Page 58 of Dirty Little Saint

“FUCK,” I roar. All the blood rushes to the tip as my cum bursts out. I pump harder and faster as wave after wave of spasms ripples through my balls and down my shaft.

She screams my name over and over again as I pound her so hard the wood on the table legs splinters. “I’m coming again, Val. Fuck you, this feels so fucking good.”

I take pride in breaking her, unraveling her. I ride her ass like a matador trying to wrangle a bucking bull. I give her ass cheeks a hard slap as I fill her to the brim with my thick hot cum.

Collapsing onto her back, my cock still inside her, I kiss her shoulders. Consumed with my need to worship her, I brush her hair to the side and leave more kisses on her neck. “I… love you, Maur,” I whisper softly in her ear.

She grabs my face and presses it to hers. A gurgled cry escapes from her throat. As she turns her head to the side, her eyes brim with tears. But I don’t have to wait for a response. “I love you too, Val. I love you so fucking much.”

Thank fuck. Her words are my salvation tonight. My reckoning.

As I slide my cock out gently, more of my cum leaks out. “I’ll buy you another table.”

She laughs through her tears. “Nah, I think we should leave it for Libra to find.”

I scoop her up and carry her into the bathroom before drawing a hot bath. We take turns washing each other in silence, our gazes locked and full of something that feels stronger than love. Something that transcends human emotion and logic.

And when I lie her down next to me in her bed, she curls up in my arms like a wild cat who’s finally found peace. I know it will be short-lived, but at this moment, everything is still and quiet and perfect.

“Val?”

“Yes, Maur.”

“Why don’t I feel any remorse?”

I hold her tight to my chest, afraid that the shadows will slip in between us again. “Because you’re with Nocturnus now.” I sigh. “And because he deserved it.”

She whimpers and tucks my arm under hers against her belly. “They all deserve to get what’s coming to them.”

“Yes they do. Sleep now, baby.”

I try to do the same, but the sound of the ravens pecking on the windows is riding my last nerve. I send them shut the fuck up messages through my sigils, but they keep tapping and whining.

When I finally drift off to sleep, a tiny flicker of fear sparks in my chest. The more her power grows, so does her lust for vengeance. Something tells me that there’s much more bloodshed to come.

Atlas

While the new initiates clean up the mess from the party, Riot and I wait for my father in the foyer. We haven’t spoken a word since Val left with Maureen. But we don’t need words to know how furious we both are with the situation.

She’s our fucking firecracker to stalk and bully and mangle. No one else’s. And to think my father has the audacity to mess with what’s mine… That’s one of the main rules we’ve always abided by in the Thorn house—you only eat from your own plate, or you reap what you sow.

Fuck, if my mother knew half the shit her husband is capable of, she would have a fucking heart attack. I don’t know how she’s put up with his shit all these years. He must have a golden fucking cock.

“Atlas, please stop thinking about your parents fucking. It’s disturbing.” Riot paces across the foyer so hard his boots leave scuff marks on the marble.

I forget how deep inside each other’s shit we are sometimes. We’re not mind readers, but we get impressions. “Fuck, sorry. I’m really wound up right now.”

He pats me on the back. “We all are. Our fathers are out of control. It’s time we reign them in and teach them a lesson.”

I nod and take a long swig of nightshade. “After this semester is over, we’re going to give them an early retirement. No more college parties. No more fucking games. We should be in charge of all the business holdings. Everything.”

“Agreed. They’ve been grooming us to take over anyway. Let’s just make it sooner rather than later.” Riot’s head jerks toward the front door as a car engine hums up the driveway.

I stand, my fists balled. “Speak of the fucking devil.”

My adrenaline spikes at the sound of his designer shoes traipsing up the front steps. I swing the door open before he has a chance to knock.

“Hello, boys.” Pisces Thorn stands before us, a picture of perfection. From the top of his neatly coiffed silver hair, navy-blue, three-piece suit with monogrammed cufflinks, all the way down to his expensive Italian leather shoes. He could have been a movie star.

---