Page 21 of Ravaged Saints

He looks up, meeting my eyes, and he smirks before leaning back into the couch. His blue eyes gleam, and I feel my thighs clench involuntarily. Dante looks up, his brows furrowing slightly, and my cheeks burn. I know he notices.

Dante glances over his shoulder, then lets out a low chuckle before turning his attention back to me.

“Interesting,” he says with a whisper; my whole body shivers.

Jesus Christ…

Am I getting turned on by this? By Dante’s touch? By the way Knox is looking at me? The way his muscles tense, the veins in his arms pulse, and his tattoos shift as he cracks his neck.

Still kneeling, Dante shifts to the side, pulling my leg with him to adjust the bandage. There’s a devilish glint in his smirk, and before I realize it, my legs are open, right in front of Knox.

Knox spreads his legs on the couch, resting his arms across the back; the fabric of his shirt pulls tight, highlighting every inch of his broad chest and muscular shoulders.

He’s huge and the tallest of them. I’d guess around 6’6”, and like Dante, he’s covered in tattoos.

That smirk doesn’t leave his face as he licks his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to the space between my legs, and I feel a heat between them.

I could close my legs; I probably should, but I don’t want to…

No man has ever looked at me the way he is right now. I feel desired for the first time in my life.

“Fuck,” Knox growls, his hands tightening on the couch, his knuckles white with the pressure. My breath hitches, the gravel in his voice sending a shiver down my spine.

Dante’s hand slides a little higher, from my ankle to just behind my knee, and I shiver at his touch. I look at him, and his eyes are locked on mine, pupils so blown I can barely see the hazel in them; my breath catches.

He just smiles, his hand still moving softly against my skin.

“Shit, Dante,” Knox mutters as he adjusts his hips on the couch, spreading his legs and leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs, and there it is, the bulge in his cargo pants. But, instead of feeling disgusted, like I always did with Cash, my mind betrays me and imagines him sitting there while I strip off my jeans and panties, straddling him—

“Are you okay?” Bryn’s tone slices through my thoughts, and I snap out of it, yanking my leg away so fast I almost kick Dante.

He stands quickly. His gaze darts to Knox; both of them are breathing hard.

Knox runs a hand over his head before getting up and heading toward the kitchen after Dante.

“I need to use the bathroom,” I mumble, getting up quickly. Ethan nods, unconcerned, and Bryn follows me.

I run down the stairs, and the steel echoes under me. I reach the hallway and look around. There are only three doors here, but there are five guys. Do they share the rooms? I shake my head and head to the bedroom. I don’t have time to even care about that stuff!

I pick up a pair of cargo pants, a dark green t-shirt that I already know will be too tight across my breasts, socks, and combat boots. The clothes left behind by the women who used to work here are comfortable and ideal for this environment.

I head to the bathroom and turn on the faucet for the shower. The water isn’t hot, but it’s warm enough to relax and wash away the day.

“Are you really leaving?” Bryn asks from behind the door.

“Yes, Bryn,” I say softly. “You can come with me.” I try again, but she whispers a quiet, “No,” and walks away.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, leaning against the cold tile wall. My mind replays the scene that just happened in the living room. Knox’s blue eyes burning into me, Dante’s warm hand on my knee, and my fingers moving down instinctively. My breathing quickens as I circle my clit.

Shivers shoot through my core as I lean harder into the cold tiles, my fingers teasing the heat building inside me. I can feel the slick arousal against my skin, and I slide a finger inside, moving faster, in and out, my eyes closing to the memory of Dante’s smirk and Knox’s piercing gaze.

A soft whimper escapes my lips, and I quickly cover my mouth with my free hand. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t even remember the last time I touched myself.

Rocking my hips, a fiery sensation snakes down my spine, and I slide in another finger, my walls tightening around them, and for a brief, shameful moment, I wish it were Dante’s or Knox’s thick fingers instead.

It takes every ounce of control not to collapse onto the shower floor.

God, this feels so good.

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