alishah’s Reviews > Sinners Consumed > Status Update

I glare at him. “You didn’t listen to any of Rory’s calls?” “Nah. I’m not nosy, like you.”
“Don’t worry; you weren’t missing out on much, brother.
Her confessions were shit.”
Before he can jump up and swing for me, I stroll out to the
entryway, flipping him off over my shoulder.

I don’t dare breathe; I’m too scared something cute will come out. Instead, I fist the fabric at my sides, and watch him cross the threshold.
“Wait,” I blurt out.
He turns at the top of the stairs, hopeful eyes clashing with mine.
“Black.”
They narrow. “What?”
“That’s the color I want my Birkin.” I pause. “The first
one.”
Then I slam my broken door shut.

moaning. “Another orgasm isn’t going to cut it.”
He moves up to my throat again, smiling against it. “No? Then what do you want? Diamonds? A car? Two cars? An island, Queenie? A Birkin in every color? Fuck,” He licks the sensitive spot behind my ear. “I’ll give you the world in every color if you want it.”
I can’t help but grunt a noise of approval. It’s the hustler in me, I guess. “Yes.”

I’m too distracted. Can barely hear him over the pounding in my ears. “I didn’t give it to her; she won it.”
“Did she win Mama’s necklace, too?”
My gaze slides down from the rotting beam to his. “What?”
“The four-leaf clover necklace. Did she win that off you too?”
But by the dry humor dancing behind his swollen eyelids, I know he already knows the answer.

chapter 17 is too good

They look beautiful, magpie,” he says. “You’re getting good at this.”
I flick a glance to the cookies. They’re so burnt they look like they’ve been salvaged from a house fire, but it’s then I realize; he’d do anything for her. If Rory asked him to wear a Santa suit, he’d do it. I used to think he’d turned into a simp, but fuck, I’m starting to understand that feeling now

Biting back a smirk, I regard the panting dog nestled in the crook of my brother’s arm. With her golden curls and big brown eyes, she actually looks like my sister-in-law, but I’m in enough shit with Angelo that I think it best not to tell him his wife looks like a dog.

“Thank you,” I whisper.
I don’t specify what for. For shielding me from the storm, for killing Martin O’Hare. For giving me the two most ridiculous orgasms of my life. For the fucking key ring.
But the thunder is loud; my acknowledgment is quiet.
The only reason I know Rafe heard it is that his lips press down on my forehead, giving me the most gentle of kisses.