Page 29 of Tainted Saints

Fuck, he tastes like Forest, a mixture of comfort and exhilaration, of feeling safe as you freefall, and I’m instantly addicted. I whimper when he pulls away, and I feel his smile before I see it, my eyelids fluttering open.

“The water is getting cold, sugar,” Forest tells me gently, holding the washcloth in his hand and then swiping it over my upper body. “Can’t have you catching your death, Lan would have my hide.”

I love the way Forest speaks. I could happily lie here with him all night just to hear him talk, but a small shiver lets me know that yes, the water is getting chilly. So, with a sigh, I let him finish up and then get out of the tub with Blaine’s help.

He wraps a thin but warm towel around me that smells a lot like him, which has me relaxing even more. He watches me practically rub my face all over it with a considering stare, then pulls his T-shirt off in that one-handed, sexy man way and holds it out for me.

My lips part, my body suddenly flooded with warmth as I take in every toned muscle that makes up Blaine Garcia. His skin is a rich, sandy-brown covered in swirls of dark ink that my tongue wants to taste, each ab chiselled to perfection and leading to a deep V that disappears underneath the waistband of his dark jeans.

“Another reason for his Big Daddy status,” Forest comments in a husky murmur behind me, and all I can do is nod, rendered stupid by the god of a man before me.

Rolling his eyes, Blaine tugs the towel away from me, but before even a small squeak can leave my lips, darkness covers my eyes as his still-warm T-shirt is pulled over my head. My arms glide through the sleeves and as soon as it’s on, I give in to my instincts and wrap my arms around the man himself, pressing my cheek against his hot skin.

His huge arms engulf me, wrapping me up so tightly that I can barely breathe, but I don’t care. I need him to hold me together, to keep me from fading away into someone I don’t know anymore. Tears sting my eyes, a painful lump forming in the back of my throat at the realisation that someone I met just nine days ago holds me with more care than either of my parents ever have, and that he knows more about me, the real me, than they do.

“Thank you, Blaine,” I whisper thickly against his skin, willing the tears not to fall. I know that this can’t last, that sooner rather than later I’ll have to go back there, to that cold, unforgiving mansion, but just for a little while, I’d like to pretend that I get to keep the Saints.

“You’re welcome,” he rumbles back, and I feel the light press of his lips against the top of my head. “Let’s get you something to eat.”

Nodding, I pull away, missing the comfort of his embrace like I’d just stepped out into a winter storm. Grabbing my hand, my chest loosening the moment our skin makes contact, he gently leads me towards the hall, and we walk back the way we came, Forest behind us. I shiver slightly in the cool air, the apartment isn’t that warm but I don’t want to make a fuss because maybe they can’t afford the heating.

Bolt pads over as soon as we enter, heading straight for me, and I sink my fingers into his soft fur, not even having to bend down to reach.

“Arms up, sugar,” Forest demands from behind me, and I twist to see the hoodie he had on earlier bunched in his hands. Giving him a grateful smile—and not just because of the extra layer but because it’s his—I do as he says, Blaine releasing my hand so Forest can slip the garment over my head. Like Blaine’s shirt, it falls to my knees, and before I can thank Forest, Lan is handing me a pair of sweats and thick socks.

“Now you have something from each of us, Duchess,” he tells me, swiping some of my damp hair behind my ear, then helping me to get into the sweats. We all laugh when they fall down straight away, but by tightening the string and folding them over at the waist a couple of times, we manage to get them to stay up.

He kneels, helping me into the thick socks, and I flush when he glances up at me, a knowing smirk on his face when he catches my blush. Not only am I now warm, but Lan was right, having something of each of theirs settles something deep within me that I can’t examine too closely.

They’re not yours to keep, Aspen…

Pushing that thought aside, I shake my head and look at each of them.

“Thank you,” I tell them in a soft tone, unable to voice all the reasons for my gratitude.

“Let’s eat,” Landon says after a moment, taking my hand and leading me to the small table that has four chairs around it.

“I knew it was a good idea to keep all the chairs,” Forest beams, and I find my lips tipping up to match his infectious smile.

My mouth waters at the bowls of spaghetti, the scent of parmesan, pancetta, and garlic leaving me practically drooling.

“Take it slow, Duchess,” Landon cautions as I sit down. “Your stomach might not be able to handle too much, but the egg and pancetta are a good source of protein.”

“You made this? From scratch?” I ask, gazing up at the gangster who’s now sitting across from me, Forest and Blaine sitting down either side of me.

“There are some benefits to having a mom who owns the best Italian restaurant in town, not least the fact we get free groceries,” he remarks, a half smile tilting up his lips. “Don’t look so surprised. You shouldn’t believe everything they say about us, you know.”

I flush, shame washing over me at how rude I just sounded. “I didn’t mean—” Looking away, I take an inhale. “I don’t know how to cook, and well, I’m impressed that anyone can, never mind make something that smells so delicious.” Sneaking a glance upwards through my lashes, I don’t see censure in his face, only a sort of softness that makes the back of my eyes sting.

“I can teach you, if you want?” Lan asks, and my head shoots up.

“Really? You would? I would love that,” I rush out, excitement making my pulse sing.

“Well, eat your dinner like a good girl and we’ll see,” he says back, his intense, dark stare never leaving mine, and my pulse races with the command in his tone. Unlike with the Ambassador, I want to please Landon, if nothing else to hear him call me a good girl again.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, biting my lips to hide the smile that tries to break free when his nostrils flare. Two can play that game.

“Just don’t touch his knives without permission,” Forest states from next to me as I swirl my fork in the pasta and bring it up to my lips. “He’s mighty protective of those blades.”

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