Page 41 of Saint's Preciosa

Saint's hands cup my face with exquisite gentleness as he leans down to kiss me. The room erupts in cheers and whistles, but I hear none of it—there's only Saint, his lips on mine, his heart beating in time with my own.

The reception that follows is a blur of congratulations, laughter, and celebration. The Shadow Reapers know how to throw a party, and they've pulled out all the stops for this one. Food and drinks flow freely, music pulses through speakers, and the courtyard becomes a sea of dancing, talking, celebrating people.

Through it all, Saint rarely lets go of my hand, as if he can't bear to break contact even for a moment. His eyes follow me with a heat that promises much for later, when we're finally alone.

As the evening progresses, I find myself at a table with Angel, Sophie, and Rose, watching the brothers engage in increasingly ridiculous toasts.

"How are you settling in?" I ask Rose, noticing how her eyes keep drifting to Cipher.

A blush colors her pale cheeks. "Everyone's been so kind. I've never had anything like this before—people who care what happens to me."

"You know you're welcome to stay as long as you need," Angel assures her. "The club takes care of its own."

Rose's smile is tentative but genuine. "Thank you. I'm still trying to figure out what comes next. Everything feels possible now, in a way it never did before."

I understand exactly what she means. Since Saint entered my life, doors have opened that I never knew existed. Abuela has moved into a small cottage on club property. She has proper medical care now, and Paco has a fenced yard to patrol with his best dog-buddy, Sophie’s German Shepard, Max. I'm working on obtaining my GED. And most surprising of all, Saint and I talking about opening a legitimate business—a shelter and resource center for victims of trafficking.

"Speaking of what comes next," Sophie says with a meaningful glance toward the clubhouse, "I think your husband is ready to start the honeymoon portion of the evening."

I follow her gaze to find Saint standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with hunger and promise as they meet mine across the courtyard. My body responds instantly to that look, my nipples hardening and my panties dampening.

"That's our cue to make ourselves scarce," Angel laughs, rising from her seat. "Come on, ladies. Let's give the newlyweds some privacy."

As they leave, Saint approaches, his long strides eating up the distance between us. He stops before me, extending his hand.

"Ready to leave your own party, preciosa?" The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey.

I place my hand in his, electricity sparking between us at the contact. "More than ready," I assure him.

We make no announcements, but knowing looks and good-natured whistles follow us as Saint leads me through the clubhouse to our room. Once the door closes behind us, the sounds of the party fade to a distant hum.

Saint's eyes devour me, moving from the pulse at my throat to the cut that marks me as his, to the soft fabric of my dress clinging to curves he knows intimately.

"Do you know how fucking beautiful you are?" he asks, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. "Standing there in my property cut, wearing my ring."

"Your wife," I remind him, stepping closer to place my hands on his chest.

"My wife," he repeats, the word seeming to satisfy something primal in him. "My ol' lady." His fingers trace the edge of the leather cut. "Mine."

"Yours," I agree, rising on tiptoes to press my lips to his jaw. "Always yours."

His control snaps at my words. His mouth captures mine in a kiss that's all consuming hunger and barely restrained passion. His hands sweep down my sides, gathering the fabric of my dress, lifting it over my head to reveal the new white lace lingerie beneath.

"Christ, you're trying to kill me," he groans, taking in the sight of me.

I feel powerful. This dangerous man, feared by many, brought to his knees by me. It's heady, intoxicating.

"Touch me," I whisper, and it's all the invitation he needs.

He lifts me as if I weigh nothing, carrying me to our bed, his mouth never leaving mine.

Saint worships my body with his hands, his mouth, his words. Each touch, each kiss is a promise of protection, of devotion, of a future neither of us thought possible just weeks ago. When he finally enters me, our bodies joining as husband and wife for the first time, I feel complete in a way I never knew was possible.

"Te amo," he whispers against my lips as we move together, the Spanish flowing naturally between us. "I love you, Luna Santiago. My precious wife. My heart."

"I love you too," I breathe, holding him close as pleasure builds between us. "My husband."

Later, in my husband's arms, the sheets tangled around us, I think about the journey that brought us here. The path wasn't smooth or straight, but it led me exactly to where I was meant to be.

In the arms of my Saint, I've found my salvation.

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