#sinner 2025

He locks the door without a word.

Not hurried. Not frantic. Just decided.

Your back hits the wall before you even realize he’s moved, one hand still firm on your waist, the other slidin’ up beneath your blouse—fingertips hot and sure, rough palms chasin’ the curve of your ribs like he’s feelin’ his way through a dream he ain’t ready to wake up from.

“Ain’t right,” he mutters against your mouth, voice low and wrecked, “but it don’t make no difference no more.”

You nod, but he ain’t askin’.

Then he kisses you like he’s starved—deep, messy, teeth knockin’ a little, tongue possessive. And when he drops to his knees in front of you, you grab the shelf behind you to steady yourself, ’cause the look in his eyes already took the breath outta your lungs.

“Lift it up, darlin’.”

You pull your skirt up with shaky hands, and he wastes no time—grippin’ your thighs like they belong to him, draggin’ you down onto his tongue with a groan that rattles clean through you.

He eats you like he’s missed meals for this. Like he means to memorize every damn sound you make.

And Lord, you make sounds.

Whines and gasps spill from your lips as his tongue moves slow at first, almost sweet. But he don’t stay sweet. He gets greedy. Messy. His mouth workin’ you open while his fingers dig bruises into your hips like he can’t stand not bein’ deeper. And every time you try to pull away from the overload, he growls and pulls you back down onto his face.

You fall apart with a cry he swallows like a man thirsty for it.

And when he stands, slick with you, thumb draggin’ across his mouth like he’s tryin’ to save the taste—he don’t even give you a second to think. Just turns you ‘round, presses your cheek to the cool wall, and pulls his belt loose with one sharp tug.

Zip.

“Told you,” he growls in your ear, pressin’ the thick weight of him between your thighs, “I been tryin’ to be good.”

Then he pushes inside.

Slow. Deep. And you both stop breathin’.

He don’t rush it. No—he grinds, real filthy, hips rollin’ in that perfect rhythm that pulls whimpers straight outta your throat. He holds your hips like he’s afraid you might vanish, keeps his chest pressed to your back so close you can feel every breath, every curse, every growl he bites off against your skin.

“Feel how tight you are for me, girl?” he grits out. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this—every night—since the first time you smiled at me like you knew somethin’ I didn’t.”

He fucks you hard. Deep. Til the shelves rattle. Til your legs shake and you come again, clenching around him so sweet he lets out a ragged, broken moan and spills inside you with a low, “Goddamn.”

Then there’s nothin’.

Just the two of you—pressed together in the dark, chests heavin’, skin damp, hearts beatin’ too loud.

He don’t move right away.

Just keeps his arms wrapped around you like he needs the contact more than air.

“You alright?” he says against your shoulder, voice softened by the come-down, that Southern twang more tender now.

You nod, still floatin’.

That’s when he turns you around—slow, gentle—til you’re facin’ him again. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushin’ the sweat-slick skin like he ain’t quite believin’ you’re real.

“Ain’t mean to go at you like that,” he murmurs, eyes searchin’ yours, “but I ain’t never wanted nothin’ so bad in my whole damn life.”

You reach up and touch his chest, feelin’ the thunder still rollin’ under his ribs. And when he leans his forehead against yours, quiet as a prayer, you finally see it.

Not just the want.

The need.

“You wrecked me, girl,” he says, barely a whisper. “And I don’t think I want fixin’.”

The silence after is warm. Soft. The kind that says maybe this ain’t just heat. Maybe it ain’t just lust or loneliness.

Maybe it’s the start of somethin’ that’s gonna ruin both of you in the best possible way.

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Since y’all loved the last one so much, here y’all go. I’m working on my Annie request as y’all are reading this so it should be done soon. ❤️