Sin & Salvation

Chapter 37

"Hey." A soft whisper caresses my ear, tickling me awake. I swat at it, getting cozy under the blankets. I feel a delicate kiss placed on the back of my head while hands pull me in towards a hard, warm body.

"Wake up, sleepy head," the deep, lustful voice whispers in my ear again. This time I don't swat at it, but instead turn back towards it, finding a pair of soft lips meeting mine.

"No," I groan, turning away from him. Not only am I super comfortable in this amazing bed, but I also know that once I leave, everything that's gone on here will become real. Too real.

"Well, I have to get up to shower for work, and I wanted to see if you wanted to maybe save some water and hop in with me," he coos in my ear, trailing wet kisses down my neck to my shoulder.

"Mmm," I moan, both considering his offer and reeling from how good his lips feel on my skin. "If you want me out of this bed, you'll have to carry me yourself."

He chuckles, pulling my hair aside to kiss the back of my neck. "Don't tempt me, little imposter. You know I will." His voice is like a drug, injecting itself into my veins and awakening every molecule existing within me.

Even though I just opened my eyes, I can already feel myself getting wet for him, that familiar dull ache starting between my legs. I turn my head back, meeting his lips once more, this time parting my mouth to allow him entry. He grabs my face and I flip my body around to face him as he grabs hold of my legs, pulling me onto his lap to straddle him.

We're both still naked from last night and as I settle on his lap, his dick is already rock hard and ready to be inside me. I pull his hands away from my face, pressing my lips to each one of his fingertips. His tattoos stand out to me and I trace my finger over the snakes on Medusa's head.

"What do your hand tattoos mean?" I ask, kissing the 'P' on his index finger.

He looks down to the letters tattooed on his knuckles, then back to me. "Flip around," he tells me, patting his lap. I do as he asks, sitting in his lap, feeling him hard beneath me.

"When you look at it, it says 'Pain', right?" He asks and I nod in response. "But when I look at it," he pauses, lifting his hand up, "it says—"

"'Love'," I whisper as the letters in his tattoo register in my brain. When other people see it, it reads as pain— something associated with violence, hurt, and agony. When I first met him and saw that word written on his skin, it made sense because that was the kind of man he portrayed himself as.

"Love is pain, pain is love," he mutters, flexing his fingers slightly. I trace the letters, resonating with his words. I flip back around to sit on his lap and face him, pointing to his other hand.

"And this one?"

"Ah, Medusa," he says, pushing a stray hair behind my ear. "What do you know about her?"

His touch distracts me from our conversation and I try to collect myself as I answer him. "Um, just that she had snakes on her head and whoever looked into her eyes would be turned into stone."

"Right," he says, "but do you know how she got those snakes on her head?" I tell him no, just that I know she was this awful, mean person.

"That's the narrative they want people to remember. But really, she was raped and impregnated by Poseidon, god of the sea, in Athena's temple. In order to get revenge, Athena then transformed Medusa into this snake-headed monster that would make anyone who looked at her into stone."

I tilt my head towards him, genuinely intrigued by his story and the way he tells it. He has a way with words that flows across my skin like velvet and encaptures me completely.