Page 16 of Trained In Sin

Seb

"I don't think so," I tell her. "We need to talk, Saphy. Without interruptions."

"Give me my phone back," she demands, extending her hand with more authority than someone in her position should possess.

"In a moment," I tell her, not moving from my position. "First, we're going to have a conversation. A real one. No professional pretences, no running away."

"I have nothing to say to you." But there's steel in her voice now, the same defiance I saw that first night at Pulse. It's magnificent.

"Don't you?" I let my eyes travel over her deliberately, taking in every detail. "You look beautiful tonight, Saphy. Relaxed. Happy. I've been watching you dance."

I watch her reaction. The way her pupils dilate when I move closer. The slight part of her lips when I mention surveillance. The tremor in her hands that she tries to hide.

"You're sick," she says, but her body language tells a different story.

"I'm honest," I counter, and I mean it.

“Bullshit,” she bites back.

I know from observing her that she values honesty above almost everything else. The way she reacts to lies, to deception, to anything that feels manipulative. So I give her brutal truth instead .

"Yes, I've been watching you. Yes, I've manipulated situations to get you alone.

Yes, I broke into your flat and took something that belonged to you.

" I step away from the wall, watching her face carefully.

"But I've never lied to you about what I am or what I want.

I'm a criminal, Saphy. I'm dangerous. I hurt people who cross me, and I take what I want without asking permission.

But at least you know exactly who you're dealing with. "

I pause, letting that sink in. "Can you say the same about everyone else in your life? About the people who smile at you and tell you what you want to hear while hiding who they really are?"

"You say what I see is what I get? Well what I see is a fucking stalker who breaks into people's homes."

"And what else do you see?" My voice drops lower, more intimate. I step toward her. "When you look at me, really look at me, what else do you see?"

Because I know what she sees, the same thing every woman sees. Power. Danger. The kind of raw masculine energy that her safe little world has been lacking. But I’m hoping she sees me, the real me.

"I see someone who needs to leave me alone," she says, but she's lying. Her body is betraying her with every breath.

"That's not an answer." I move closer, close enough to smell her shampoo, close enough to see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat. "You're avoiding the question because you don’t like the truth. You're attracted to me."

"I'm not."

But she is. Everything about her screams attraction. The way she hasn't run, the way she can't quite meet my eyes, the way her breathing has changed. She's fighting it, but her body knows what it wants.

"Your body says otherwise." I stare at her, taking in every part of her. "The way you're breathing. The way you can't quite meet my eyes. The way you haven't run away yet, even though you easily could."

I watch her struggle with the truth of it. This is the game I excel at, psychological chess, finding the pressure points, applying exactly the right amount of force to get what I want. I want her.

"I'm not running, because I'm not afraid of you."

"Is that it?" I move closer our bodies nearly touching. "Or is it something else keeping you here? Something you don't want to admit to yourself?"

"You're delusional.”

But I'm not. I can read people like books, and Saphy is an open novel in front of me. Every page screams desire and confusion and a desperate need for something her mundane life isn't providing.

I place one hand on the wall above her head and when I reach out with my other hand and trace my finger along her collarbone, she freezes instead of pulling away.

The contact sends electricity through my hand, straight to my cock.

I’m hard as a rock, my trousers now cutting into me.

I revel in the pain of it. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm, and I have to fight every instinct that's screaming at me to pin her against this wall and show her exactly what she's been missing.

Control, I remind myself. But my control is fracturing with every second of this encounter .

"You're trembling," I observe, and I can hear the roughness creeping into my own voice.

"That's disgust," she lies.

I know it's not disgust. Disgust doesn't make pupils dilate or breath catch. Disgust doesn't make someone's skin flush the way hers is flushing now. This is arousal, pure and simple, and she's too inexperienced to hide it.

I cup her face, thumb brushing across her cheek, and she doesn't pull away. Doesn't slap me. Doesn't scream. Just stands there letting me touch her, and it's taking every ounce of willpower I possess not to drag her deeper into this alley and fuck her against the brick wall.

"You're attracted to me," I tell her, stating the obvious. "You have been since the moment we met. It terrifies you because you know what I am, what I'm capable of. But it also excites you."

"No." But it's barely a whisper, more breath than word.

"Yes." I'm close enough now to see the individual lashes framing her eyes, close enough to count the freckles across her nose. "You're tired of playing it safe, Saphy. Tired of your predictable little life. You want something real, something that makes you feel alive."

This is the crux of it, the weakness I've identified in her carefully constructed world. She's bored. Restless. Hungry for something she can't even name. And I'm offering it to her on a silver platter.

"I want you to leave me alone." But she doesn't move away from my touch, and we both know what that means .

"I can't do that." The admission comes out rougher than I intended, revealing more vulnerability than I'm comfortable with. "I won't do that. You've gotten under my skin in ways I didn't think were possible."

It's true, and I hate that it's true. I've spent years building walls, creating distance, maintaining control over every aspect of my life. But this woman, this ordinary woman, has somehow slipped past every defence I have.

She tries to deflect, claiming my obsession isn't her problem, but I'm past the point of pretending this is one sided.

"You want to know what power really feels like," I murmur against her ear, and I can feel her shiver at the contact. "You want to know what it's like to be with someone who takes what he wants instead of apologizing for existing."

My lips brush against her neck, just below her ear, and the small gasp makes me groan.

I tell her she's been sleepwalking through her life, and I can feel the truth of it resonate in her body. The way she leans into me slightly, the way her breathing changes. She knows I'm right.

"Stop," she says, but it's the most unconvincing protest I've ever heard.

"You don't want me to stop." My hand slides down to rest against her throat, feeling her pulse hammering against my palm.

The trust implicit in that gesture, letting me put my hand at her most vulnerable point, nearly undoes me completely.

"You want me to take the choice away from you so you don't have to feel guilty about wanting this. "

And then I kiss her .

It's supposed to be controlled, calculated. A demonstration of power, a way to prove my point. But the moment our lips meet, I'm lost. She tastes like vodka and rebellion, and when she pushes against my chest, trying to shove me away, it only makes me want her more.

"Get off me!" She breaks the kiss, but I don't step back. Can't step back. "You're a monster!"

"Yes," I agree, because it's the truth. "I am. But you kissed me back."

"I did not…."

"You did." My hand is still at her throat, and I can feel her pulse racing under my fingers. "For just a moment, before you remembered you were supposed to resist, you kissed me back. Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind won't admit it."

She tries to argue, tries to maintain her moral high ground, but I can see the cracks in her resolve. The way her eyes keep dropping to my mouth. The way she's still standing close enough for me to touch.

"When's the last time your heart raced like this?" I ask, stroking my thumb along her jawline. "When's the last time you felt electric from a simple touch?"

I can see the moment the question hits home. The way her face changes, the way something vulnerable flickers in her eyes. I'm right, and she knows it.

She tries to deflect again, claiming I don't know anything about her life, but I press the advantage .

"I know you go to work, come home, repeat the same routines day after day. I know you've built yourself a nice, safe little existence where nothing unexpected ever happens. I know you're slowly suffocating in all that safety."

The words hit their mark. I can see it in her face, in the way her shoulders sag slightly. She's been asking herself the same questions, wondering if this is all there is.

"This isn't real," she protests weakly. "This is just you trying to manipulate me."

"Everything I've told you tonight has been the truth." I tangle my hand in her hair, soft silk slipping through my fingers. "Yes, I've manipulated situations to get close to you. Yes, I've done things that would be considered criminal. But I haven't lied to you about what I want or who I am."

It's a carefully constructed argument, admitting to manipulation while claiming honesty. But it's also true, in its way. I have been honest about my intentions, about my desire for her.

"I'm not attracted to you," she lies again.

"Prove it." The challenge comes out before I can stop it, and I realize I'm gambling everything on this moment. "Kiss me. Really kiss me, like you mean it. If you feel nothing, if there's no spark, no connection, I'll walk away. I'll leave you alone."