Waking up to my sin
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the high-ceilinged room, a wet, frantic percussion that made my gorge rise to the back of my throat.
Sienna wasn’t screaming for me. She wasn't reaching out for her "King." She was chanting Silas’s name in a broken, rhythmic prayer, her fingers digging deep, red furrows into his back as he thrust into her with a depth that seemed meant to claim her very marrow. Her breasts were heaving and jiggling with every impact, her pale skin slick with a mixture of sweat and the dark red wine Silas had spilled in his haste to possess her.