I grimace as I spit out stomach acid, clutching my knees so I don't topple over into the mess in front of me.

Sin sighs and gently pulls me upright, shutting the door behind us.

"You didn't tell me there was a dead body in there," I whisper past my sore throat.

He shrugs a shoulder, looking grim but entirely unapologetic. "I told you not to go in there, didn't I?" He gingerly takes my elbow and leads me to the barstool.

I sit, trying to force back the sloshing fluids in my stomach. "Why were there parts of her missing?"

"I had a team working on cleaning and disposing of the body." He brushes back the bits of hair that stick to my clammy forehead. "I sent them away once you came back. Thought they might wake you up while you were resting."

I grunt, instinctively leaning into his touch. For some reason the way his calloused fingertips feel brushing over my skin is oddly soothing. Shouldn't I be more afraid of those hands knowing he killed his ex-lover in cold blood not even a day ago?

He grabs a rag from behind the counter and dabs my mouth with it. "Going to puke again?"

Acid crawls up my throat at the mention but I shake my head. As long as I don't think about how the graying and stiff tissue looked in the inside of her—

I dig my nails into my palm before the image can resurface in my head as I swallow back a barely-concealed gag.

"An assassin with a weak stomach." A small smile pulls at his lips. "Interesting."

"I don't kill people I know," I murmur, although it's true that I've never been a fan of gore. It's why I almost exclusively use a gun; they're precise and just bloody enough that it won't cause me to spill to the contents of my stomach. "Seeing someone you put your dick into a few months ago with parts of her body missing doesn't bother you?"

His rough thumb smoothes over my chin. "Not really. Then again, the only person that I've stuck my dick into that matters is you."

I scoff although my heart squeezes at his words. "Romantic." I study him hesitantly as he leans his back against the bar. "So...Theo's okay?"

"He's alive if that's what you're asking."

My stomach still cramps with the thought of something happening to him. Before I can think, I blurt, "I want to see him."

His brow furrows. "We'll see."

"We'll see?" I frown. "Why?"

"Why so concerned? I told you he's fine."

"Because he's my friend," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "Forgive me if I don't believe you after walking into the room harboring the body of the woman you just killed."

The gentle edge to his face fades as he looks at me. "Anyone who takes you away from me deserves to die."

"Okay." I lean forward to take one of his hands, squeezing it slightly in mine. "No one's taking me away from you anymore. I just want to make sure he's alright."

Sin softens again but the frown doesn't lift from his lips. "I don't like it."

"Like what?"

His hand tightens a notch. "That you're getting attached to him. Worrying about him. Wanting to see him."

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes—I can tell it would hardly help my case. "Why?"

"Because you're mine."

That makes me pry my hand from his. "Just because I let you stick your dick in me doesn't mean you get to determine who I can be friends with." I force myself to lighten my tone as his face steels over. "Look, I'm yours in every other regard, see?" I pull up my sleeve to flash the serpentine that winds around my arm. "I'm entirely yours. He'd never take me away from you."

Sin reaches forward, tracing her scales as she wiggles underneath my skin. He smiles as her lithe body shivers and curls herself closer to his touch. "He helped you run away from me."

"Well, he didn't want to. Took some convincing on my part." I grin as his eyes flicker back up to mine, flashing me a glare. "Oops?"

He sighs. "Remind me why I shouldn't lock you away and throw away the key?"

"Because you like me?" I grin at the contempt-filled expression scrawled across his face. "Please? I'll throw a shoe at him or something if he's too annoying."

He stares at me for a second more, withdrawing his touch from my arm to tap his fingers against the mahogany counter behind him. "Fine," he says finally, "but later. Right now I want you to myself."

I fight back a smile. "But we just spent an entire night—" I yelp as he takes a step forward and scoops his arms underneath my legs, hauling me against his chest.

"Quiet," he says as he strides over to the couch, unbothered by the way I fidget in his arms. He sits on the cushion and plops me down on his lap. I couldn't get up if I wanted to; he holds an unbreakable vise around my body. "Just let me enjoy you while I can."

...

The last word I would ever use to describe Sinclair Black is tender. But the look he's giving me as I lay on top of him with his fingers entwined through my hair and his hand pushed into the waistband of my jeans couldn't be identified as anything but.

It's been some time since we've tangled around each other on the couch. Sometimes I'll pester him for the fun of it and he'll scowl at me, but the majority of our time has been spent in silence and soaking in each other's company.

I always thought the wordless intervals between chatting was awkward, but with Sin it's comfortable. He's warm and smells delicious and burying my face in his chest is seemingly all I need in order to reach a state of contentment.

Sometimes he'll tip my chin up so he can look at my face. His eyes travel lazily over my features as he enjoys the way I fumble under his intense gaze.

Strangely enough, he always takes extra time over my eyes. Even when he reaches up to smooth a finger along my brow, his fixation never lifts from my golden irises until I gently flick his hands away and bury my face into his neck.

After a while, I break the silence by looking up at him. His head is propped up by the arm of the couch, long legs nearly dangling off the other side. The loveseat is certainly too small for the towering length of his body but he hasn't made us move, probably because I'm so comfortable I'm barely resisting the urge doze off against his chest.

"Why did you kill her?" I ask tentatively. In all honesty, I'm not sure how to feel about Amber's death—part of me nearly vibrates with rage when I think of how she manipulated me with ease. Still, that doesn't necessarily mean that I condone her death.

"Because she lied to you," he says as he runs his fingers through the long strands of my umber hair. "Because she hired some bitch to shove her hands down my pants. But mostly because she took you away from me."

I frown up at him. "I guess I don't understand how you were able to kill her so easily. How long have you—?" I pause, then wince. Somehow her death hasn't sunk in even though I've seen her lifeless body. "I mean how long did you know her for?"

"Amber was a frequent guest of Sin City. Maybe because she enjoyed the atmosphere, maybe because she knew the kind of men that lurked here." His hand halts its steady rhythm. "In any case, we knew each other for a while. She was an easy and willing fuck and my men knew her well enough that she was able to walk through my private spaces without clearing first."

I swallow down the bitter words that threaten to spill from my throat. "You didn't answer my question."

He sighs, looking away from me. "Three years."

It's not an incredibly long span of time but it doesn't stop my stomach from tightening painfully anyway. "You were with her for three years?" And he killed her so easily. I suppress a chill that threatens to roll down my back.

"I wasn't with her," he says. "Like I said, she was an easy fuck. A way to replenish my energy when I didn't feel like searching for a new woman each night."

Jesus. As if I need any more reminders about how many other women he's put his dick into. I try and push myself up but his arm pulls out from the waistband of my jeans and coils around my waist.

"What are you doing?" he scowls.

I don't respond for a moment. It's easy to forget his past when he caresses me so gently and whispers sweet things into my ear, but the reminder of who he is always comes back to slap me in the face.

What did he tell me once? That he doesn't do girlfriends? Only fuck-buddies?

"I need you to be honest with me," I say, steeling my hands over his chest in case I need to writhe away from him if need be. "Is that all I am to you? Energy when you don't feel like searching for a woman?"

He blinks, then says, "I already told you how I feel."

"You can enjoy someone enough that they make you feel some type of way, but that doesn't mean anything if you had the same relationship with—" I grunt as he slaps a hand over my mouth.

"It is not the same." His eyebrows draw together as he takes one of my hands and moves it to lay over the top right side of his chest. "I told you I'm not good at this. All you need to know is this is yours, angel." He firmly presses my fingers in until the steady beat of his pulse thunders underneath my touch. "This is yours. Do you understand?"

My chest thumps as I stare at him, taking in the extent of his words.

His heart. His heart is mine.

Warmth erupts inside of me, the flurry of tingles in the pit of my gut so intense that the sensation flutters up to my sternum. Words feel wrong, so I just lean forward and press my lips against his. He feels so perfect against me that it's nearly impossible imagining him with anyone else.

We get lost in each other for a while although our hands don't wander outside of gentle caresses. I only pull back to pepper a trail of kisses over his jaw and down the line of his neck and he makes no attempt to take the touches further.

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips as I press my lips to the tip of his nose. I never would have guessed it, but judging from the adorably content look on his face, Sinclair Black actually enjoys being doted on with my excessive affection.

He only pulls back as the lock on the door jiggles. I still as the perpetual scowl begins to harden back over his features.

"Who did you—?" I blink as a familiar set of hazel eyes and dimpled-filled peeks from the doorway. "Theo?"

"Calli-girl," he says as he strides in and shuts the door behind him. In his right hand is a large store-bought cake with the words "WELCOME HOME" messily scrawled in blue frosting. "You're back!" He jolts to a stop as he notices the way our bodies twine around each other and the murderous look on Sinclair's face.

"Christ, he's early," Sin grumbles, then shoots him a glare so fierce it makes the hair rise on the back of my neck. "Get out."

Theo pretends like he doesn't hear him as he raises the awkwardly large dessert into the air and grins at us. "Who wants cake?"