Sinnerman

Chapter 39 Selfishness & Sharp Things

Trigger warnings; non consensual thoughts*

Evie can't seem to make her body respond to her brain. All she knows is that this feels wrong.

All sorts of wrong. Very wrong. Wrong wrong wrong-

Her blood is bubbling with tension. And her stomach seems to be sealing itself over in squirming fizzy nerves. Dread. That's what she feels. Horrible cool, sickly grey dread gnawing at her insides. Like a a rogue little animal, burying itself into her guts as if to escape winter.

Ben's behind her. Here. In Kylo's kitchen. His palms had abandoned her hips and now lay flat on the countertop in front of them. Spreading out. Caging her in. His hips flush with her. Jamming into her body insistently.

She tries not to let her breath skip with the way his breath is fogging her shoulder and neck where she's put her hair up. Now she's wishing she'd have been better off to have left it down. It was always safer to have more barriers and shields in place where Ben was concerned - no matter what they are.

She tries so hard not to let her breath hitch - shamefully - she fails. Her rascally set of lungs shiver and quake with weakness. She finds herself cursing the damn things.

She can feel his eyes dripping into her like two twin drops of acid. She can hear his smile when he speaks up.

"You smell fucking good..." He rasps at her. Dragging in the scent of her with a deep sniff. Liking the Dolce perfume that beats warm off her hot skin. Musky. Balmy gold. Jasmine, amber vanilla, and lily of the valley. A heady mix he wants to get drunk on. She's a deliciously cute morsel. He always forgets how much.

"Still playing the loyal role of being my brother's demure little Cock-warmer?" He drawls.

She sighs. The sound rattled her chest and she gulps.

"What are you doing here, Ben?" She asks with steel in her voice. She wouldn't be shaken. Not even by the way his hands slipped upwards. Stroking along her waist, up over her ribs. His hips so close to her ass she can feel the outline of his erection trapped half-hard against her.

She wasn't exactly brave. But she won't take this lying down. Not again. Not after last time.

She bats his hands away and twists quickly, spinning around in his arms and meeting his flirting head on. He's smug as he licks his lips. One brow quirking.

"Oh, believe me I hadn't forgotten how pretty the front of you is compared to the back..." He teases. Devouring her with his eyes. The sunlight glimmers off his sharp white teeth. Dances in a blaze off his walnut-hickory eyes.

She takes in this walking, six foot of hulk of devastation. In a bright electric blue shirt. Black suit trousers, and glimmering pointed black dress shoes. That scar from that night peeps out his collar. Healed over now she's pleased to see. The wound settles into his skin, mottled silvery pink. Sheening where the skins knitted back together. She can feel how silky and crisp his designer clothes are when they're right there, all pressed right against her. Cotton shirt. Juniper cologne. Pantie dropping smile.

"Why, are you here?" She asks. Harsher this time. Raising her eyes to him. She was crowded so far back, trapped against the counter, that she'd be crawling back on top of it if she's not careful. What a sight that would be.

He merely grins and reaches behind her. Eyes not leaving her as he picks up her wine glass and chucks back a great sip of it. Eyes not leaving her all the while he does. She's fierce tonight, he thinks. Not shrinking away. Not shying down. Maybe this what's come of fucking his brother? Given her some sense of courage. Given the sweet little librarian a backbone.