THE TASTE OF SIN (Short stories)

Nicole

"That white dress is a lie, and you know it. It’s too pure for the dirty thoughts you have every time you look at me instead of him."

Devian’s voice struck the dense air of the room like a velvet whip. Deep, dark, vibrating at a frequency so low I didn’t hear it with my ears, but felt it directly in my belly.

I stood frozen in front of the full-length mirror. My reflection stared back at me, the image of a perfect bride. Makeup intact, hair perfect, and the lace of my dress immaculate. But the doubt in my eyes gave me away.

I heard the click of the door lock. It was a dry, definitive sound. The noise from outside—the voices and laughter of the guests—was muffled, leaving us locked in a silence charged with static electricity.

"What are you doing?" I murmured, hiding my internal panic at his impending closeness. "Leave, Devian," I said, but it didn’t sound like an order. It sounded like a plea.

Whatever it was, he ignored it.

I watched him approach through the mirror. He moved with that predatory elegance that had always left me breathless.

He was wearing a tailored black suit that strained deliciously across his broad shoulders every time he moved. He wore an intense, addictive fragrance that enveloped the room, intoxicating me.

That was the problem. While my fiancé, his younger brother, was downstairs getting drunk with his college friends and laughing like a child, he was a man. A dangerous, serious man—the black sheep who had returned only to torment me.

"I won’t leave," he said, stopping right behind me, close enough for his body heat to penetrate the layers of tulle and silk of my dress. "Not when you smell like this, Nicole."

"Like what?" I asked, and my heart slammed against my chest when he tilted his face toward the curve of my neck.

"Like doubt," he answered simply, and I felt my shoulders tense. "Like fear..." He paused, inhaling deeply near my earlobe, not touching me yet, but his proximity was so overwhelming I felt my nipples harden painfully against the corset fabric. "And like desire."

I held my breath for a moment. He was right. God, he was so right it hurt.

Between my legs throbbed, wet and hot, betraying me in the most shameful way. Just having him behind me, feeling his dominant aura fill the room, my body prepared itself for him, not for the man I was supposed to marry in two hours.

Devian took another step, eliminating any distance. His chest collided with my back. It was a solid wall of muscle and heat. He placed his hands on the marble vanity, on either side of my waist, trapping me between his lean body and the cold furniture.

"You’re making a mistake," he murmured against my ear, his warm breath raising goosebumps on my skin. "He doesn’t know how to touch you. He doesn’t know what you need. He thinks you’re this porcelain doll..." He let out a rough, dark laugh that vibrated down my spine. "But I know what you’re hiding. He is nothing more than a boy who will never know what to do with a woman like you."

I looked up at the mirror, and our gazes clashed. His dark eyes devoured me, full of raw possessiveness that made me swallow hard.

"You can’t do this to me today..." I begged, though instinctively I arched my back, pressing my ass against his fly. I could feel the hardness of his erection, thick and heavy, branding itself against the fabric of his dress pants.

My mouth parted slightly, gasping for air. Knowing I had him like that, hard for me on my wedding day, unleashed a torrent of lubrication that I felt slide hot between my thighs.

"I’m not doing anything you don’t want," he replied, with that authoritative voice that brooked no arguments.

He slid one of his hands from the marble to my hip. His fingers were long, strong, exquisite. They weren’t clumsy hands they were the hands of someone who knew exactly how to destroy and rebuild a woman. He gripped my waist firmly, wrinkling the perfect fabric of the dress, marking his territory.

"Devian..." I whispered in supplication, feeling the air grow scarce.

"Shh..."

Devian leaned in slightly and, with torturous slowness, slipped his hand under the endless layers of tulle, while his mouth kissed and licked the sensitive skin of my neck in a slow, seductive rhythm. I gasped, throwing my head back, resting it on his shoulder.

His fingers climbed slowly, tracing a path of fire over the bare skin of my thigh, pushing aside the heavy fabric, invading my most intimate space. I felt his touch graze the lace garter, going higher and higher, until it stopped dangerously close to the edge of my underwear, which was already soaked by my own need.

I moaned when he slipped his hand inside my panties, caressing my drenched folds, stimulating my sensitive clitoris. I gripped the edge of the vanity. I felt him smile against my neck.

Our gazes met in the mirror. He sank two of his fingers into my canal, pumping slow and deep. He pushed me with his body against the furniture, digging his erection into my lower back.

"Tell me to stop, and I’ll leave," he murmured in my ear, his voice husky with arousal. "But if you stay silent, I’m going to claim what is mine before you walk down that aisle."