Page 65 of Lethal Saint

God, I love you.The words were right on the tip of my tongue, but I knew it was too soon.

“We’ll see,” I said instead, hooking my fingers into the scrap of lace she called underwear and ripping it in one rough movement. The negligee could stay though; it hugged her body so beautifully and swished around her hips. Both deadly and feminine. Her tits looked fucking incredible in it, too, nipples poking against the lace.

“Damien!” she complained.

I kissed her shoulder, lingering to inhale the scent of her. “It’s only lace. I’ll buy you a hundred more.”

“Only a hundred?” she asked slyly, getting my blood pumping for a whole other reason than rage.

I nipped her skin. “Name a suitable number to apologise for ripping these.”

“Hmm. Two thousand?”

A laugh rumbled my chest; she squirmed, trying to get my fingers closer to her pussy. I stroked her thighs, working her up, the feeling of her moving against me turning the hateful sneers into whispers in my mind.

“Done.”

“You’re actually insane,” she breathed.

“I am.”

“What happened tonight?”

I kissed the side of her neck. “I killed someone. Two someones.”

“I want to ask more but…”

“Don’t,” I begged, guttural. I stopped teasing her and stroked a slow line through her pussy to her clit, surprised at how wet she was, slick heat drenching my fingers. “Not yet.”

Don’t bring back that vile voice and all the things he said. Not yet.

Her fingers wrapped around my arm, hot on my cool skin, clean on my blood-splashed flesh. My heart thudded as she pulled that arm around her waist. Grounding me as I stroked her pussy with my other hand, using the entirety of my control to keep my pace measured, to build her up to her release instead of demanding it in the space of seconds like a madman.

Silken curls spilled over my chest when she tipped her head back; soft, warm lips finding the underside of my jaw. My stomach caved in.

“Vasya,” I rasped.

“What do you need?” she asked without hesitation.

I didn’t know. I really didn’t know. I needed to unhear all the shit Boris said, needed to silence my damn mind for a few minutes.

“Tell me something,” I said eventually, continuing the slow glide of my fingers through her slick pussy, paying close attention to her swollen clit, stimulating from all angles until my wife’s breath caught. “Anything. What did you dream about tonight?”

“I didn’t sleep.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Do you expect me to sleep when my husband walked out without telling me where he was going and didn’t come back for hours?”

A grunt came from my chest, deep and loud. I slid a finger inside her, curling until I found the spot that made her pussy ripple and suck around me.

“You were worried about me,” I murmured, stroking in and out of her pussy, adding another finger when she began to tighten around it.

“I’m your wife,” she breathed, half affronted, half gasping because I fucked her with my fingers at the same time I reached my thumb up to swirl over her clit. “I told you before, you’re mine. Of course I-I’d worry.”

I obsessed over that hitch in her breathing, that stutter of sharp pleasure.More,the darkness in me growled. Vasilisa was a craving I would never satisfy, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I was content to be mad with need for the rest of my life.

“Yours,” I agreed, my voice low, husky against her throat. “Your husband.”

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