Page 20 of His Sinner

BRIAR

The final days of our writing retreat pass without incident. Despite Saint’s presence and my new ability to shoot a bullet through somebody’s skull, my paranoia is at an all-time high.

Which is why I’m surprised to find myself mourning the end of our retreat. Getting to throw myself wholly into my writing and emerge only when I want food or a bath or sex has been a dream. Not to mention Saint let me proofread S.T. Nicholson’s latest manuscript before he starts sending the query letter to literary agents. This is his best book yet, and I’m not sure if it’s because he wrote this book for me or about me.

Aside from the crazed lunatic prowling around, this whole trip has been one of the best months of my life. All of it spent with my psychotic stalker who is surprisingly less psychotic than I ever imagined. Or maybe I’m simply falling for that part of him too.

Still, I’m eager to get home and not be on edge anymore, waiting with bated breath for some assailant to chase me through this giant manor again and catch me this time. Maybe when we return after next semester, they’ll be gone for good.

Today, I’ve taken the day off from writing and holed up in Saint’s library, devouring some of the books he bought me before skimming my finger along the spines of the tomes in his massive collection.

This is the largest home library I’ve ever seen, complete with a balcony and more bookshelves on the second floor. His shelves are so tall, he’s installed a rolling ladder. This is by far my favorite room in Nicholson Manor.

Saint bursts in, finding me admiring his collection. He runs over and sweeps me up, a grin spread wide across his face. “Zayden got his notes back to me. He said it’s the best thing I’ve ever written.” He pulls me down by the back of the head for a deep, tender kiss. “Thank you.”

I laugh, enchanted by his enthusiasm and unabashed joy. “For what?”

“For being my muse. For being the reason I was able to write again, let alone finish my book. I was on the verge of giving up entirely. I thought I was broken, but you put me back together.”

I stroke my hands through his soft, dark hair. My heart squeezes at the pure happiness and adoration lighting up his face. “I didn’t do anything other than exist, but you’re welcome.”

“Your existence is the greatest gift I’ve ever received.” The wide smile travels all the way to his eyes. Since I agreed to return to Nicholson Manor with him, he’s been happier than I’ve ever seen him. “So how would you like to spend the final day of your writing retreat?”

I contemplate his question for a second. “I want to spend it writing for each other. Not manuscripts or other projects, but stories or scenes that we write specifically for the other person. Then we’ll read them aloud to each other.”

Saint’s wicked grin matches my own. He knows exactly what kind of scenes I’m talking about. I couldn’t hope for anything better.

We spend the next hour writing the filthiest smut we can come up with, taking turns reading each other’s material out loud and giggling. Arousal pools in my belly, panties growing damp. The way his words have always affected me, even before I knew he was the author.

When Saint finishes reading my next scene, he can’t restrain himself any longer. He sweeps me up in his arms, carries me to the second floor of his library, and sets my ass on the railing. The banister is wide, but my heart still plummets when I realize how far I could fall with a single wrong move.

He knows exactly what I like. Pleasure mixed with a little bit of danger.

Saint kneels between my legs, hands gripping firmly on my hips. “Do you trust me, Briar?”

That’s what he wants most from me. Not my mouth, not my pussy, not even my heart. He wants my trust.

The one gift I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give him.

“I trust you not to fucking drop me. So don’t make me regret that.”

He manages a small smile. Not exactly the answer he wanted to hear but enough to satisfy him for now.

I dig my nails into the wooden railing when his hand drifts between my thighs, the other still anchoring me in place. He hooks a finger through my panties, pulling them to the side to bare my pussy to him.

He strokes his nose up me first, breathing me in and practically salivating when his eyes fall shut. He lets out a shuddering breath. “You were meant for me, muse. Every inch.”

Every time this man opens his mouth, I fall a little bit harder. “No, I’m pretty sure every inch of you was built for me.”

He smirks. “We were made for each other.”

Before I can say another word, he shuts me up with a stroke of his tongue along my pussy. My eyes roll when he reaches my clit and I start to tip back before remembering I could plummet twenty feet to the ground and I catch myself.

“I’m not letting you go anywhere,” Saint murmurs.

His tongue laps at my pussy again, and I clamp my thighs around his head, biting down hard on my lip but unable to stop the loud moan from escaping. I repeat his words from the other night back to him. “This is a library. You need to keep me quiet.”

“This is my library. I decide when you need to be quiet and when you can be loud.”

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