Page 45 of Gilded Saint

I could not have heard that question correctly. I breathe deeply, set the photo down, and turn to face her. “What?”

“I find you attractive. I’m just curious?—”

“Willow.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Where is this coming from?”

“Our arrangement is temporary, but it could last for months, even years, right?”

If I’m still in this role years from now, I’ll lose my mind. I might’ve already lost it.

“Right?” She wants an answer.

Tread carefully.

“Impossible to say.” I rock back on my heels, assessing her. She is a truly beautiful young woman. A delicate bone structure, high cheekbones, full, rosy lips, and bright blue trusting eyes, crowned with wavy golden strands and raven roots.

She’s an artist who simply wants to pursue her art and sidestep the destiny crafted by her heritage. The CIA didn’t tell me to help her. Doing so didn’t move me up any ladder or prove my skills to anyone. It doesn’t help my country or my family. Helping this young woman might be the one selfless thing I’ve done.

“Regardless of our age difference, we are married.” Her cheeks flush with what I take to be embarrassment. Thin straps cross her shoulders, holding up the flimsy cotton top that hugs her breasts and does nothing to conceal the shadowy silhouette of her nipples.

Proving I’m not a saint, my body reacts, my cock stiffening with desire like it always does when I take her in for too long. But she’s too young, and regardless of what she might think, we’re not married. Not legally. I didn’t use my real name, and soon enough, she’ll be a widow to the identity I used in the ceremony.

Entering her bedroom was a mistake. I step past her. It’s early, but I’ll go to bed. Or take a shower. Her big blue eyes shine with hope and maybe…lust?

“I’d have to be blind not to be attracted to you. You’re gorgeous. I want you, but that doesn’t make it right. Desire is not justification.”Nothing good can come from this. That’s what I want to say. Her expression is unreadable. Sloane, my middle sister, would rail at me right about now. Sage, my youngest sister, would never question me. And why am I thinking about my sisters? Willow’s younger than both of them and nothing like them. I need to put distance between us.

“Night, Willow.”

Back in my bedroom, I breathe with purpose to calm the fuck down. My dick throbs. And she’s a fucking kid. I’m a monster. That’s what this job has turned me into. I was supposed to stop the monsters, and yet I added to their numbers.

With careful steps, I enter the bathroom and flick on the shower. Steam billows, clouding the ceiling. I remove my shirt and let my jeans and briefs fall to the floor. I grip my erection and stroke up once, then twice.

I tighten my grip, close my eyes, and envision her. That white lace corset pushing her breasts into perfect pillows, the pale pink points of her nipples pushing against the fabric. The smooth lines of her ass that my fingers ache to touch. That slip of lace I’d give anything to slide to the side, to explore her folds with my finger, my mouth, my dick.

Jesus, I am one sick fuck. I remove my socks and step into the stream of water. I close my eyes and submit. Hot water flows from my crown, over my eyes, through my hair, over my body.

The vision that’s taunted me for weeks surrounds me. Willow in lace. I’ve given myself permission, I’ve opened the box, and she’s everywhere. My grip tightens up and down my shaft, teasing the tip. God, what I wouldn’t give to drag my tip through her wet folds, to tease her clit. To lift her breasts out of that corset and suck her nipple, to tease her mercilessly. Why the hell did I have to see her like that? My palm flattens against the marble, and my speed increases. I’m going to rub myself raw fighting this urge.

If I had touched her that night, if I had removed those lace panties, or slipped them to the side, would she have been wet? Does she feel this lust, too? Is that what she meant by attractive?

The shower door creaks, and I spin, arms out, ready to fight blind. Blinking away water, my stance spreads, seeking balance.

“I…”

It’s Willow, standing in the doorway of my shower. There’s no lace. No. She’s a vision. She’s not wearing anything at all.

Dizziness strikes first, and my palm flattens once again against the marble. I swipe my eyes, blinking to confirm she’s not a hallucination.

“What’re…” I can’t get the words out. A sharp intake of air doesn’t clear a damn thing up.

“Men have needs. That’s what I’ve always been told. And women have needs too. I would prefer that you come to me, instead of to other lovers. If you…”

Her gaze falls and I can only guess she’s taking in my protruding erection.

“Willow. You should leave.” My dick fucking weeps. I deserve sainthood. I force myself to turn back to the shower stream because, otherwise, I would stare at her perfect, svelte body with her pert breasts and wide, smooth hipbones and what I’d bet is a perfect fucking pussy, and my willpower would crumble. As it is, I have one more image to add to my spank bank.

One more temptation to deny myself.

My fingers itch to grip myself again, to jerk off a release, but I refrain, straining to hear the creak of the door. She’ll leave. I told her to leave.

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