Grinning wickedly, he stopped before their lips could meet, breathing heavily onto the tip of her nose. “You’re like putty in my hands, Evans. I make the rules. I own you. You’re mine.” He could feel it, it was tangible, the hold he had over her and her addiction.
“Go to Hell, Black.”
She hissed it. In that moment, the movement was subtle, a slight twitch of the eyebrow, a small twist of her lip. Green eyes blazing, challenging him. Daring him. Do it.
Right then, the power shifted between them, from him to her and back, and Sirius came to a realization: As long as they were both addicted, they could play this game all night. They both had the power, yet neither of them owned it, not for very long. Sirius had to take his back.
Just as she began to speak again, he seized his moment, the openness of her mouth allowing for little politeness; zero to sixty in point two seconds. Pressing her body hard to the wall, his right hand went to her neck like a magnet, snaking through her red locks. The other hand found hers just as fast and their fingers entwined, gripping hard as he brought their hands over their heads.
“With pleasure, Evans.”
Because he was, without a doubt, going to Hell. Betrayal surely secured a person a one way ticket to that Lake of Fire.
But if Lily was his ticket – if this
was his ticket – he would willingly pay the price. Anything was worth feeling this.