Page 63 of The Sin Binder’s Chains (The Seven Sins Academy #2)

Not pain. Not exactly. More like... impact. Like something inside me slams open, and I don’t know if it’s my chest or my magic or my fucking soul, but it tears through me with a heat I wasn’t braced for.

The blood hits. Skin to skin.

And the bond erupts. My knees almost buckle. My breath catches sharp and shallow in my throat, and I have to grip the edge of the desk with my free hand just to stay upright.

No words. No chant. No ceremony.

She didn’t ask.

She just took.

And gods, I let her. Because I’m hers already and have been for weeks, and pretending otherwise is just an elaborate game I’ve been losing every damn day.

I stare at our hands. At the blood mingling between our fingers, thick and dark and somehow alive. The magic curls around us, smoky and electric, sharp-edged and sweet at the same time. It tastes like ink and salt and her mouth on mine. It hurts.

But it’s beautiful, too.

Twisted and inevitable.

“Luna,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m asking.

She doesn’t answer. Just presses her palm harder to mine until the bond finishes weaving itself through the raw, open places between us. Until I can feel her. Not just her body. Her rage. Her hunger. Her need to protect and destroy and come undone without ever surrendering an inch.

It fills me.

Floods me.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I feel whole.

I exhale a broken laugh. “So... was that a yes?”

She finally looks at me. Not smiling. Not soft.

But her eyes... her eyes are heat and gravity and claim.

“You’re mine now,” she says, voice quiet. And I nod, because fuck yes I am.

When she says it, you’re mine now, and I swear something inside me fractures just to make room for the truth of it. It’s not a metaphor. Not suggestion. It’s magic, blood-deep, crawling through every vein like she branded her name into my soul with a knife and a whispered promise.

She steps back. Her hand slips from mine.

I should breathe. I don’t. Because she reaches for the tie at her waist.

One tug. One flick of her fingers. And the robe slips open.

Holy fuck.

She’s not wearing anything underneath it.

No lingerie. No hidden armor. No veil of modesty to pretend this isn’t exactly what it is.

She’s naked.

Lit only by the flicker of a single dying candle, her skin gilded in gold and shadow, mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on me like she’s already decided how I’ll fall apart for her.

And the worst part? I do. Immediately. Every part of me goes still. Quiet. Like my brain short-circuited and my body’s waiting for new instructions.

She lets the robe fall. It pools around her feet like black silk mourning the loss of her restraint.

I forget every clever thing I was ever supposed to say. No joke. No quip. No sarcastic one-liner to dodge the way my heart’s trying to break its fucking way out of my chest just to reach her faster.

I stare like a goddamn idiot. Because she’s perfect. And terrifying. And mine in a way that feels too sacred to name. She moves toward me, slow and deliberate, like every step is calculated to drive the last bit of oxygen from my lungs.

“Still want this?” she murmurs.

And gods help me, I can’t speak.

So I nod.

Because if I open my mouth, it won’t be words.

It’ll be worship.

She steps between my legs. Slow. Deliberate. Like she knows I’ll break if she moves too fast and maybe she wants to watch it happen in real time.

Her bare thighs brush mine, and my hands instinctively go to her hips. Not possessive. Just… anchoring. Because I need something solid while the rest of me spins off-center.

She’s heat. She’s gravity. She’s the kind of storm that tears the roof off your house and then kisses you on the mouth while the world burns down around you.

I don’t breathe.

Her hands lift. Slide into my hair. Tug just enough to pull my head back so she can look at me fully, so I can’t hide behind my sarcasm or wit or the thousand deflections I’ve trained myself to throw up between me and feeling anything too much.

“You don’t talk now,” she whispers, and her voice is silk laced with threat.

I nod, mute. Because gods, if I open my mouth again, something humiliating is going to fall out, and I’ve already met my quota for cringey declarations tonight.

Her fingers trace my jaw, feather-light, and then her mouth is on mine.

Not gentle.

Not kind.

Just claiming.

And everything inside me shatters.

She kisses like she owns the moment, like she owns me, and maybe she does now. Maybe the bond is already rooted too deep for me to claw it out. Maybe I don’t want to.

My fingers dig into her waist. Not to stop her. Just to feel her. Just to remind myself she’s here.

Alive.

Naked.

Mine.

Her teeth catch my bottom lip and the low sound that leaves my throat is not remotely dignified.

Her voice brushes against it, low and full of promise. “You going to make that noise every time I bite you, Elias?”

I laugh. Or try to.

It comes out strangled.

“If I say yes, do I get extra credit?”

She smiles then. Just a flicker. Dangerous and pleased.

“Only if you beg.”

And fuck, I might.

She tips me backward.

No hesitation. No question. Just her hand on my chest and enough pressure to send me down onto the mattress like I belong there, flat on my back, heartbeat in my throat, mouth parted like I’m ready to beg without even knowing what for.

And let’s be honest, I am about two seconds away from going feral.

Because she’s looking at me like I’m not real. Like I’m something she conjured, something she earned.

Her leg slides over mine as she straddles me, slow and controlled, like every movement is a deliberate act of domination. And gods, it works. My blood spikes. My mind blanks.

I reach for her hips, but she slaps my hands away without a word.

Just a sharp look.

A warning.

And fuck, that does something to me I’m not proud of.

She leans down, mouth hovering just above mine, her hair curtaining our faces like the rest of the world doesn’t exist anymore, and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just her and me and this bed and the bond crackling under my skin like wildfire.

“You want to touch me?” she asks, voice like a dare.

“Yes,” I say, hoarse.

“Earn it.”

Fuck.

My laugh comes out choked. “Okay, yeah, noted. We’re doing the villainous goddess act now. Cool. Sexy. Slightly terrifying.”

She smiles.

“Terrifying?” she echoes, dragging her fingers down my chest with maddening slowness.

“I mean,” I breathe, “in a deeply erotic, please-ruin-me kind of way.”

And then she does.

Not all at once. Just enough to remind me that I said yes. That I gave her this. That I wanted the bond, the magic, the madness that comes with her touch.

Because now I’m not just Elias Dain, sarcasm merchant and reluctant lover.

Now I’m hers.

And I want her to prove it.

She doesn’t kiss me again. Not right away.

Instead, she hovers, her body straddling mine, eyes burning with something that feels like prophecy.

Her mouth hovers just above mine, her breath brushing against my lips, not soft, not teasing, but loaded.

Every inch of her is coiled with purpose.

She’s not here to ask for permission. She’s here to remind me who I just gave myself to.

The air between us simmers, full of unspoken heat, and I realize she’s waiting.

For words. For surrender. For confirmation.

“Say it again,” she breathes, and I feel the demand echo in my bones.

My voice scrapes from somewhere low and ruined. “What?”

“That you’re mine.”

The second I say it, “You’re mine” something inside her changes. She doesn’t smile. She decides. And then she kisses me like she’s reclaiming something that already belongs to her.

There’s nothing careful in it.

Her mouth crashes into mine, not with affection but with need, tongue sweeping in like a stormfront. It’s overwhelming, intoxicating, and there’s not a single part of me that wants to resist. My hands go to her hips, desperate to ground myself, to feel her.

Her hands tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to tilt my head back and expose my throat.

She doesn’t bite. Not yet. But she lingers there, breathing me in, letting the bond throb between us with every heartbeat.

My lungs are shaking. My mind’s unraveling.

And I don’t know if it’s the bond or the woman on top of me, but I’m coming undone in ways I don’t know how to stop.

She rolls her hips against mine, slow, devastating, and I choke on a moan.

She doesn’t give me time to recover. Her fingers trail down my chest, nails leaving phantom scratches, a breadcrumb path of sensation I can’t chase fast enough.

Every touch is strategic, like she’s rewiring my body to respond only to her.

And it’s working.

“Luna,” I groan, dragging my hands down her back, nails scraping lightly just to hear her breathe harder.

She bites my lip.

Not soft. Not a tease.

A warning.

“I’m not fragile,” I pant. “You can- ”

“Shut up, Elias.”

And gods, the way she says it, like she’s laughing and threatening to break me in half at the same time, makes my cock throb.

She reaches between us. Wraps her hand around me, skin to skin, no hesitation. And everything in me fractures.

“Fuck,” I gasp, my hips jerking up instinctively. “That’s not fair.”

She tilts her head, all amusement and heat. “Fair?” she repeats. “You want me to be fair?”

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

She lines us up, gaze never leaving mine, and then, finally, sinks onto me.

It’s not slow.

It’s not gentle.

It’s everything.

The bond lights up like it’s been waiting for this.

My back arches off the bed, my hands claw at the sheets, and I forget how to be anything other than hers.

She rides me like it’s not sex, it’s claiming.

Like every roll of her hips is another oath, another vow, another reminder that I will never belong to anyone else again.

She braces herself on my chest and moves with perfect, punishing rhythm. Each thrust is a demand. Each moan is a command. And all I can do is obey.

I try to speak, try to joke, but the only thing that leaves my mouth is her name, half-plea, half-prayer. She leans in, bites my lip hard enough to draw blood, and then whispers, “Take it, Elias.”

And I do.

I take her heat. Her power. The bond that’s now wrapped around my spine and sunk teeth into my heart. I take everything she gives me and still want more.

When I finally come, it’s not release.

It’s annihilation.

I shatter under her, come apart in a rush that feels too vast for one body to contain. My mind blanks. My body locks. And through the chaos, the only thing I feel is her.

The bond seals in that moment, final and irrevocable.

I don’t just love her.

I belong to her.

And gods help me, I never want to be free.