Page 41 of The Sin-Binder’s Fate (The Seven Sins Academy #1)

I don’t fucking think. The knife is out of my hands before I’ve even registered throwing it, flipping end over end, hitting the stone floor behind me with a sharp clang. I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.

Because she’s right in front of me. And Ambrose, that greedy bastard was going to say yes. The thought makes something in my chest snap. My hands are already on her before I can stop myself, not that I would.

Fingers tangling in her shirt. Yanking her against me. Dragging her into something inevitable. Her breath hitches, but I don’t wait for her to catch up. My mouth is on hers before she can protest, before she can pretend she doesn’t want this just as much as I do.

I kiss her like I want to break her. Because I do. Because she’s breaking me. Teeth clash. Lips bruise. Her gasp is swallowed down as I force her mouth open, taking, taking, taking .

The bond is already curling between us, an undeniable fucking thing, and I should hate it. I do hate it. But it doesn’t matter.

Because she’s mine. Not Ambrose’s. Not fucking Lucien’s. Mine.

She whimpers, not fear. Something darker. Something warmer. Her fingers twitch at my chest, gripping the fabric of my shirt like she’s trying to steady herself, but I’m not going to let her.

I don’t want her steady. I want her wrecked. I spin her before I even realize I’m doing it, gripping her wrist, twisting her so her back collides with the nearest surface. Hard.

A sharp breath leaves her lips, eyes widening for half a second before my body is against hers, pinning her in place, caging her in.

She exhales like she’s about to speak, I don’t want to fucking hear it.

I grab a fistful of her hair and yank her head back, exposing the delicate line of her throat. I lean in, my breath warm against her pulse, teeth grazing skin, fingers digging into her waist. Fuck, she’s soft. Too soft for this.

“This is your fault,” I rasp against her skin. It is.

Her pulse is pounding, racing beneath my lips, beneath my grip. I can feel it, and it makes my blood run hot. The binding mark is already creeping up her skin, latching onto mine, and I don’t know if it’s her magic or my rage that’s making me shake.

I slide my hand lower, my fingers brushing the bare skin of her stomach. I feel her muscles tense, feel the sharp inhale she tries to choke down.

She should fight me.

She should run.

She doesn’t .

“You’re halfway there, sweetheart,” I murmur, my voice dragging over her skin like a blade. I press my lips to the spot just below her ear, let my teeth scrape, let my fingers dig in deeper. She melts.

Fuck.

I drag my hand lower.

She lets me. A ragged breath leaves her lips. She turns her face just slightly, and our mouths are barely apart, her breath mixing with mine. She’s trembling.

“Finish it,” I growl. “Or I will.”

She shudders, and I feel it everywhere. The weight of her, the heat, the scent of her curling around me like a fucking trap.

Her lips part, and she exhales one word.

“Yes.”

Everything inside me snaps. I devour her. My hand shoves under the waistband of her skirt, fingers finding her soaked. A broken sound rips from her throat, and fuck, fuck, fuck, I growl against her mouth, pressing two fingers deep, dragging her open, making sure she feels every inch of it.

She gasps, a choked-off sound, her hips jerking against my hand. My name tumbles past her lips, half-formed, half-ruined, and I want to hear it again.

Louder.

Wrecked.

Screamed.

I curl my fingers, my other hand yanking her head back harder, forcing her throat bare for me.

I bite down, hard enough to leave a mark, hard enough that she fucking whimpers.

She’s already dripping down my fingers, already gasping my name like a fucking prayer, her body writhing against the stone as I push deeper, stroke rougher, drive her higher.

I should make her beg. I want to. But the sound she makes, the way she arches into me, the way her nails sink deep into my arms, the way her breath shatters when I curl my fingers just right, it’s enough.

More than enough. It’s fucking perfect.

Her thighs tremble. Her whole body is taut, caught between trying to pull me in and trying to fight the pleasure ripping through her. She’s never had it like this. No one has ever taken her like this. And now no one else ever will.

“You feel that?” I rasp, dragging my lips along her throat, my tongue flicking against her racing pulse. “You feel how fucking wet you are for me?”

She whimpers, jerking against my hand, her breath strangled. “Riven, ”

I growl.

“Say it again.”

Her lashes flutter. She’s so fucking close, her hips stuttering, rolling down against my fingers like she can’t help it. And she can’t. Not when I own her body now. Not when I’ve got my hand shoved between her thighs, spreading her open, learning her inside and out.

Not when I’m already in too fucking deep .

I drag my lips up the side of her neck, sucking hard, leaving a mark that’s going to be there for days. Maybe longer. I want longer.

“You wanted this,” I murmur, voice dark and low, lips brushing her ear. “Didn’t you?”

She shakes her head. “I- ”

I withdraw my fingers, and she cries out, her hips bucking forward like she’s chasing the friction.

That sound. That fucking sound. I groan, pushing my knee between her thighs, pinning her there, making her ride the pressure.

She gasps, desperate, ruined. “Please.”

Oh, fuck.

She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for, but it doesn’t matter. I do.

I pull back just enough to meet her gaze, and it wrecks me. Her lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, parted around ragged breaths. Her pupils are blown wide, dark and drowning, ruined for me already.

And her cheeks, fuck. Flushed. Hot. Perfect.

My cock is so fucking hard it’s painful. This bond is killing me.

But I refuse to let her go first. If she’s falling, I’m dragging her down with me.

I flip her. One second, she’s against the stone. The next, she’s shoved forward, my palm flattened between her shoulder blades, pinning her.

She gasps, bracing herself against the wall, her body arching instinctively.

Fucking hell .

I drag my hands down her back, over her hips, gripping hard, squeezing, spreading her for me. She shivers, her breath ragged, and I feel it.

That last little bit of resistance, snapping. She’s gone. She’s been mine from the second she walked through those fucking gates.

I rip her away from the wall, lifting her off her feet.

She barely has time to gasp before I toss her onto the bed, her body bouncing against the mattress, limbs sprawling.

For a moment, I don’t move. I just watch her, watch the way her breath comes too fast, the way her thighs part instinctively, inviting me in even as she glares up at me like she has something to prove.

I can see it in her eyes, the fight still lingering beneath the heat, the way she wants to pretend she’s not already falling. It’s fucking cute.

I crawl over her, slow and deliberate, letting the weight of my body settle over hers, pressing her down into the sheets.

She tries to move, but I grab her wrists and pin them above her head with one hand, keeping her exactly where I want her.

My free hand trails down her side, fingers skimming over the curve of her ribs, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

She shivers beneath my touch, her lips parting around a shaky breath.

I smirk, my voice low as I murmur against her throat .

“Look at you, already dripping for me. You sure you’re not fucking begging yet?”

She exhales hard, trying to mask the way her body trembles. “You wish.”

I laugh, dark, wrecked, knowing. She’s lying, and we both know it.

Shifting my hips, I drag the head of my cock through her, rubbing slow, teasing strokes over her clit until her fingers flex against my grip.

She’s trying to stay still, to hold onto whatever control she thinks she has left, but I can feel it slipping, unraveling with every pulse of heat against my cock.

I press forward, sinking just the tip inside her, and she gasps, her back arching.

But I don’t move. I hold her there, hovering at the edge, just enough to drive her insane.

Her thighs tense around my waist, her nails digging into my skin as she squirms beneath me.

She’s fighting it, but she’s already losing.

"You want it?" I murmur, dragging my lips along the shell of her ear.

She nods, her breath uneven.

I tighten my grip on her wrists. "Say it."

Her chest rises and falls too fast, her jaw tight, her pride warring with the raw, desperate need taking over her body. I see the exact second she gives in. “I, ”

I thrust another inch inside her, and she chokes on a gasp, her lashes fluttering.

“Say. It.”

Her whimper is barely a breath, but I feel it everywhere. And then, finally, she breaks.

"Please."

My control snaps.

I slam into her, stretching her inch by inch, making her take all of me, groaning at the way she clenches around my cock.

A strangled cry leaves her lips, her body arching, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist as I fill her.

The bed shudders beneath us, the mattress absorbing every brutal movement, the headboard rattling against the wall, but nothing else moves.

Not the floor. Not the walls. Just the fucking bed.

Because I make sure of it. Because I’m channeling every ounce of Wrath, every ounce of violence, into the way I fuck her.

I pull back slowly, dragging myself almost all the way out before slamming back in, forcing another sharp gasp from her throat.

Her head tilts back, exposing the delicate line of her neck, her pulse racing beneath her skin.

I bite down, sucking a mark onto her throat, claiming her in every way I fucking can.

She moans, a broken, wrecked sound, and my cock throbs at the way she grips me, like she never wants me to leave.

“You wanted this,” I rasp against her skin, my pace slow but punishing, forcing her to feel every inch of me, to take me as deep as she can. “Now you’re gonna take every fucking inch.”

She trembles beneath me, her body tight, her nails clawing at my shoulders, leaving scratches that burn in the best way. I want her wrecked. I want her ruined. And I’m not stopping until she is.

I slow down even more, rolling my hips, grinding deep, dragging out every thrust, every brush of friction that makes her body jerk and shudder.

The sounds she makes, those breathy little whimpers, the way she gasps my name like it’s the only fucking word she remembers, fuel something dark inside me.

I grab her thigh, hitching it up higher, pressing it to my waist so I can sink even deeper.

She chokes on a sob, her body locking up, her walls squeezing around me .

“You gonna come for me, Luna?” My voice is dark, teasing, knowing. I can feel it in her body, the way she’s trembling, right on the fucking edge.

She moans, too lost in it to form words.

I slam into her harder, the headboard slamming against the wall in a steady, brutal rhythm that matches every deep, deliberate thrust. Her whole body locks, a wail leaving her lips, her muscles seizing as she shatters beneath me.

I groan as she clenches around me, squeezing so fucking tight I can’t hold back anymore.

I thrust once, twice more before I let go, burying myself deep, grinding against her as I spill inside her, filling her completely.

I collapse against her, my forehead pressing against hers, our breaths heavy, the scent of sweat and sex thick in the air. And I know, in this moment, that I’ve just made the worst fucking mistake of my life.

Because I was never supposed to have her. And now, I can’t let her go.

The bond is a pulse beneath my skin, a slow, creeping burn that coils around my ribs and squeezes. It’s not just something I feel, it’s something that feels me back. Like invisible hands sinking into my bones, rooting her inside me.

It’s wrong. It’s suffocating. And it’s already too fucking late.

I exhale against her throat, my body still locked in hers, still inside her, still pulsing from the aftermath of what we just did.

My cock twitches, hypersensitive, aware of every tiny aftershock of her body still clenching around me.

My jaw clenches, my fingers tightening around her thighs like that’ll somehow keep me grounded. It doesn’t.

Because I can feel her. Not just the way her body melts against mine, not just the way her breath ghosts against my shoulder, I feel her in me. In my fucking soul.

The bond isn’t a chain. It’s a vice. It tightens around my chest, lacing through my ribs, pressing into my skin from the inside out.

It’s not just an awareness, it’s a claiming.

I know her heartbeat like it’s my own. I know the rise and fall of her breath, the lingering throb of pleasure still rolling through her.

She’s exhausted, overwhelmed, shattered.

I shouldn’t know that. I shouldn’t be able to feel it.

But I do.

My grip on her body tightens involuntarily, muscles locking as something inside me snaps. It’s rage. It’s resistance. It’s pure, undiluted Wrath, burning beneath my skin, trying to fight the bond, trying to sever it. But I know, I fucking know, that’s not how this works.

I swallow hard, tilting my head back, dragging in a slow, ragged breath. It doesn’t help. She’s still there, everywhere, inside me, twisting through my mind, my body, my fucking instincts.

And the worst part?

She fits. Like something I’ve been missing without realizing it. Like something carved to slot perfectly against the jagged edges of my rage. And that is unacceptable.

I growl under my breath, pushing up on my elbows, peeling myself away from her. She whimpers softly as I pull out, her body still sensitive, still wrecked from me, marked by me, taken by me. My cock twitches at the sight, I need to get the fuck away from her.

I sit back on my heels, dragging a hand through my sweat-damp hair, trying to ignore the way my skin still hums where hers touched it. But the bond won’t fucking let me .

My body wants to stay close.

To pull her back.

To bury myself inside her again until she knows she belongs to me. My hands flex. My breath shudders. My vision blurs at the edges, flickering with something dark, something possessive, something that tells me I am never going to be the same after this.

The bond is digging in deeper.

It’s not letting go.

And I fucking hate it .