“... I believe in the soul, the cock, the pussy, the small of a woman’s back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch... I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve; I believe in long, slow, de ep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.” —Bill Durham. Director: Ron Shelton Sin "Whiskey at 9 am? Isn’t that a tad hard core?" I down the rest of the liquor and it burns a trail down my throat. "The fuck do you want now, Saint?" He walks to the bar at the corner of the office and the coffee machine kicks into action. "What’s the point of having this £5000 machine if you never use it?" I shrug. I had it brought in only because the rest of the Seven prefer coffee. Me? I am a tea drinker. Blame it on growing up in the East End. Tea so strong and with enough sugar that you can float a spoon on it. That’s the first drink I’d ever had, and its taste is something I have never been able to shake off. He walks up to the window, peers outside. "Anything interesting?" I snarl. "Bad night huh?" He snickers. "What do you care?" "You’re the one who’s spearheading this entire scheme. I'm checking that my investment is in safe hands, bro." "You’re not the one who has anything to lose." "And you do?" He turns to me. "Anything you want to 'fess up to, Sinner?" "Bugger off. I am not looking for a priest." What I need is a bloody surgeon to look inside my brain and tell me, what the hell had I been thinking last night? I had taken her without an inch of empathy, smacked her butt, torn into her pussy. Then, I had pretended to drift off, hoping she’d take the hint. She’d mumbled to herself, then her breathing had de epened. I had turned to face away from her, yet every morsel of my attention had been focused on her. The way her scent had intensified as she’d sl ept. The soft inhalations, the twitch of her limbs which indicated that she had fallen de eper into slumber. I’d had my eyes closed, yet I hadn’t needed to see her to imagine her features. The flushed cheeks, parted lips, the rise and fall of those sugar plum breasts, the quiver of her flat belly, the melting triangle of her pussy. My dick had lengthened, and I had palmed myself. I could have turned and helped myself to her and she wouldn’t have resisted. She is no match for my deviousness; fucking innocent that she is. Okay, not completely. She’s packed a lot into her years so far. She is a survivor. I have no doubt she’ll get through everything I have planned. Question is, will I? I hadn’t anticipated wearing a raging hard on while lying next to her. Me fisting myself, trying to jerk off, without disturbing her. I’d taken her virginity. And that had been unexpected. She’d denied it when I had asked her, and although that question had been to rile her, I had taken her answer at face value.
I had had no reason to suspect that she was one. I had been her first. Fuck! Her first! I had assumed... What? That she was experienced enough to stand up to my inclinations? That I could take what was mine. Is she mine? The fuck am I doing thinking along those lines, huh? And why am I in my office at the crack of dawn, leaving her warm willing body in my bed? It had been too fucking right, that’s the problem. Her skin, her scent, the taste of her is in my mouth. After I’d taken her that second time, I hadn’t been able to sle
Ep I’d waited until she’d drifted off, then crawled between her legs, like a starving schmuck, and eaten out her pussy. She’d come awake with a start, her thighs had tightened around my ears, and that had spurred me on. I’d cupped her arse, scooped her up and sunk my tongue inside of her. I’d lapped at her cunt, sucked on her, pinched her clit, rubbed the engorged nub between her lower lips. I’d cupped her butt, brought her closer, sunk my thumb into that tight little back hole, and she’d come again. The sweetness of her cum had exploded on my palate as she’d moaned out her release. Those little noises she makes when she is close to coming? Fuck. They are going to be my destruction. Her voice, husky with lust, is fast becoming the soundtrack of my life. One I can’t do without. I’d known then it was a bloody mistake. I am in too de ep, trapped by the lure of that sexy little body... No, not only. It is her spirit I crave. Her thirst for life which I had once had but I’ve lost along the way. In her presence, every part of me stands to attention—my dick twitches—yeah, especially that particular appendage. Fucking hell. She’s imprinted herself in every part of me, and fuck, that’s a scary thought. No one is allowed to get this close to me. No one. I pull away from the window, walk to the bar and pour another, then toss it back. The liquor sparks a burn de ep in my stomach. I can still feel my hands and legs though. Her taste still laces my tongue. Her scent lingers on my skin—I hadn’t wanted to shower. Don’t judge. Just another twat throwing himself off a literal cliff; all in the name of some stupid emo shit. Jesus, have I lost my balls completely? I grab the bottle to pour another finger. Footst eps approach. Saint snatches the bottle from me. "Hey." I reach for it and he clicks his tongue. "Get your head in the game." I glare at him, and he holds my gaze. He’s as tall as me, as broad, as able as me to lead any initiative for the Seven; he’d had as much at stake, but he’d withdrawn and given me enough rope... To hang myself, as it were. "You knew." He angles his head. "The fuck you talking about?" I thrust out my chin. "You wanted me to fall for her?" "Are you falling for her?" "Stop answering one question with another." He clicks his tongue. "You have it bad." "Don’t change the fucking topic." I grab his collar and yank him forward. "Tell me, you didn’t set me up to take the fall in this."
"I didn’t." He lowers his eyebrows. "You’re imagining things, old chap." Am I? "Why?" I growl, "Tell me Saint, or so help me I am going to punch in in your pretty face." "You couldn’t." He smirks. "The last time we went a round, you know what happened." Neither of us had won. It had been a fucking tie, again. He and I are too well matched. It’s what makes us compete with each other for everything. "What were you doing speaking to her yesterday?" "What are you doing in the office the day after your wedding? Shouldn’t you be busy taking your bride on a honeymoon?" "A pretend honeymoon, and no, that was never on the cards, as you well know." What the fuck is his problem anyway? How dare he talk about her? "Let go of my collar, Sin." I glance down to find I am gripping his shirt. I let go, st ep back, and hold out my arm. He thrusts the bottle at me. "Your funeral." "Since when are you so concerned about my well- being?" "Ah, let’s see," He holds up a finger. "Since you decided to come up with a hare-brained scheme of doing good to salvage our r eputation—which I could have told you for free was a bad idea. Then hired the one woman you should have k ept your distance from, then married her. All in the name of revenge?" I swig from the bottle. The liquor goes down smoothly, burning a trail in its wake. My toes feel numb... That's good. "You don’t fool me." "Blah-fucking-blah." I mimic a mouth talking with the fingers of my left hand. "You done?" His lips firm. "You need to get it through your head that not all of us are your enemies." "Oh? And let you come in and rob me blind in front of my eyes?" I snicker. Then, another swig of the alcohol. Y ep, can barely feel my fingers. I lower the bottle to the bar counter with exaggerated care. The conference call device in the room buzzes and I wince. Saint struts to it and d epresses the speaker. "Rich Prick’s office." Meredith's chuckle fills the space, "Hello, Saint." "Hey, M." "Is Sin there with you?" "Barely." She laughs. "Loser." I can’t feel my lips, or the tip of my nose either. Makes for a nice change. "Anyone ever tell you that you’re an annoying motherfucker?" "What’s up, M?"
"Ask her why she didn’t come to the wedding," I grumble. "You’re on speaker, Sin." Saint smirks. "I knew that." I blink, stalk to the table. "You’re not off the hook, M. You didn’t turn up yesterday." "I’ll come when you decide to have a real wedding." Huh? Don’t know about the wedding, but the night sure felt like the first of a new life together. Hold on, back up. Emo central. "The woman’s too smart." I peer up at Saint. His face fades in and out in my line of sight. "I may be old but I am not deaf... yet." Meredith's chuckle sounds from the phone. "I heard you, Sin, "Oops." I curve my lips. "It was a compliment." "I know." She laughs. "Called to remind you to eat your breakfast. It’s on the desk in your office." I glance through the adjoining doors, spot the tray laid out. "Thanks, M." "You’re welcome, my boy." The woman makes me feel like I am a kid again. After the incident, I'd gotten into so many scraps on the street, it’s a wonder I made it through that patch of my life alive. I probably wouldn't have if Meredith hadn't found me beaten up and rushed me to the hospital. She'd met the rest of the Seven... and had become a big part of our lives. "Sin?" Meredith's soft voice breaks through my thoughts. "The books you ordered are here.” "Cool scene." "I’m sending them up.” The line goes dead. "Cool scene?" Saint frowns. “Books?” "None of your business." A knock sounds. I walk through to my main office and fling open the door. A girl—an intern? How many of them do we employ?— walks in. She glances at me and her cheeks redden. She stands there, blinking. I point to the desk and she walks toward it. Drops the books on the wooden surface. She straightens and Saint enters the main office. Her gulp is audible. Her chest heaves. Here we go again. My presence can be overwhelming on its own. Then add in Saint, and the entire area is a pheromone kill zone. "You may leave now, Tanya." "It’s Alia." "Bye, Stella." She huffs out a breath, walks past me, stumbles, then rights herself and darts out the door. Saint chuckles. "My effect on the opposite sex is not to be underestimated, huh?" Wanker.
He prowls to the table, stares at the books. "Movie Trivia Unleashed. Advanced Movie Quizzes. Dialogues from Movies You Always Wanted to Know—" "Thanks for spelling out the titles." I stalk over, gather up the books. "You feeling okay, Sin?" "Eh?" I shuffle my weight from foot to foot. "Something you want to tell me?" "About what?" He stares at the pile of books in front of me. That? "It’s a new hobby." He tracks me as I stride to my desk. "You don’t do hobbies, Sin." "Things... have changed." I pick up a book, relax into my swivel chair. "You don’t say?" I plant my feet on the table, begin to read the book. I glance past the cover to the corner, where Max normally ke eps me company. He’d refused to leave the house, had spent the night moping outside the bedroom door. Yeah, I’d locked him out last night. Apparently, I couldn’t share my bride with my own mutt. Fuck! When I’d opened the bedroom door this morning he’d shot inside, then curled up on the floor by her side. I’d left both woman and dog sle eping peacefully. "What are you doing?" Saint’s voice cuts through my thoughts. "You’re still here?" I mutter. He ambles over as if he owns the office—which he doesn’t—okay, maybe 1/7 th of it, but this is my domain, and I am getting a little tired of one or the other of the Seven constantly dropping in. It’s almost as if they are checking in on me... More likely, their investment is what ke eps them returning. I smirk. He reaches for the book I'm holding and I hold it out of his reach. "What the—?" I glower. "You’re losing it, old chap." He rubs his chin. "Piss off." I jerk my chin at the door. "Fine." He holds up his hands. "But you should know that there is lot of talk already." "Oh?" I pick up another book flip it open. "The tabloids got wind of the wedding. "Took them what, 24 hours? They’re losing their touch." "No, you are." "You’re seriously pissing me off." I crack my neck. "You’re pissing on everything we’ve worked on.” "Don’t be so dramatic." I turn another page. He grabs the book and tosses it on the table. "Get your head out of your arse for one second."
I tilt my chair back, yawn. "You’re getting on my ass." "I’ll do more than that if you don’t come clean with me on what’s happening." "I have it in hand." Right. My heart begins to thud. I fold my palms in my lap. "But since you’ve obviously got a bee in your bonnet about this..." I jerk my chin. "Say your piece or forever hold your piss." He widens his stance. "This sham of a wedding didn’t convince anyone. Not me, and certainly not her father." "It was meant to bring old man West out of hiding and into our net, which it has." He drags his fingers through his hair, then begins to pace. "It’s not enough. You’re the fourth richest man in the country. Your net worth ranks below mine—" "Hold on a second." I slam my feet on the floor, lean forward. "Last I checked, our net worth was exactly the same." “That was..." He taps a finger to his chin, pretends to think. "Twenty-four hours ago, before you took your name off ‘the most eligible bachelors in the country’ list." "What does that have to do with anything?" "Only everything?" He chuckles. "You have your head so far inside your arse that you didn’t realize this would have been the perfect occasion to drum up some PR, paint the picture. ‘Most sought after playboy of the decade, settles down, finds his happily ever after.’ Blah, fucking blah." "Ah." I press my lips together. "Your point being?" "Not too late. You wanted a simple, romantic, wedding under wraps. You got it. Now throw the press a bone, do a quick briefing, introduce your lovely wife, and launch—" "FOK." "FOK, indeed." He widens his stance, props his palms on his hips. "It may work in your favor. The pretense of wanting to ke ep things private. When they can’t have something, you know how crazy the press gets trying to sniff up a story." I shuffle around in my seat, trying to find a comfortable position. "What’s in it for you?" "Launch FOK properly, get all attention on that and your nuptials. It’ll ensure old man West has no reason to doubt the relationship. Then when he’s at ease, we lower the trap." I chuckle. Saint nods, "Strip him of all his assets, and then you divorce his daughter." I can do that much. As long as I don’t get any closer to her. I rub my clammy palms on my pants, "You any closer to breaking up his marriage?" He rubs his chin, glances at the watch on his wrist. "3, 2 —" His phone buzzes. He flashes me a glance and picks it up. "Hello." He nods, then bares his teeth. "You bet. I’ll meet you at Claridge’s for tea, in an hour." He shoots me a thumbs up sign. "Looking forward." He slides his phone into his pocket. "See? You can count on me, old sport." "Stop shittin’ me." "You’re welcome." He raises his hands. "I only had to intervene to salvage every last tactic in your very sorry plan... Which sucked from the beginning, by the way." A headache begins to drum at my temples. "Get off my balls, man." He half bows, "Avec pleasure." He pivots, heads to the door as it’s flung open.
My wife barrels into the room, "Sinclair Amadeus Sterling, you have a bloody nerve."