Secrets and Sins: Chayot: A Secrets and Sins novel (Entangled Ignite) by Naima Simone

taken twice a day then discarded when her expiration date came due.
    This—caressing her, kissing her—had been a huge mistake. His mistake. But if he allowed it to continue, she would look back on it as hers . He would be a regret. A disappointment. Because disappointing and hurting each other was inevitable.
    “Chay,” she said, hesitant. Steeling himself against the urge to comfort, he pivoted and faced her. With a will he didn’t believe himself capable of, he forged the wall again, blocking out her confusion and uncertainty and his pain and remorse.
    “This time, Aslyn, go. Leave. Now.”
    Her swift intake of breath was the only indication of the blow he’d delivered. Her shoulders straightened, her chin notching up. With an abrupt nod, she turned and exited his house, the soft catch of the door as deafening as a hard slam.
    He stared at the closed door.
    He’d done the right thing, the honorable thing by her and by himself.
    Bully for him. He could look in the mirror.
    Too fucking bad he’d still hate the man in it.

Chapter Eleven
    Aslyn stepped out on her back porch and paused as the storm door shut behind her. Inhaling, she captured the faint traces of grill smoke and freshly mowed grass. Crickets chirped, and in the far distance, the laughter of children who hadn’t made it inside by the time streetlights came on drifted on the breeze. She sighed, sinking down on the swing that had become her haven in the evenings.
    She’d considered avoiding this ritual. Especially after the photos and phone calls. Sitting outside on the wide deck had seemed akin to offering up a free peep show. But after what’d occurred at Chay’s home a couple of hours ago, the four walls had started closing in on her, suffocating her. So with the reassurance and comfort of knowing two unseen men guarded her and her home, she’d escaped outside.
    Sighing, she drew her legs to her chest and rested her cheek on her knees, the hem of the long skirt she’d changed into brushing her toes. At some point in the near future, the shivers still tripping over her skin and knotting her stomach would abate, and she would no longer resemble a walking live wire. At some point… But as long as she continued to envision kissing Chay and being crushed into a wall by his arms and body, his cock a heated brand against her flesh, the electrical pulses weren’t going anywhere.
    Twenty minutes. That’s all it’d taken to flip her beliefs about sex and desire—about herself—on their asses. Prior to The Kiss—that’s how she thought of it now. Something so cataclysmic deserved to be capitalized—sex had been ho-hum, prioritized with football: there all the time, but she didn’t give a damn about it. Her two experiences had been, um, lackluster. And she was being super magnanimous with that description. Definitely nothing to make her seek out a partner and get it on like rabbits. Desire was pleasant and handled by a vibrator with a 100 percent satisfaction rate. There were women who simply didn’t possess raging libidos, and she’d believed herself to fall firmly—and contentedly—in that camp.
    Until two hours ago.
    Until The Kiss.
    She closed her eyes as her heart thumped against her rib cage. Her pulse kicked up to a holy-amazeballs pounding rhythm. She hadn’t gone over to Chay’s house intending to kiss him. It’d just happened. The darkness in his hazel eyes had been like deep calling to deep, and she couldn’t resist. But in seconds he’d transformed lips-meeting-lips to an explosive event. His mouth. His taste. His body. His cock. Oh sweet Jesus . She swallowed, her thighs tightening to alleviate the ache resurrecting between her legs and centering at the swollen bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.
    Simply put, the man was huge . Like Mr.-Porn-Star-Take-Your-Dick-And-Go-Home huge.
    But instead of a healthy dose of no-way-in-hell-are-you-getting-that-thing-near-me, excitement and sharpened hunger had ripped through her. As if