Reading Online Novel

Sinner (Shelter Harbor #1)(57)



Only sweet, sweet, bliss.

The sweetest of sins.

And sweet Jesus, I’m going to-

My body goes rigid, my whole body arching off the sheets before I just shatter.

It’s wordless, it’s a silent scream. It’s white light and I’m crashing right through it as the most amazing feeling I’ve ever felt in my life comes smashing through me like a wave.

I’m aware of screaming once, of my eyes squeezing shut and my body writhing under his tongue before I crumple to a heap on the bed. I’m aware of panting, of tears pooling in my eyes as the grin threatens to break my cheeks.

“Jesus, Eva,”

He’s sliding up, pulling me into his arms.

“That- that…” I mumble, not making any sense.

“You okay?”

“That was so…” Still no words. I’m laughing, and crying, and then laughing some more as I let him pull me tight against him.

“That was so good,” I finally mumble, shuddering again against him.

“Remind me to do that to you more often.”

“Okay, yes.” I nod quickly, turning to grin at him. “Yes, please.”

“Deal.” He starts to move down and my eyes fly open. “Oh, God, not right now, I don’t think I’d survive-”

The front door slams shut.

“We’re home!”

The sound of my father’s voice sends the fear of God through me as we both jump from the bed as if stung by something.

“Fuck,” Rowan swears, reaching for his shirt.

Oh my God, oh my God…

“We’re home and there’s a surprise down here for you!”

“Okay!” I squeak out. “One second!” I whirl on Rowan. “Oh my God, what are we going to do?!”

He kisses me, silencing me before he breaks and turns to open the window. I frown as he sticks a leg out and starts to climb right out of it onto the back porch ledge.

“Are you insane?”

“Well I’m not walking out the front door, gorgeous.”

“Evangeline!” my dad calls again. “Guess who came a day early?”

My heart drops.

“You can not be serious.”

Rowan’s brow shoots up. “Does he mean-”

“Yeah.”

Milton.

He means Milton is waiting downstairs for me while I help Rowan escape out of the second floor window.

He pauses halfway out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, you need to go.”

“Think I should go say hi?”

“Rowan!” I hiss.

He grins. “Alright, I’m going. But, you should probably take a shower before you go down there.”

My cheeks burn. “Why?”

“Because you wouldn’t want to meet your new arranged marriage husband looking like you just had the best orgasm of your life.”

He kisses my cheek before he slips out onto the back porch roof, jumps to the ground, and jogs out of sight.





Chapter Twenty-Seven





Evangeline




“Wonderful first impression, Evangeline,” my father snaps.

I look at the floor, toying with my hands. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to shower and get cleaned up before I met him.”

Milton’s gone, which makes sense seeing as I stepped into a something in the range of a forty-minute shower as soon as he walked in the door.

I might be clean now, but I don’t feel clean in my soul. Not after what I just did with Rowan upstairs.

The best orgasm of your life.

He’s right, of course. The most mind-blowing, amazing feeling I’ve ever had, in any capacity. Except now I’m standing here with a war inside of me — feeling like both a queen and the whore of Babylon at the same time.

The problem is, I feel wicked, but at the same time, that wickedness makes me feel alive. It’s as if it’s igniting something inside of me. It’s a fuse that’s been lit, and now it’s just waiting to explode.

“Well, he’s staying at the Miller Bed and Breakfast downtown.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, still looking at the floor.

“Eva,” my father’s voice sounds tired, and I look up to see he and my mother looking at me with tired expressions. “Eva, you’re past marrying age.”

“Dad, I’m twenty-one.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Eva, sweetheart.” My mother steps forward, a hand coming up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “I was only seventeen when your father and I married.”

“Yeah well, that’s probably not okay in most states, Mom.”

My father’s jaw clenches as he steps forward. “You will mind your tongue, young lady!” he roars, looking like he’s calling down the rapture from the pulpit of our church back home.

“Sorry,” I mumble.