The Sinners of Saint Amos - Logan Fox Page 0,114

he’d worn the day we met. He traces the outline of one of my buttons and then starts popping them open.

“You’re supposed to be kissing me,” I whisper.

“I am,” he agrees calmly. “But you never said where.”

Good God, now I’m picturing him kissing my breasts, drawing my nipples into his mouth and teasing each tight bud with his teeth. I start trembling internally. When I grab onto his shoulders, he pauses in his methodical work, his fingers in line with my nipples.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly.

He lets out a soft, “Hmm,” as if he’s not one-hundred percent satisfied with my answer.

God, this is torture. I’m tempted to ask him to hurry the fuck up.

The last button pops open. He slides a hand behind my bodice and parts the two halves of my dress.

But not all the way. Just enough so that I can see the edge of my bra when I glance down.

Then he shifts his grip and holds onto me with one arm—one arm?—while he hunts around in his pocket for something. What is he looking for, a condom?

I know where to find some.

Did Gabriel sleep with my Dad? Well, he’d have to, probably, to consider it an affair.

Dear Lord, I can’t handle this shit.

I lean forward, my eyes fluttering closed, fully intending to kiss Reuben just to put an end to the sour thoughts filling my head.

But he moves his head aside so I end up kissing his fucking ear.

I huff impatiently and press the back of my head against the door, glaring up at him as he carries on rifling through his pocket.

I cross my arms over my chest, moving my mouth to the side. “What are you looking for?”

“This.”

He lifts a red rosary. My hands fly to my chest, but I touch bare skin. “How did you—?”

“You left it here.”

My mind scurries back to the shower I took earlier today. “No I didn’t.”

He says nothing.

“I must have put it back on.”

Still nothing.

“I put it on top of my clothes. It would have been the first thing I saw.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me.

“It must have fallen off.” I keep brushing my skin and then hold out my hand, palm up. “Whatever. Give it back.”

His fingers close over the red beads. “It’s mine.”

“You gave it to me.”

“But you don’t believe. What’s the point?”

My heart stutters at that. His commanding stare forces me to drop my gaze. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?

The smell of roses hits my nose. He’s rubbing the crucifix with his thumb, intensifying the scent.

I bite down on my lip. I’m such a jerk. It obviously means a lot to him, and I’m demanding him to give it back.

He tenses when I lay my hand over his. I slowly close his fingers over the necklace.

“You’re right. There’s no point. It’s yours, anyway.”

But then, as I’m holding him, staring into those pitch-black eyes, a wriggling worm of doubt starts working its way through my mind.

“Wait…” I turn my head, watching him warily from the corner of my eye. “I know I put it on my clothes. It…it wasn’t there when I got out.”

He watches me with the patience of a rock.

My eyes go wide. “You took it.”

There’s the tiniest flicker in his eyes.

“Oh my God!” I slap a hand into his chest and begin squirming against him so he’ll let me go. “You were watching us!”

He lets out a soft grunt, grabs my ass, and slams me back into the door hard enough to rattle it.

Shock dips me in ice.

My hands are on his chest, fingers digging into his muscles, but I slowly retract them and hug myself instead.

He lets out a long breath through his nose and then slowly scans my face like he’s looking for something.

I don’t know if he finds it, but a moment later he slips his rosary over my head and tucks it behind the open halves of my dress. Then he slowly starts buttoning me up again.

“Why?” The word warbles out before I can stop it.

“Why did I watch, or why didn’t I stop him?”

“Both!” The anger’s coming back, but I force myself to swallow it down.

“I watched because I like you. Because you were enjoying it. Because I wanted to see what you look like when you come.”

I should be flooded with horror or disgust. Instead, I stare at Reuben with morbid fascination.

I thought it was him. That’s the only reason I allowed—

“And I didn’t stop him, because I was pretending it was