Page 41 of Dirty Little Saint

As I click out, three text messages pop up. One from Villette insisting we meet for drinks at Swallow tonight. I shoot off a quick hell yeah reply.

The second one is from Atlas: I wouldn’t be mad if you snuck into my bed tonight, pretty girl.

I laugh and reply back with three devil emojis. Depending on how drunk I get tonight, I wouldn’t put it past myself to do exactly that.

I scroll down to see the third text, and my heart skips a beat. It’s from Bailey!

Hey, bitch. How’s winter break going? Your guys better be keeping you happy. Miss you so much. Love, Bales.

A warmth spreads through my body just seeing her words on my screen. I miss my bestie so fucking much it hurts. We haven’t spoken in a while. There’s so much I want to tell her, but I don’t know where to begin. Would she understand?

I know deep down inside that out of all people, Bailey would be the first person to get what I’m going through. But I still have a hard time remembering she’s a ghost now. That she’s doing her own thing in Wickford Hollow. And other than Raine, who is fucking nuts, Poe, Grim, and Saint aren’t completely as psycho as my guys. My situation is so different in every way. I’m basically in a cult now. Fuck.

My hands tremble a little as I type back. Miss you too. Winter break was… interesting. I have so much to tell you. But I want to do it in person. Maybe I’ll come visit at the end of the semester. Have a Jell-O shot for me. These bougie bitches here won’t let me drink them anymore.

She replies back with a few laughing emojis before I see the typing bubbles again. You only use the word “interesting” when you’re stressed about something. Come visit whenever you want, Maur. I miss your face and your voice.

A couple of tears leak out. Fuck. I miss her so much. No one gets me the way she does.

Love you, Bales. Talk soon.

I wipe my sleeve across my cheeks and give myself a little slap. “Snap out of it, bitch.”

Libra and Villette have definitely helped fill a void, but no one can ever replace Bailey Bishop. That girl is literally my ride or die.

The sigil on my thigh burns, reminding me of the ways I’ve been degraded. I try to shove down the memory of Holden Graves humiliating me in front of an entire congregation of initiates. I could have refused to put the robe on, refused to take it off. I didn’t have to go down to that ritual room. But the alternative would have been worse. They would have taken my sins out on Riot. And no matter the reason, the fact is that I did kill Zeke. And I chose to answer for it.

What makes me sick is how my body responded. I came in front of them. Multiple times. I’m disgusted with myself for getting off. For enjoying any part of it. I can still hear Holden’s voice in my ear sometimes before I’m about to drift off to sleep—you’re not just their little slut anymore, temptress.

The sigils heighten everything. They make me crave darker and dirtier things. They’re like little switches that I’m still learning to control. But right now, all I want to do is cum.

I need release so I can clear my head.

After locking my bedroom door, I take off all my clothes and lie back on the bed. I need to be in control of my own pleasure for a change. I give my nipples a light squeeze as my pulse quickens.

Fuck.

I bite my lip and suck on it as the first wave of tingles spread through my core. I slide my finger down my slit, relishing the way my juices pool between my thighs at my first touch. I arch my back and whimper as the pressure builds. I rub my clit in circles before inserting a finger inside my warm pussy. “Mmm, fuck.”

I rock my hips up as I pump in and out, adding a second finger as I begin to stretch myself. My breath hitches, and I push farther in, tapping gently against my G-spot. I try not to think about the ritual room and how feral I was with all those initiates surrounding me.

But the second the memory flashes, a deep spasm shakes my core. I let out another moan as I remember their masked faces, their shortness of breath, the way their robes shifted as they jerked themselves off, watching me.

Fuck. I liked it. No. I fucking loved being watched.

I let out a deeper moan as an orgasm rolls through me. “Uhhh.”

I clench and twist around my fingers as I imagine my whole room filled with masked faces watching me, chanting softly under their breaths. I thrust harder, palming my entire pussy as I grind against my hand, desperate to draw it out as long as possible.

Another orgasm grips me as I remember the way they took turns lashing me. The leather belt slapping against my pussy stung, but then the burn turned to tingling. A deep spasm, a euphoria that rumbled through me and had me craving more.

“Fuck,” I cry out as I finish riding out my third orgasm. My fingers are a sopping wet mess now. I reach for the box of tissues on my bedside table and wipe them off.

I blow out a steady breath and start to get up from the bed when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. Next time you touch yourself, you better turn on your phone camera and show me.

What the… I look around the room, paranoid. The curtains are tightly closed. Did someone hear me? I tend to moan really fucking loud. Ugh. But still, I don’t recognize this number at all.

Who the fuck is this? I reply.

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