Page 91 of Dirty Little Saint

A deep guttural growl escapes his throat. I grind in circles around his cock as his thick milky cum rushes into me, hot and fast. “Yeah… Good boy, Atlas.”

He squeezes my throat, his eyes glowing. “Pretty girl…You and your magical fucking pussy.”

Our chests heave as we attempt to catch our breaths. With our sweaty foreheads pressed together, his cock twitches inside me as the last of his cum trickles out.

“Happy spring equinox,” I exhale. “We’re going to have fun tonight. I can feel it.”

He nods, still catching his breath. “I’ll make sure it’s the best night of your life.”

I lean on his hand as I reluctantly slide off his cock and stand up. “I gotta jump in the shower before Villette gets here. You sticking around?”

“Nah. Imma get out of your hair and let you girls do your thing.” He zips up his pants and stands, laughing as he sees all his shirt buttons on the floor. “I’ll be back to collect those later.”

He kisses me again before getting into the elevator. And I don’t take my eyes off him until the sliding doors close. A grin plays at the corner of my lips as his sticky cum rubs against my thighs on the way to the shower.

I wonder which one of them is standing guard now that Atlas has to go back home and change. I chuckle to myself.

My phone buzzes, and I get my answer. I look down to see a text from Riot. What the fuck happened to Atlas’s shirt?

I laugh so hard I snort.

Fuck, I love them.

Villette and I clasp hands as we strut down to meet the guys. Felix leans up against a black limousine. His eyes light up when he sees us. He picks up his sister and twirls her around. “Mi hermosa hermana.” My beautiful sister.

She giggles as he sets her down. “Felix! You’re going to wrinkle my dress.” She looks stunning in an emerald-green, flower-print, floor-length gown. It bustles in the back, accentuating the curve of her hips and slender waist. The straps are thick and hug the middle of her shoulders.

His gaze flits over to me, and that rumble in my chest kicks in. “Fuck.” He saunters over to me and takes my hands in his. “Damn… Helen of Troy’s got nothing on you, Little Raven. Your face could launch a million ships.”

I knew this dress was the one as soon as I put it on. With a neckline that dips down all the way to my waist, the pink and black striped satin hugs my body like a glove. The skirt splits in the front and flares out, revealing my tattooed legs.

I stalk forward, careful not to trip in my new, black, strappy stilettos. “Always the poet.”

Catching movement in the corner of my eye, I hold my hand over my face to shield the glare of the sun. Through the rays, I spot them, and my heart gallops.

Riot, Atlas, and Valentin amble across the parking lot, a vision in all black.

I glance between them and Felix, overcome with emotion. They are all here for me.

Villette squeezes my hand. “Let’s go have some fun.”

We pile into the limousine in a sea of laughter, followed by champagne bottles popping.

Riot leans across the leather seats and whispers in my ear, “You’re so beautiful, it hurts.”

I kiss him on the cheek. “We’ve come a long way from that day you cornered me in the bathroom, haven’t we?”

He nods, a smirk on his lips. “This is just the beginning, Firecracker.”

When we pull up to the ballroom, all eyes are on us, their gazes glued to us as we climb out of the limousine. The snickers and gaping mouths don’t bother me tonight. I have my good friend and my guys with me. We look hot as hell and about to burn off some much-needed steam.

Felix offers Villette his arm while Atlas and Val sandwich me in between them. Riot leads the charge with the air of a king. A dark king with energy so sinister, the shadows part for him.

I gasp in awe when we step inside. The ballroom is unrecognizable. Like a fairy wonderland with its twinkling lights, glittered-covered floor, and smoke machines. Pink and purple roses cover the tables while blue hydrangeas and green ivy climb the walls.

I lose count of all the tables stacked with mini fondant cakes and rows of pink champagne. White-gloved servers carry silver trays, offering whiskey in teacups and powdered-sugar-dusted truffles.

A string quartet strums in the corner, gracing our ears with the sounds of Bach and Tchaikovsky. “Look at all this.” I twirl around, soaking it all in.

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