Page 41 of Lethal Saint

A sudden, sharp throb went through my clit when his fingers moved into my hair, and a rush of shivers cascaded down my back at the moment his mouth met mine. I’d been in control of the last kiss, but this time it was Damien kissing me and something about that made my heart race and my body ache. I pressed myself against him before I realised what I’d done, and his answering noise of approval made my blood heat.

Each warm press of his lips made my body spark and catch fire, my scalp tingling at every place his fingertips touched me. The heat and pressure of his hard chest against mine made me so greedy for more. I remembered that rush and pleasure from my training, remembered the slow-blooming pleasure from myown fumbling touches, and I knew it would be so much more, so muchbetterwith Damien. My husband.

I was conscious of the weight of my gun at my thigh, aware of every bit of strength he’d gifted me, every kindness and moment of care, and it wassexy.His softness and sweetness only made me want him more.

A soft groan left my lips at the possessive way he dragged me closer, and another throb made me gasp. This one was sharper, deeper, andso good.I clutched at his back, my hands sliding under his jacket to feel heated skin through his white shirt, and Damien’s mouth met mine in a harsher press. My eyes fluttered shut, my whole body on fire with each passionate kiss. But he exhaled a sharp breath in the next moment and gentled his kisses, softened his touches. I burned with need, the gentle handling… driving me mad.

I couldfeelthe passion in him, barely concealed beneath his skin, and I wanted to coax it free, to feel it in every part of my body. Already, I was greedy for more, unsatisfied by the sweetness of each touch. I wanted the man whose eyes glimmered when I pointed a gun at him, wanted the man who killed a hundred people for me.

We startled apart when an almighty crash exploded through the bathroom, echoing off the high ceilings. I flinched back, and froze, panic locking me in place.

Damien jumped in front of me, a deep, growling breath in his throat as he tore open the drawer beside the sink, grabbed a gun, and flicked off the safety in the same motion. Blood pounded faster, hotter, through me, and the shock of fiery arousal unfroze my body.

“It’s the fucking door,” he groaned, putting the safety back on and throwing the gun onto the counter, reaching for me again.

I exhaled hard, my shoulders dripping. The precariously balanced door had finally ripped itself free. I would have laughed if heat wasn’t roaring through my blood.

I reached for him with impatient hands and dragged him back to my body, surging onto my for another kiss as my whole body buzzed from the contact. I wasn’t gentle, wasn’t sweet like I should have been. I kissed him with fierce demand, reaching up to slide my fingers into his hair like he did with mine before, keeping him captive for my rough kisses. The sound he made, deep and raspy, was so hot it made my clit pulse and my hips jolted into his.

“I’m the queen,” I said against his mouth, my voice surprisingly raspy. “I make the rules.”

He groaned louder, dragging my body flush to his. My nipples ached at the contact, my skin so sensitive for every touch, and I accidentally bit his lip when his hardness pressed against my lower belly. His low curse sent a thrill through me from head to toe. I wasn’t afraid, only needy and hot.

“My queen,” he moaned against my mouth.

“I want a proper kiss. And I don’t want you to hold back, Damien.”

This wasn’t like being ordered to lay back and let someone touch me, wasn’t like being led to the slaughter on that bed in the middle of the ballroom. This was me arching my body against him with need in the pit of my belly and a plea in my eyes. I was in charge now, and there was no ounce of fear in my body, only deep, scalding desire.

I surged up at the same time Damien rushed down to meet my lips, the kiss bruising and ferocious. When I gasped, his tongue glided along my bottom lip and I made a small, eager sound at the soft stroke of him along my tongue. The taste of him consumed my senses, the sound of our kisses slick and carnal,until every lick and suck was answered by my pussy spasming. I dug my fingernails into his skin, gripped his hair hard.

This kiss was anything but soft; it was forceful and possessive, and a shudder worked through me at the raspy groan in Damien’s chest. Everything around us fell away, the bathroom disappearing. The building could have exploded and I wouldn’t have cared.

I tasted the sweetness of his moans, tastedhim—icy mint and something sweet, rich, and earthy. Fuck, he tasted like mint chocolate. I moaned and mirrored every demanding swirl and flick of his tongue, slamming my lips into his, craving more and more, unwilling to part from him even as my lungs screamed for air.

I needed my husband more than I needed to breathe.

My lack of experience didn’t matter; Damien’s kiss drove out everything but him from my mind, not even self-consciousness remaining.

His hand tightened in my hair, and a delicious rush of sensation shot down my spine as he pulled me back, staring at me with dark hunger, like he was every bit as fascinated by me as I was by him. His hair was messy, strands of burnished gold falling across his forehead, and his dark eyes were glossy, his jaw tight. Lips reddened and begging for more kisses. The way he watched me made me want to crawl out of my own skin and into his. I needed to be closer.

“My wife,” he said, deep and quiet and rough.

A flutter went through my pussy, the throb even deeper when his lips returned to mine in a frenzied rush, his gasps and groans falling on my tongue, shivering into every one of my senses when he sucked my tongue into his mouth and scraped with his teeth. My hips bucked. Pleasure electrified all my nerves. I’d never been kissed like this. Never dreamed it couldbelike this. Every nerve ending sparked; my skin was alive with pricklingsensitivity, my nipples sending a direct line of fire to my clit when my dress shifted, brushing the lace bra I wore underneath.

Damien’s fingers skimmed my neck and along my jaw, and I swore he left a physical mark on me, a deep, burning brand to show everyone I was his. When he licked the sensitive edge of my tongue and drew away, I couldn’t trap my needy sound of complaint.

“Damien,” I breathed, surprised to hear myself so whiny.

“Pick a safeword, my queen,” he rasped, his chest rising and falling fast, straining against the tight fit of his shirt. I didn’t know what a safeword was, and didn’t care. He was still dressed in his wedding suit, still wearing his tie.

I grabbed the silky fabric, a deep well of yearning in the pit of my stomach and a rhythm of aching, demandingneedin my pussy. I didn’t just want him, I needed him. Inside me. Right now. I pulled at his tie, grumbling in frustration when I only seemed to tighten the knot.

“I want this off,” I hissed, frantic.

Damien exhaled a small, throaty sound I wasn’t sure he’d meant to and palmed the hardness in his trousers, squeezing hard, his eyes in slits. “Fuck, Vasya.”

“Damien,” I warned, my fingers savaging his tie, furious to remove it.

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