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Velvet Sin

Chapter 4 The games we play

Word Count: 758 | Released on: 19/06/2025

ur: The Ga

him for the r

ng dropped at the door, not even after the sun dipped below the lines o

avoid

eather armchair in the living room, legs tucked beneath me, eyes half-focus

ound 9 p.m., my pulse spiked. I didn'

, there was something off. Like he was dragging the air behind

d in the

el him loo

dn't

ould be

e was no authority in it. Just a weak su

idn

ping the remote lazily. "You alwa

id no

finally letting

n't quite trust what he was seeing. O

y goodnight,"

"Didn't think it

g?" I tilted my head, studying him. "Is

s not just th

hem of my oversized t-shirt brushing my thighs. It was an old on

at f

I couldn't resist. I'd worn it before, back when I was younger and innocence

me like I was some

a child

d sharply

voice low. "I saw the way you looked at me. You thin

t dangerous

inti

. "You need bou

ed ho

ons. Just the thrum of our hearts pounding

ost missed it, he said, "I

n a wall. A line

ousin of desire. The two don't cancel each o

ove her?"

thing came out. That was

sked next-my voice tr

ned. "You don't know

what it feels like to want someone so much you can't sle

ned. "You thin

hink it's the most real

o fists at his sides.

irst time-he

him

ly made m

when you look away. I see the way you fight yourself. A

gged. Like the weight of everything h

ect you," he said.

ce was calm when I a

seconds, minutes-I

e turned and walked up the stairs

sil

beat that w

Chapter End

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Velvet Sin

olivia Makata Romance

“He walked into my mother's life like he belonged there. A tall man with a calm voice and unreadable eyes. He smelled like clean soap and sin, like whiskey sipped under expensive chandeliers. When he smiled at my mother, I noticed how his dimple only dipped on one side. When he looked at me, he hesitated-just a second too long for it to be innocent. That was when I knew I was in trouble. I was seventeen, old enough to know better, but young enough to feel everything all at once. He was thirty-eight, a respected architect who spoke in quiet words and made grown men listen. My mother called him her fresh start. But I couldn't stop staring. At dinner, I watched the veins in his hand as he held his wine glass. I memorized the way his lips curved around words like darling and sweetheart. My mother thought he was saying it to her. I let her believe that. But I knew. That first night, when he helped me carry the dishes, our hands brushed. He didn't pull away. And I didn't breathe. That was the night I fell in love with my stepfather.”