Page 23 of The Saint

He wasn’t angry with me. Instead, he showered me with love that I didn’t know he felt.

“We’re in this together, sweetheart.”

I stopped crying, holding on to his wrists for the strength I didn’t possess.

He continued to stare at me, my face cradled in his hands, with his eyes soft but determined. “I love you.” It was the first time he’d said it to me, and he said it so calmly and so sincerely, like there was no doubt in his heart. “You’re the first, the last, and the only.”

“Bastien…” I felt my eyes water again before I pressed my forehead to his. “Fuck, I love you.”

6

FLEUR

We’d made love before, but this was different.

I used to hide my heart behind my eyes, lock my soul in a cage so it couldn’t touch his, but now, everything poured out like sand from a bottle. My focus was no longer on protecting myself, but on letting myself be open to him, feeling everything that I’d been afraid to feel.

He was on top of me, my knees squeezing his torso, my ankles locked together in the center of his back, bending and tilting to accommodate him as he rocked into me, his muscular arms holding his body above mine, his hungry lips kissing mine with sexy slowness, really feeling my lips, savoring them.

My hands scooped behind his shoulders, and my nails dug into his flesh, feeling him worship me with kisses to the neck, to the corner of my mouth, his tongue in my mouth before he stole my breath away.

I’d already come at the start of this, not because it was the best sex I’d ever had, but because I was so fucking in love with thisman. I admitted it to myself, felt it in my broken heart with a painful throb.

“I love you,” I said it against his lips, feeling the twinge of pain burn inside me, giving myself fully to him to do whatever he wanted. My fate was in the palm of his hand—and he could crush me.

He moaned against my mouth like I’d said something dirty. His cock twitched inside me like I’d said the perfect words to get him off. He continued to rock into me, but his thrusts slowed as he gave his final pumps—and then he filled me. He filled me as he rested his lips against mine, his muscular chest like a cloud over my sky, the smell of his sweat and the rain all around me.

He finished then rubbed his nose against mine, his blue eyes endless in their depth. He kissed me then kissed me again, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered to him. Still hard, like he didn’t need a break or a moment to catch his breath, he started to rock again, sliding through my cream and his come. “I fucking love you, sweetheart.”

I’d fallen asleep, and when I woke up, it was dark outside.

I looked at the time on the clock on the nightstand and saw that it was almost eight, so I’d taken an hour nap. Bastien wasn’t there, so he must have already showered or gone into the living room.

I lay there for a bit before I got out of bed, helping myself to one of his shirts like whatever was his was mine.

He was on the couch in his sweatpants, the TV off, the lights dim.

My stomach gave a loud rumble and announced my presence to the room.

He smirked before he looked away from his phone and stared at me. “You and me both, sweetheart. How about a pizza and strawberries in the tub?”

“I thought baths weren’t your thing.”

“I’m open to new things.”

I sat on the couch beside him, and he immediately hooked his arm around me and pulled me close, planting kisses on my neck and my exposed collarbone, making me feel like his favorite person in the world.

I knew he was mine.

He fired off a text to Gerard like it was room service. “I’ll start the water.” He began to get up, but I kept him down.

“It’s okay. Let’s just stay on the couch.”

He studied me, clearly picking up on everything I didn’t say. “Sweetheart, it’ll be okay.”

Sitting in a tub full of water reminded me of my watery grave. “I’d rather stay on the couch.”

“I know how much you love taking baths. Don’t throw that away?—”

---