CHAPTER 11: Giving In To Sin

**Dahlia**

"You could be a very good liar, Corenzo," I whispered, my words trembling and proof my resolve and anger were on the verge of shattering.

His gaze didn't falter, and neither did his touch. Slowly, his hand guided the gun upward, lifting it away from his chest with a steady, deliberate motion. He backed me against the wall, the cool surface pressing firmly against my back, trapping me between its solid, unyielding presence and the heat of his body as he pressed it into mine.

The hand that had once been on my weapon glided down my arm, wrapping securely around my wrist as though he could anchor me there—pinning me in place, not physically but emotionally, forcing us both to confront the truth we had been running from. The space between us had always been dangerous, but now, there was no escaping it.

His free hand cupped my neck, his thumb gliding gently along my jaw, tracing the line of tension like he could soothe the storm raging beneath my skin. His touch was maddening, too soft for the chaos in my chest but impossible to ignore. My breath stuttered, caught between conflicting emotions—fear, anger, desire—and something far more dangerous: surrender.

My body seemed to refuse to move. No matter how much my mind screamed at me to push him away, to break free, I couldn't. I couldn't deny him, and that was the worst betrayal of all—because it wasn't just him who had betrayed me. My body had betrayed us as if it had forgotten that he had torn our hearts apart. As if it wanted him anyway.

"You're right," he said softly, his voice like a slow, steady current pulling me under. "But we're both liars. You didn't tell me your job either. Want to know what I think?"

His gaze was steady, piercing—each word breaking through the fragile walls I had left standing like a wrecking ball.

"I think, deep down, you knew the monster inside me," he continued, his voice dropping lower, like a confession that demanded to be heard. "You knew that if you told me the truth, it would deny you what you crave." He leaned in slightly, close enough that his breath skimmed my skin. His dark eyes locked on mine, holding me captive. "Passerotto."

The nickname fell from his lips like a soft caress and a blow to the gut all at once. My breath hitched, my throat tightening around the flood of emotions I was desperately trying to suppress.

He wasn't wrong. He had seen through me in ways I hadn't even seen through myself. He saw the part of me that craved destruction, the part that had been drawn to the danger of him long before I ever knew who he really was.

I hated him for it. And I hated myself even more.

I jerked my head in a half-hearted attempt to break free. Pathetic, really—because I didn't want him to stop touching me. The warmth of his hand around my wrist felt like a tether I couldn't afford to lose, even if it was pulling me straight into the fire. So, instead, I shot him a defiant glare, my voice sharper than I felt inside. "Oh, and what is it you think I crave, Antonio?"

His head dipped, his mouth just inches from mine, close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin, warm and intoxicating. My heart thudded in response, betraying me once again. His voice dropped, heavy, deliberate, and dangerous.

"You want consumption. You want obsession. You want to control me and let me consume you at the same time."

I closed my eyes, his words slicing through me like a blade, sharp and precise. He was right, and that truth burned worse than any lie he could have told. I wanted something that would devour me, something that could burn through every wall I'd built, reducing them to ash while still leaving me clinging to some illusion of control.

I wanted him—even knowing exactly what he was, even knowing what it would cost me. 

Lust.

Anger.

Shame.

Resignation.

His grip on my wrist tightened, his thumb brushing over my pulse as though he wanted to feel the storm raging inside me, surging with every frantic beat of my heart. "Do you want me to consume you or obey you?" he murmured, the question curling around me like smoke, thick and suffocating until I had to stifle the gasp rising in my throat.

I opened my eyes, locking onto his, pinning him with a firm, steady look. "Let go, Antonio."

He did. His fingers loosened, the warmth of his touch lingering like a brand on my skin. He stepped back, slow and cautious, but his gaze never wavered. His eyes stayed locked on mine, dark and searching as if he was trying to read the next move I hadn't even decided on yet.

The gun still rested in my grip. Slowly, I flipped the safety back on and slid it into the holster at my side, the small click barely audible over the thunder in my chest. My breath came fast and shallow, and for a moment, I didn't move.

But neither did he.

He watched me like a predator, calculating, waiting—trying to anticipate what I'd do next. His onyx eyes flickered as his gaze widened slightly, surprise flashing across his face in the split second before I lunged forward.

I grabbed his collar as I jumped into his arms, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist. The sound of his sharp inhale mixed with the rush of blood pounding in my ears. My lips crashed into his, desperate, messy, and raw as my last frayed thread of restraint finally snapped, and I let myself be consumed by everything I felt.

My arms looped around his neck, pulling him closer as I kissed him hungrily, devouring him, not caring about the emotions or the consequences unraveling inside me. I couldn't give a fuck right now. I didn't want to. All I wanted was the burn of him against me, the taste of everything forbidden, everything I wasn't supposed to have—but couldn't stop craving.

His groan vibrated against my mouth, low and reverberating, sending heat surging through me and pooling between my legs. He didn't hesitate. His hands gripped my waist, firm and steady, as he carried me down the hall. I didn't know how he managed to keep us upright with how desperately we kissed, how tightly we clung to each other, as if letting go would shatter us both.

When he reached the bedroom, he lowered us onto the bed without breaking the kiss, his weight settling on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. I wanted gravity to pull him even deeper into me, to fuse us until there was no space left between us—until we were entirely one. Only once we were fully tangled together did his mouth finally leave mine, and I gasped for breath, my chest rising and falling against his as the reality of how much I wanted him threatened to consume me whole.

His lips trailed along the line of my jaw, warm and soft, a stark contrast to the inferno raging inside me. He reached my ear, his breath hot and teasing as he nipped at my earlobe, dragging it gently between his teeth. I sucked in a sharp breath, my body trembling as a moan slipped past my lips.

The sound seemed to ignite something primal in him, pushing him further into his own needs and desires. His lips moved down to the sensitive curve of my neck, where he kissed, nipped, and teased the spots that made my body arch beneath him involuntarily. A breathless moan escaped me as my fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, my desperation growing more needy with every touch, every brush of his mouth against my skin.

His hands slid over my body, slow but firm, as he traced every line, every curve, as though he was memorizing me with touch alone, committing me to memory like I was something he couldn't afford to forget - every touch needed to be savored.

We paused only briefly, just long enough to unclip our weapon holsters and toss them aside, the dull thud of them hitting the floor barely registering over the sound of our labored breathing. The haze of desire surrounding us made every movement feel urgent and inevitable.

Our hands fumbled with our clothes, tugging at fabric, pulling and discarding them because they were an obstacle we couldn't remove fast enough.

The moment the last barrier between us was gone, we were on each other again—no hesitation, no restraint because we were long past that now. His mouth captured mine, fierce and demanding, as if the heat between us had reached its breaking point, and there was no other way to cool it. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me against him as our hips moved together. Desperate for more skin-on-skin contact and friction. His hand moved down to the curve under my breast as we moved and then up to my tightened nipple. 

I let out a sharp exhale as his fingers pinched my hardened nipple, rolling it between his fingertips with just the right amount of pressure to send a jolt of pleasure rippling through me and making my clit throb. My back arched involuntarily, pressing further into his touch, a soft moan slipping past my lips. 

"Dahlia," he groaned, his voice low and guttural, rough with need, like he was worshiping a goddess at an altar he never wanted to leave. "Fuck, you're so wet." 

His head moved so that his mouth trailed open-mouthed kisses down my body, starting from the hollow of my throat, each press of his lips slow and tantalizing as they traveled between my breasts and down to my rib cage. His breath was warm, his touch reverent, as if he were tasting me inch by inch, savoring the way my body responded to him. 

When his tongue slowly, sinfully trailed up from just below my belly button, tracing a heated line along my abdomen, my muscles clenched beneath him, the teasing sensation igniting every nerve in my body and tightening the muscles in my abdomen. The movement of his tongue was a promise of what he planned to do to me, one that had my breath stuttering as my arousal pooled between my legs. 

Then, his mouth resumed its descent, placing soft, lingering kisses along my waist and down to my hip. His lips brushed over the sensitive bone, followed by his tongue tracing it before he gently nipped it. The sensation was so unexpected that an involuntary yelp escaped me. 

I gasped, my fingers gripping his hair tightly as my body trembled beneath him, and his soft chuckle vibrated against my skin, sending shivers cascading through me. "Sensitive, Passerotto?" he murmured, the question dripping with amusement and desire. The sound of that nickname, spoken so intimately, made my breath hitch, and my legs instinctively parted further, silently inviting him closer. 

The mattress squeaked softly as he shifted, positioning himself between my legs, his hands spreading me open as he continued to savor me as if he intended to keep me here until he was fully satisfied. His warm breath teased my skin, and I whimpered softly, anticipation tightening every muscle. His lips grazed my inner thigh, leaving a heated trail of soft, lingering kisses as he worked his way down, closer and closer. He was moving so painfully slow I wanted to throw a tantrum.

His tongue traced delicate lines along my skin, each stroke bringing him agonizingly closer to his final destination. My thighs quivered, the ache in my core growing unbearable as his mouth hovered just out of reach and blew cool air on my pussy. My fingers tugged on his hair, silently pleading for him to stop teasing, but he chuckled again, clearly enjoying the control he had over my body.

Finally, his tongue made contact and slid up my wet pussy, and my body reacted on its own as I felt hips thrust up into his mouth involuntarily, seeking more, desperate for him to erase the ache that had built up into something unbearable. A hoarse growl escaped him, the vibration sending shockwaves through me, making me gasp and clench the sheets beneath me. 

"Antonio, please, I can't take much more." I whimper desperately. I didn't care if I sounded pathetic or needy.

His grip tightened on my thighs, steadying me, holding me in place as if to remind me that he was in control—but the way he devoured me had my eyes rolling to the back of my head. His tongue alternated between slow, teasing strokes and firm, deliberate pressure, each flick and swirl designed to push me further toward the edge. Then it found my clit and swirled around it while mixing a series of flicks that had me feral and moving my hips so that my pussy rubbed against his face.

"Antonio," I gasped, my voice barely audible as two of his fingers slid inside of me, and the crest of my orgasm built up and threatened to release itself. 

Sensing and feeling my incoming orgasm, his mouth became more demanding, his tongue working me with a rhythm that had my body writhing. When he added a third finger and curled it inside of me, I let out a scream as my orgasm released and shook my body. He drank in every drop of liquid my orgasm had released like a man starved for months.

When he was done, his hands gripped my thighs, pushing them back until my knees brushed my shoulders, leaving my soaked pussy completely exposed to his gaze. A wave of heat rushed to my cheeks, the blush spreading as embarrassment crept in. Instinctively, I felt the urge to cover myself somehow.

But I stopped myself by gripping his bed sheets tight in my fists.

I watched as his tongue slid slowly along his bottom lip, collecting the remnants of my orgasm off and tasting it all over again. His gaze lifted, locking with mine before he spoke. "This pussy is so fucking perfect, and I just got a taste of what's mine." 

My blush turned a few shades redder at his words, and I had to force my words to sound steady.

"Why don't you see how perfect it will be when it's wrapped around your cock?"

His answering devilish grin was enough to drive me wild all over again. I bit my bottom lip, struggling to keep myself in control and prevent my hips from eagerly and impatiently impaling myself on his cock as he lined it up to my entrance. As he slowly pushed into me, inch by fucking glorious inch, the position he had me in let me feel every thrum of pleasure as he stretched my pussy and filled me.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate at first, giving me time to adjust to him—but I wasn't having it. My hands slid down to his hips, fingers digging into his skin as I guided him, urging him to move faster, harder. He followed my lead without hesitation and moved with my hands, sometimes thrusting harder than I pulled.

The sound of flesh slapping together, combined with our moans, filled the space of his room, and when we finally slipped over the edge, we did so together. My pussy clenched around his cock as I came, and in unio,n his cock thrust one final time before his come spilled inside of me. His cock continued to twitch inside of me as he collapsed on top of me; he was still careful to brace most of his weight on his elbows, though, keeping me from feeling overwhelmed and giving me a chance to catch my breath. His warm breath, just as erratic as mine, fanned against my skin as he rested his head in the crook of my neck.

For a moment, the world was quiet—just the sound of our breathing filling the space. Then, he lifted his head and pressed a gentle kiss to my forehead. My heart did that weird thing again, flipping wildly in my chest like it had a mind of its own. And that was a problem.

Fortunately, I didn't have time to overthink it. Both our phones rang at the same time, dragging us back to reality.