Page 27 of Moonlit Temptation

“This can’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t want it to,” I lied through my bleached teeth. “I just want it here.”

“No one can know about it.”

I nodded, at least agreeing on that. Not that I had anyone to tell. Not that I would if I did. Saint had always been someone I wanted to keep to myself.

I reached for his tie.

Time for him to get on my naked level.

“I mean it, Madelayne.” He caught my hands before they made contact, face still stoic. Eyes heavy as he waited to surrender. To give into this temptation.

“I do, too, Saint. Just tonight. That’s all I want.”

“It’s all you can have,” he corrected, punctuating his words with a soul-sucking kiss. My toes curled and I grabbed his neck, wanting to pin him down for more when he broke away.

His attention was now elsewhere. On my still bra-covered girls, to be exact.

“What was it you told me?” he asked, staring down at my chest. “If I wanted it, I had to do it myself?”

Saint didn’t wait for an answer before his hands snuck around my body and masterfully undid my bra.

It fell to the floor between us, but we paid it no mind. Saint’s attention was fully on my bare chest while mine remained helplessly on him.

He looked like a man on death row, and I was his last meal on earth. Not sure if he should savor or devour me. Or both.

My breasts felt heavy cradled in his palms as gave them each a squeeze, his thumbs flicking the pert nipples.

I gasped. He smirked, doing it again. And again, watching as my eyes melt with desire.

I didn’t know my boobs could be so sensitive, so responsive to the way Saint massaged them, but I was pressing against him. Wanting to grab him and demand more.

Request all of it.

All of him.

Relief. I needed relief.

I needed “Saint…”

The bastard smiled before his arms pulled me closer, his mouth suctioning one of my nipples.

I pressed against him, feeling how hard he’d gotten in his pants. He sucked to the point of pain, but it was the kind of pain that had me reaching up to hold the back of his head, pushing him closer.

More, more, more.

Curious fingers brushed against the strain of his pants, and Saint pushed his hips forward.

Pulling his mouth away, he said, “You can touch me.”

With frantic, sloppy movements, Saint made quick work of undoing his pants, letting them fall to his ankles.

I swallowed at the strain protruding from his tight boxer briefs.

“Fuck, Mady. With a look like that, you’re going to make me beg.”

“Maybe I want you to.” Saint begging would be a sight to see.

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