Page 19 of Silent Night

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

He lowers himself on top of me, kissing me sweeter than ever before. I reach for his shirt, but he draws back, pulling it over his head. It’s the first time I’ve seen him—truly seen him—and my fuck, he’s gorgeous. His muscles are defined from a life of heartache and not from a gym. Scars decorate the skin by his shoulders and I want to know how he got them. The scars, as well as the marks on his ribs.

He follows my gaze, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Not so nice to look at, eh?”

“You’re beautiful,” I repeat his earlier compliment. “Scars tell a story. It makes me only want to know yours.”

A strange look comes over his expression before he shakes his head, and somehow, I know what he’s about to say before he does. There seems to be two versions of Saint: the gentle man full of compliments and the hardened criminal, making degrading comments about himself.

“No, you don’t. My story’s too rough for someone as innocent as you. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“It’s not over yet. You don’t know what your ending will be.”

He smiles sadly. “Yeah, I do, and trust me, it’s not one where the criminal gets the princess.”

“But I’m not?—”

His palm comes down over my mouth, blocking my next words. After a moment, he slowly tugs his hand away, replacing it with his mouth, kissing me until I forget the denial I was about to say.

As he kisses me senseless, he tugs off my leggings and then my panties, until I’m completely naked beneath him. He pulls back again to look at me, cursing softly, except coming from him, the harsh word sounds like praise.

I reach for him, undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans all without breaking his gaze. I reach inside and pull out the cock that filled my mouth last night, stroking him to full length. All I could think about when he was down my throat was what he’d feel like inside me.

His eyes bore into mine like he’s trying to memorialize the moment. They tell a story, but it’s in a language I’m not entirely familiar with.

He lets me have my fun with him, his mouth slowly falling open as his breaths grow shallower. After a moment, he rips my hand off him, growling, “Keep going and I won’t get to play with you, and we can’t have that.” He taps my thigh, instructing, “Roll to your knees.”

Lust drips from his command, and I’m more than happy to comply. In front of the tree, I get to my hands and knees, staring at the Christmas lights as his fingers slide along my clit.

“Fuck, you’re already wet.” He pulls his hand back for a moment, and I twist, watching him suck his finger into his mouth, pulling it out with a sweep of his tongue. Then he lowers his hand between my legs again and slides his finger back inside me, sinking deep until my gaze breaks from his and my head falls forward with a long moan.

“Don’t be quiet, Hayley. Not this time. We’re all alone.”

Saint thrusts his finger in and out before pulling out to add a second, curling them inside me. The angle nearly shoots me off immediately, but I vow to hold on a bit longer. I don’t want this to end.

As fast as I think it, the sparks inside my core build. His thumb sweeps over my clit and the combination of sensations brings my body higher and higher. My arms grow weak and I end up with my chest on the floor, my head scraping the edge of the tree skirt, my hips moving in tandem with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” I cry. “Saint!”

“Sing my name, sweet girl. Treat it like a carol. Let the neighbourhood hear who you’re dirtying yourself for.”

Again with the self-degradation, and I want to tell him to stop it. That I know he’s not that kind of person. But as fast as I’m able to get my mouth functioning, he thrusts again, harder, and I come around his hand, my cry echoing through the high-ceilinged room, my core clenching on his fingers.

Saint rewards me by finger-fucking me as long as I can physically manage before slowly pulling out of me. I turn in time to watch him studying his wet fingers in the tree’s lights with a pleased smirk.

“Look how drenched you are.” He puts one finger in his mouth, his draw long and slow before his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Should we see how many fingers we can fit?”

He takes my whimper as an agreement—which is exactly what it was meant to be, and when his hand lowers to my pussy again, it’s with three fingers.

He’s going to stretch me and it’ll probably burn, but I can’t find it in me to care. I’m realizing, this man can do anything to me, and I’ll accept it. Accepthim.

With three fingers, he moves slower, his other hand stroking over my spine as he makes soothing noises, sprinkled with bits of praise.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You’re a greedy girl.”

“You’re beautiful, sweet girl.”

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