Page 148 of Picture Perfect

The world grinds to a halt. A cold shudder replaces the heat coursing through me. "No," I gasp out, the word tearing from my throat more forcefully than I expect. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I'm wide-eyed, a torrent of memories threatening to drown me.

William's voice echoes in my head, taunting me with demands and expectations. Preston's looming figure flashes before my eyes, reminding me of the line I've had to toe, the acts I've had to endure just to keep the peace. My chest constricts, and I can barely breathe under the weight of panic anchoring me down.

In the limo, everything stops. The sound of Chess's pleasure, Dre's low murmurs, all fade into a distance I can't quite place. I shrink into myself, feeling small and exposed, a deer caught in unforgiving headlights.

But then, Saint's hands are on my face, warm and grounding. He locks eyes with mine, the depth of his dark gaze like an anchor in the stormy sea of my fears.

"Look at me. Look at me, Princess." His voice is a commanding whisper, fierce yet gentle. "You are in charge. No one will make you do anything you don't want to. Never fucking again."

His words are a balm, soothing the raw edges of my panic. With every syllable, he reconstructs the walls that had crumbled within me.

"You set the pace. You set the boundaries. No is a full fucking sentence. You hear me?"

I nod, gulping down air as I find solace in his promise. A promise of control I never thought I'd have again. In his gaze, I see not only the ferocity of his protectiveness but also the unspoken vow that he, too, knows the taste of powerlessness.

"Okay," I whisper back, my voice steadier than before, my heart beginning to find its rhythm once more. Saint's understanding, his unwavering support, wraps around me like a shield, and in this haven, I begin to reclaim the pieces of myself long thought lost.

Empowerment surges through me, fierce and wild. Saint's words resonate like a battle cry within my soul, igniting something primal. I refuse to be the haunted girl, cowering in shadows of her past. With a surge of newfound determination, I launch myself at him, our bodies colliding with the force of all the pent-up emotions swirling between us.

He stiffens for a heartbeat, taken aback by the fervor of my response. Then, his arms envelop me, his touch igniting wildfires along my skin. His hand finds the silken strands of my hair, gripping gently but firmly as he tilts my head back. Our kiss deepens, frantic and claiming, a storm of tongue and teeth and sheer desperation. Every brush of his lips against mine reaffirms the promise he made, every clash of our breaths entwines our spirits further.

"Saint," I gasp into the chasm of his mouth, my voice a whisper of both need and trust. I cling to him, encouraging his desire, urging him on without words but with the language of my body that yearns for his touch, his affirmation of my autonomy.

His hands, those instruments of both tenderness and passion, begin their descent, tracing the contours of my body before hiking up the fabric of my skirt. The cool air kisses my thighs, heightening my anticipation until his fingers slip beneath the lace of my panties. A pained groan vibrates from his chest, filling the limo with the raw sound of his yearning.

"So fucking tight, Princess..." His breath is hot against my cheek, his fingers exploring my wet heat with a reverence that sends shocks of pleasure radiating through me. "Can you take another finger? Huh, good girl?"

"Yes," I moan, lost in the sensation, the intimacy of this moment shattering any lingering remnants of my fears.

"Fuck, you take me so good." His praise is a melody that dances upon my senses, coaxing me higher, pushing me closer to the edge of oblivion where only we exist.

"Saint," I whisper again, this time a plea laced with desire, my hands clutching at his shoulders as if he's the lifeline anchoring me in a sea of bliss.

The rhythmic motion of Saint's fingers is relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through my core. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I cling to him, my nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. As he continues, his other hand gently but firmly turns my head, directing my gaze towards the back of the limo.

"Look what you do to them," Saint murmurs against my ear, his voice low and rough with desire.

I can't help but glance over, and there they are—Dre, with his ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, a fierce intensity burning within. His hands are tangled in Chess's dark hair, guiding him in a rhythm that's both primal and precise. Chess's hazel eyes are closed, lost in the act, his lashes casting shadows on his olive cheeks.

"Fuck, Snowflake," Dre growls, his voice laced with lust. "Seeing you unravel, it's so goddamn hot."

Hearing Dre's voice, seeing them together like this, it fans the flames inside me, stoking the fire that Saint has ignited. A part of me wants to look away, to focus solely on Saint and the magic of his touch, but another part—the darker, more daring side—can't turn away from the erotic tableau before me.

"Saint..." I gasp out his name, my voice barely above a whisper as his fingers work magic inside me.

"Shh, Princess. Just feel," he soothes, his lips tracing the shell of my ear before claiming my neck with a kiss that promises possession.

The limo has become our world, a sacred space where only our pleasure exists, and the outside world fades to nothing. Saint's fingers move faster, harder, coaxing cries of ecstasy from my lips. I'm close, teetering on the brink, and with one final, skillful stroke, he sends me crashing over the edge.

"Saint!" I cry out, my vision whiting out as a powerful orgasm rips through me, shattering my senses.

As the tremors subside, I collapse against Saint's chest, spent and panting. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, grounding me as aftershocks ripple through my body. The steady beat of his heart against my ear is comforting, a silent promise that in this moment, I am safe, cherished, and adored.

Chapter sixty-five

Saint

As the limo glides through the city streets, the ambient glow of the night reflecting off the tinted windows, I hold Princess close, her warmth nestled against my chest. Her head rests on my shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy circles on my chest, the afterglow of our intimacy still lingering between us.

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