Skin of a Sinner: A Dark Childhood Best Friends Romance by Avina St. Graves

Author:Avina St. Graves [St. Graves, Avina]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

ISABELLA

“You brought me everything except a bra,” I snarl, hands on my hips as I stare Roman down in the kitchen. Any evidence that he was just covered in another person’s blood is gone.

His grin spreads from ear to ear while he shrugs playfully. “Did I? That’s unfortunate.” Red burns my cheeks as he licks his lips, dropping his gaze to my chest, then back up. “If you need someone to hold them for you, I have two very capable hands right here.”

I clear my throat and fold my arms like it might make his hungry gaze disappear. “A bra, Roman. I need a bra because it’s cold.”

The fireplace and thick hoodie are nowhere near enough to compensate for how aggressively my nipples are pushing against the fabric from the chill.

His smile falters, but he recovers by shooting me a wink. “I can tell.”

“You’re not allowed to look at them.” I make myself as small as possible, wishing I sounded more assertive.

The corner of his lips hikes up. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” I raise my chin and look him dead in the eyes in defiance.

He stalks closer, and a slow, mischievous smile crawls across his face. “Careful, it would be so unfortunate if your panties were to go missing as well.”

I narrow my eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

It's useless trying to ignore how close he is and how small I am compared to him. I’m caught in the web of his ravenous stare, the brush of his chest against my folded arms, freezing me in place.

He could bend down and kiss me or pull me into his hold for the third time today. The worst part about this is that my brain will scream at me, just like it is now, to run away from the predator in the black hoodie, but my body will develop a mind of its own.

“Try me.”

A lump lodges in my throat. There’s one thing that hasn’t crossed my mind since he came back: what he said to me three years ago. He was waiting until I was eighteen to seal the deal.

I’m twenty now, and they aren’t empty threats or mindless sexual jokes. He means everything that comes out of his sinful mouth.

I breathe a sigh of relief when whatever he’s cooking in the pan starts hissing, releasing me from my trance. My freedom is short-lived when I become transfixed with watching him move through the kitchen, opening cupboards and dishing plates. Tension lines his jaw, but there’s an ease to his motions, as if he has finally let his guard down.

“I promise you that you will never go hungry again.” I catch a glimpse of the well-stocked pantry, but I don’t say anything. “Sit.” He nods to the bacon and eggs on the table.

My protest drowns when my stomach grumbles. Eyeing him warily, I plant myself on the seat. The ire in my veins soars to a new high as he drags the chair from across the round table to sit by my side.

I narrow my eyes at him as he plops down and pretends like he isn’t so close that our chairs are touching.

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