Mr. Sin: Book One of the Sin Series
Mr. Sin: Chapter 23

The ride to Vincent’s place is silent. No conversation. No music. Just sexual tension.

Sitting quietly, I watch the buildings go by. I know that going to Vincent’s is a mistake. I’m already too entangled in his life. He’s my client. He’s a single dad to a kid that already hates me. He comes from a background that’s completely at odds with my brother’s career. He’s not looking for a relationship, but he still wants to play alpha male and boss me around as if I were his. His signals are nothing but mixed. And, worse yet – even with his abundant asshole tendencies – I care about him. And with a man that doesn’t want attachments, those feelings can only end one way. In unreciprocated heartache.

But… But the sex is really good. Like really, really, stupid good. Like I crave him every night. When I’m falling asleep, every time my mind wanders, I think about having him between my thighs. I think about his breath on my neck. I think about his body against mine. And like an addict, I convince myself that maybe tonight will help to curb my need. One more fix and I’ll be able to get him out of my system.

“We’re here.” Vincent’s words fill the space between us.

He’s pulled into an underground parking lot. I’m glad it’s dark down here, so he can’t see me blushing. I didn’t notice we parked because I was too busy thinking about sex.

Following his lead, I exit the car. Vincent holds his hand out for me to take. Sliding my palm against his, I realize this is another thing that just feels so normal with Vincent. Holding hands. He’s a man who can snap and get his way, who fucks like it’s his job, who has the world at his feet. But when he holds my hand, it feels like something we’ve been doing for years.

The silence continues as we take the elevator to the lobby. I should have expected the high security building. He’d mentioned that personal security was his reason for living downtown and not in the country.

Hand still in his, Vincent walks me across the shining marble floors. When he tips his head at the security guard I almost don’t look. But when I do, I do a double take. There’s a typical front desk with a professional looking guard sitting behind it. But it’s the second, monstrous man that catches me off guard.

Angelo is leaning against the desk, watching as we approach the elevators. Vincent doesn’t say anything, and neither does Angelo. But he does give me a wink as the elevator doors slide shut. Oh good, another witness to our indiscretions.

“Does he live here, too?” I ask Vincent.

“Yes. It’s easier to have him close. He’s the Head of Security for Mazzanti Enterprises, but he’s also lead for my personal security team.” Vincent shrugs. “He’s been pretending to be my bodyguard since we were eight years old. Made sense to make it official.”

“Since you were eight?” I hum. “So, what, he was only six foot two back then, about 300 pounds?”

Vincent startles me with his loud laugh. It echoes in the small elevator cab, filling my body with its vibrations.

When the doors slide open, Vincent lets go of my hand and drapes his arm over my shoulders. There are very few doors and I wish I’d paid attention to the floor numbers. I’d bet good money that we’re on the penthouse level.

Stepping through the doorway, I pause. I hadn’t really thought about what his home would look like, but I wouldn’t have pictured it like this.

We’re in a short entryway with a padded bench on the left. It has cubbies below and there’s a rainbow raincoat on the hooks above. There are shoes scattered around the floor, and – toeing off my ballet flats – I leave them beside a small pair of pink sneakers.

“Would you like a drink?” Vincent asks as he walks past me into the main room.

“No, I’m okay.” I mumble, following behind and taking in the space.

Straight ahead is a wall of windows looking out over the Mississippi River. With the city lights on and the final touches of a sunset casting a deep red glow across the water, the view is stunning.

Pulling my eyes away from the glass, I wander through the living space. Large cloth covered couches and overstuffed chairs upholstered in a variety of fabrics fill the room. There’s a TV mounted to the wall above a large fireplace. Side tables are covered in books. And a pair of purple rollerblades sits in the corner of the room.

This is a family home. It’s comfortable. Inviting. Huge and high-end, but cozy. It’s down-to-earth in a way I didn’t think Vincent was capable of.

The sound of bottles clinking has me looking over my shoulder to see Vincent in the kitchen. It’s an open floor plan so the only thing separating the living room from the kitchen is the huge quartz-topped island. There are six swivel stools, and even though there’s a large dining table on the other side of the room, I imagine Vincent and Annie probably eat most of their meals right there in the kitchen.

“Change your mind?” Vincent asks.

He’s selecting a bottle from the cabinet above the refrigerator. Another sign that there’s a kid who lives here. No wine fridge or bar cart. All the alcohol is up high and out of reach.

He pulls down a bottle of brown liquid and I shake my head before bringing my attention back to the space. The walls that aren’t dominated with windows are full of framed artwork. I step closer to the wall nearest me and see that the mediums are all different. There’s a watercolor. A charcoal drawing. What looks like a field of wildflowers done in fingerpaint. A small gasp escapes my lips when I realize that these were all done by Annie.

My throat constricts and I have to blink against the emotions that flood through me. Vincent has more money than I even want to think about. His house could be filled with paintings from all the greatest artists. He could commission whomever he wanted. But instead, he chose to professionally frame and display pieces made by his daughter. It says a lot about him as a man, as a father, and it confuses me even more.

Staring at the painting in front of me, I try to reconcile the two sides of Vincent. One side is the Vincent that I know well. The Titan of business. Mr. Sin. The sexual being who knows how to set me on fire. Who pushes all my buttons, for better or worse. He’s demanding and unforgiving and sometimes harsh.

Then there’s the other Vincent. The father. The man who protects his child fiercely and without apology. The man who hugs his daughter in public and has a secret handshake with her. The man who frames crayon drawings. The man who seemingly raised his daughter on his own.

When I met him in that bar, I pictured him living a high-powered, high-speed life in a sleek bachelor pad. But each interaction with him peels back another layer of his personality, of his life. I’m beginning to think that I’ve had the wrong impression of him this whole time.

I sense him behind me, before his body presses against mine. Vincent wraps one arm around my upper chest, gently pulling me until my back rests against his front. I can hear the rattle of the ice in his glass as he takes a sip.

Settling into him, I try to ignore the fact that the position feels more intimate than it should.

We stand there for a moment, looking at the artwork.

“What are you thinking?” Vincent asks.

I rest my head back against his shoulder and exhale. “That I don’t really know you at all.”

I can feel the vibration in Vincent’s chest as he hums his disagreement. “That’s not true. You know me better than you think.”

“I doubt that.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You’ve seen my home. That’s more than most can say.” He pauses. “There are a lot of people out there that wish me and my family harm. Even if I had time for friendships, I wouldn’t bring them here. I don’t want people around Annie.”

I want to ask him why I’m here. Why he’d let me in? Does it make me special? Or is it just because Annie won’t be home tonight? Because this was the easiest way to get me into bed? But I don’t know how to ask any of that without sounding like some insecure woman desperate for him to love me.

“Tell me about your place.” Vincent’s question surprises me.

“My apartment?”

“Yeah, I’ve shown you mine,’ he says with a smirk in his voice.

“There’s not much to tell. I’m sure Angelo already told you everything about where I live. He probably told you a lot more about my life than I would normally tell a stranger.”

Vincent presses his nose into my hair. “I’m not a stranger.”

His voice is husky, sending a tingle down my spine.

I swallow. “I suppose not.” I think about my apartment and what he would see when he first walked in the door. “I have a cat. His name is Captain. He’s 8 years old. He’s gray and humongous and I love him to death.”

Vincent lowers his head, burying his face into the space between my neck and shoulder. “Captain. That’s an interesting name.”

Letting my eyes fall shut, I focus on producing words. “As soon as I saw him, I knew I’d let him run the ship. I’m not usually such a pushover, but with him I can’t help it.”

“Hmm. That’s cute.”

“Cute?” I almost laugh. That’s not a word I thought I’d ever hear out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” Vincent’s lips seal onto my neck.

I melt into the warmth of him. If Vincent stepped away, I would fall down.

“Ready to tour the rest of my place?”

I nod and gather my strength to hold up my own weight.

Vincent grabs my hand and leads me to a hall on the far side of the kitchen. I know where we’re going. There’s no tour involved.

I glance into the rooms as we pass them. A bathroom. Annie’s room. An office.

At the end of the hall, we step through a set of double doors into the large master bedroom. With the soft grey walls, Scandinavian style furniture, and navy cotton bedding, this is much more along the lines of what I pictured for Vincent. Only I would have pegged him for black everything, with silk sheets.

Stopping at the foot of the bed, I suddenly feel nervous. Like I’m out of my element. We aren’t on an even playing field here. Being here shouldn’t make me feel any more off-balance than I do at the office, but it does.

I take the glass from Vincent’s hand. Keeping eye contact, I tip the drink back and swallow what was left. He smirks, probably knowing how much that burned going down. But it was exactly what I needed to make me feel just a little bolder.

Handing the glass back, I reach up and drag my fingers down his chest. I don’t stop as I travel lower. I let my palm drag over the front of his pants, applying pressure against his growing erection. Vincent groans, leaning into the touch. But I pull away, trailing my hands back up. I use the movement to tug his shirt free from his pants.

I take my time undoing his buttons, slowly revealing more and more of his dream-worthy body. This feels like the first time that we don’t have a deadline looming over us. We don’t need to hurry. There’s no chance of getting caught. We aren’t in a distant city getting our first taste of each other. No, tonight we can enjoy ourselves for as long as we want.

With all the buttons open, I step closer to reach up and push the shirt off his large shoulders. His chest inches away, I lean in and lick over one of his nipples. I feel his growl on my tongue and do it again. While his hands are busy pulling the sleeves off his arms, I move my hands to his belt. I let his belt drag his pants down his long muscular legs. But I leave his boxer briefs on. I’m feeling brave, but not that brave. Not yet.

Kicking his pants off, Vincent takes a step back. He brings up the empty glass and lets one of the ice cubes fall into his mouth. Setting the glass down, he twirls his finger. I turn, giving him my back, and the zipper on my dress.

His large hands pull my hair over one shoulder, revealing the other. I feel the zipper start to slowly lower, just before his lips meet that spot right behind my ear. His freezing cold lips create a shiver that rolls through my entire body. I feel the ice cube as it brushes over my skin before he pulls away.

Clearly losing patience with going slow, Vincent tugs the zipper all the way down and pushes the dress off my body. Using his hands on my shoulders, Vincent turns me back to face him. He’s in nothing but tented black briefs while I stand before him in lacy pink boy shorts and a matching bra. I’m past being self-conscious in front of him. The look in his eyes is nothing but lust.

He walks me back a step, then pushes me so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed. Vincent doesn’t speak, but a small smile pulls at the edges of his mouth. His warm hands travel down over my clavicles, pausing to tease my breasts, then down my sides, over my hips, stopping on my thighs. Keeping his eyes on mine, Vincent pulls my legs apart as he slowly lowers to his knees in front of me.

My breath catches as I realize what he’s about to do. And his smile grows.

Then his mouth is closing over my panties. The cold, along with the sensation of pressure, has my hips trying to lift off the bed. But he holds me down.

I watch from above as he places open-mouthed kisses against my core. I fight between tipping my head back in ecstasy and keeping my eyes on Vincent as he literally makes out with my pussy. The lace between us somehow adding to the feeling rather than taking away.

His tongue presses against my clit. The friction building. His lips sucking against me.

His hands don’t stay idle. They reach up and pull my bra cups down, releasing my breasts. They pinch my nipples. They stroke my sides. But it’s when they reach around and grip my ass, pulling me harder against his face that I lose it.

Crying out, I grip his hair, holding his face in my lap as my head falls back.

Vincent hums through my orgasm, sending vibrations up my spine, stretching out my pleasure. When my body finally settles, and he pulls away, the look on Vincent’s face is one I’ve never seen before. And my heart clutches. He looks… happy.