep doing this to you. That I keep pulling you back in and kicking you out again. I don’t know how to stop. I need you. Want you. But I… can’t. I can’t keep you no matter how much I want to.

A shudder rolled through him, violent and visceral, and then he pressed close, his thick cock sliding between my cheeks, not entering yet—just teasing. Threatening. Promising.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he growled. “You made sure of that. You always fucking do. You drag me back in every time.”

“I need you, Sin.”

His breath ghosted against the shell of my ear as he bent over me, chest pressed to my back, wrapping his arms around me like a cage.

“Where do you want me, Theo?” he whispered my name like a vow and a curse in the same breath.

I tipped my head back, resting it on his shoulder, my hand working my cock in long, desperate strokes. My mind waged war, but my body had already surrendered.

“Inside me. I need to feel you. I’m empty without you.”

He didn’t speak—he just groaned, almost feral, and bit my shoulder, a mark to match the others he’d left inside me. One hand spread me wide, the other wrapped around my throat, not choking, just keeping me here in the moment.

“Then have me, baby. Let me wreck you. Let me fill every hollow part of you until there’s no space left for anyone but me.”

Sin dropped to his knees like a man worshipping at an altar, except I was the sacrifice, and he was both priest and predator.

His hands slid over my sweat-slicked skin, reverent and ruthless all at once, fingers digging in like he couldn’t get close enough.

When they settled on my ass and pried me open, I felt everything inside me fracture.

“So perfect,” he murmured, breath hot, and laced with lust. Then his tongue flicked over the sensitive nerves of my entrance, and I bucked like a live wire under his touch.

“Fuck! More. Please.” My voice cracked, shattered, begged without shame.

That was all he needed. Like a fuse lit, Sin exploded.

He devoured me, his tongue working me open with reverence, every stroke coaxing my body into surrender.

His fingers followed, one sliding inside, then another, stretching me with methodical precision, like he was carving space for himself and no one else.

The click of the lube bottle barely cut through the riot in my head. My heart thundered like it was trying to escape my chest, but I didn’t want to escape. I wanted him. Even if it ruined me.

The thick head of his cock notched at my entrance, slick with precum and lube. I gasped as my body instinctively clenched, resisting the stretch it also craved.

“Shhh… I’ve got you, baby.” His voice was hoarse—unhinged with want. One arm wrapped around my chest, pinning me to him, the other gripping my hip so hard I’d wear the bruises for days. “Be a good boy. Open up for me. Let me in. All the way.”

I nodded, barely breathing, forcing myself to exhale and relax into the initial burn.

Into the want. Into him. And then—he thrust forward.

A slow, merciless pressure, splitting me open inch by inch.

I felt the first ring of muscle give, then the second, and he groaned, deep and ragged, like the sound had been clawed straight from his lungs.

“God, you’re tight. Like your body doesn’t want to let anyone in but me.” His teeth dragged along my neck, tongue catching the sweat and water there. “Like you were made just to take me.”

When he bottomed out, seated deep inside, I saw stars. My fingers scrabbled at the tiles, at his arm, at anything to anchor me to reality. But nothing existed but him. Nothing ever would again.

We moved together—desperation fueling every thrust, every grind, every drag of his cock inside me. It wasn’t just fucking. It was an obsession given form. Every moan was a cry for more. Every slap of skin on skin was a vow: we don’t exist without each other.

“You were made for me,” Sin growled into my throat, biting down hard enough to make me gasp. “Say it. Say it, baby. Let them all hear it.”

“I was made for you.” I choked, voice trembling, eyes burning. “I’m yours.”

He slammed into me; the force stealing the breath from my lungs. “Fucking right you are. And if anyone tries to take you?—”

“They won’t.” I gripped his arm tighter, anchoring him to me. And prayed silently as tears pooled behind my closed eyes that he wouldn’t hear the lie that wrapped around my words.

“I’m not going to last.”

Sin shifted, changing the angle of his brutal thrusts—each one hitting my prostate with a sniper’s precision, like he was trying to break something open inside me. My heavy balls drew up tight, a raw ache coiling in my gut. Electricity surged through my veins, searing a path straight up my spine.

“I want you to come hands-free, baby,” he growled, drunk on the way I trembled. “Paint the tiles with your release. Show me what only I can do to you.”

“F-Fuck—” I choked out, the words a broken gasp, his command shredding what little control I had left.

I shattered. My cock throbbed, spilling thick, hot ropes of cum, splattering the tiles just like he told me to.

My vision went white around the edges as I blacked out for a heartbeat, maybe two.

My knees buckled underneath me, but his tattooed hand wrapped around me—rough, possessive, trembling with restraint—stroking the last drops from my slit as he buried himself even deeper, grinding into me with a desperation that bordered on madness.

“Oh shit, Theo—your ass is squeezing me so fucking tight—I—I can’t—” His voice broke, a shudder ripping through him. “Fuuuck.”

His hips stuttered, a strangled cry tore from his throat, and then I felt it. Heat flooding me, viscous and obscene. The moment he came inside me, something inside my chest snapped —a wire pulled too tight for too long.

He collapsed forward, bracing himself above me, his breath ragged against my neck. I reveled in the sensation of his skin on mine. In his closeness. The feeling of safety I felt in his arms.

My breath caught in my throat as he pulled out, and I felt him dripping down my thighs. His cum. Sliding in thick, hot trails.

“Oh fuck, that’s—fuck, that’s hot.”

I looked back just in time to see him spread me open again, one hand on my hip, the other pulling my ass cheeks apart like he was inspecting something sacred. Or defiled.

“Sin—”

“I got you, baby.” His voice was almost reverent. Then he dropped to his knees again , and I gasped as his tongue dragged across my oversensitive hole, licking his release from my skin like it was communion.

It was filthy.

It was unhinged.

It was perfect.

He savored me like I was his last meal, like he could suck the soul out of me and keep it on his tongue forever. Something inside me cracked—something fragile and already too worn—and I let it . I wanted it.

I wanted him to consume me until there was nothing left. I was falling for him. Even though I shouldn’t—couldn’t.

Instead of acknowledging it, I spun around and hauled him up so I could taste us on his tongue. I’d show him everything with my body that I could never say out loud.

When we came again—it was violent. Unrelenting. Cataclysmic.

I clenched hard around him, my body locking down as his name tore from my throat like prayer. His release followed, hot and heavy, spilling deep inside, claiming every inch of me. He collapsed on top of me, our bodies fused together by sweat, cum, and madness.

Even as the aftershocks tore through us, his hand curled around my throat, thumb stroking my jaw like he was grounding himself in the reality of me. His eyes—wild, glassy, obsessive—fixed on mine with the kind of hunger that didn’t fade with an orgasm. The kind that only grew.

“There’s no going back,” he rasped, eyes burning into me. “You’re mine now.”

I smiled, and buried my face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. Broken and whole in the same breath, feeling like I’d collapse under the weight of it all.

His forehead rested against mine, our breath ragged, syncing. I dragged my fingers through his soaked hair, needing to touch him, to anchor myself in the aftermath. In him. No words. Just touch. Just presence. And let the silence wrap around us like a second skin.

When we finally pulled apart, we dried off slowly, our movements sluggish and sated. Plush towels absorbed the water, but not the damage. Not the history between us that clung like blood on silk.

Hours later, the jet dipped into the molten dusk of the Cayman Islands. Everything screamed wealth and decadence. The kind of place where secrets were currency and empires were buried with gold-plated shovels.

A sleek black car waited on the tarmac, idling like a beast ready to pounce.

Neither of us spoke on the drive. Sin wore mirrored sunglasses, shielding his eyes, but I could feel it—the crack forming in his foundation. The slow, unstoppable slide into feelings . He hated it. He feared it. And still, he let it happen.

Because it was me . And he thought this time was different.

The Astor estate loomed over the cliffside like something out of a fever dream.

Ivory walls, opulent balconies, shadows that whispered in languages older than time.

Inside, we were led to a suite soaked in obscene luxury.

Marble floors. Liquor older than either of us.

A view of the ocean so sharp it could cut.

Something was wrong. Sin stood at the window, fists clenched at his sides, jaw carved from granite. The silence stretched between us like a live wire.

Eventually, he said, “Why are we really here, Theo?”

I moved to the bar, my movements slow, deliberate. Poured two fingers of whiskey.

“You know why.”

“I know what you told me,” he snapped, “That doesn’t mean it’s the truth.”

I turned, handed him the glass. “There’s a meeting. Tomorrow. One of my father’s people.”

His voice dropped. “What kind of people?”

I met his gaze. “The kind who don’t show up in Forbes .”

He barked out a laugh. Bitter. Hollow. “And I’m supposed to sit there and play lapdog while you dance on a fucking landmine?”

“No,” I said, closing the distance, placing the glass in his hand and keeping my fingers there, wrapped around his. “You’re going to stay here. I won’t be long. I promise.”

He didn’t respond. Not at first. We both knew my promises were easily broken and weren’t worth the weight of the air I breathed.

His jaw twitched. His throat worked around words he didn’t speak. He studied me like he was trying to figure out whether I was real or just a drunken hallucination.

Then, quietly, like a knife sliding in between ribs, he murmured, “If I’m your conscience, Theo… we’re already fucked.”

I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Good. Maybe now we’re finally starting to understand each other.”

He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to.