Page 37 of Property of Saint

Ignoring that if the Kings have their way, there’ll be no one after him, I taunt, “Big words.”

The beast emerges in his eyes, and for a moment, I feel terrified. But when his hands reach for me, it’s with a tenderness that respects where I hurt. His lips first gently touch mine, his palm cradling my head. Then he increases the pressure, persuading me to let his tongue invade. He groans as I respond to him, and gentleness disappears as he crashes his mouth down on mine, taking what he wants from me, ravishing me, and God help me, but I realise I’ve never experienced such passion before.

Victim and murderer. Maybe that’s the combination that makes his taste so enticing, so arousing. Or it’s that this could be the last time I’ll ever be with a man. He ends the kiss, then expertly strips my…hisshirt over my head, baring my upper body to him. His expression shows his appreciation even before his mouth descends to pay attention to my breasts. I love nipple play, previous lovers haven’t taken enough time before, but Saintdoes. He licks, nibbles, bites and sucks, resulting in begging sounds being drawn out of me, pleading for him not to stop. I’m seconds away from an orgasm just from his ministrations to my breasts before he pulls away, his breathing heaving, his own face red.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, so responsive. I’ve got to have a taste.”

Without having to remind him to be careful, he strips the pants I’m wearing down my legs, gently pulling the one in the cast through, before yanking the other side down. I’m wearing no panties, so I’m already bare. There’s no embarrassment, just anticipation, as his earlier ministrations have already got me on edge.

Other men have gone down on me, but now I know they were halfhearted and inexperienced. As soon as Saint’s mouth is on me, he’s playing me like a virtuoso. His tongue is so soft yet so malleable, and knowing all the moves, his teeth are teasing just enough to bring me almost to the peak.

Then he adds his hand, one finger, then two, gliding inside my slickness, touching that mythical spot no one’s ever found before. His mouth, his hand… within moments I’m totally lost. I scream his name as my orgasm rises, pulses through me, and seems to carry on.I’d been so wrong. Saint totally knows how to give.

I almost yell at the loss of his touch before his well-endowed cock plumbs my depths, his whole shaft pushing in without mercy, or giving me time to adjust. But somehow the invasion is both brutal and enough to extend my orgasm.

He yanks my good leg up and around him, managing to keep his weight off my broken limb as he thrusts in, and then in again, repeating his action time after time. I open my eyes, focusing on the taut lines on his face, relishing the sight of him chasinghis own moment of ecstasy, then having to close them again as pleasure overcomes me.

I’m reaching a place where I’ve never been, heights never before reached. For a moment, I doubt he’d need a bullet to kill me as I touch an orgasm so intense it’s beyond belief. If I never recover from this, well, what a way to go…

I come back to myself, my breathing sawing in and out as though I’ve completed a marathon. Making an effort, I open my eyes to see his head rolled back, his eyes closed, his face taut as though in agony.

But as I watch, his tension releases, and he looks down, his facial expression, if I could find a word to describe it, would be confusion.

He meets my eyes. “Fuck.” Just one word, but it carries so much emotion, but nothing I can interpret. Hate? Perhaps. Satisfaction, possibly. But as he pulls out, I feel an alien sensation, and reality hits me.

“We didn’t use a condom.”

I’ve amused him. He barks a laugh. “You not clean?”

“I get tested regularly.”

“Considering the circumstances, you’ve no need to worry.” It’s a slap around the face that brings me back to reality.

I’ve just experienced the best sex of my life from the man who’s been charged to kill me. Guess he’s right. A little stickiness, his semen seeping out of me, is the least of my concerns right now.

But I don’t have a chance to say anything else, as Saint has already disappeared out of the door.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

SAINT

Iran from my room like the hounds of hell were after me, zipping my jeans as my cock was the only part of me I’d bared, leaving my seed and her juices soaking my sheets. I hadn’t even thought to be a gentleman and clean her up. And even that’s an alien thought – I don’t normally spare a second of concern for any of the hangarounds or club girls I take to, then kick out of my bed. They all know the score. They want me? They get me, but on my terms.

Pippa? Sex with her fucking blew my mind. I came so hard I literally saw stars and for a second wondered if I’d blown something serious and was about to meet my maker.

It had to have been that it was the first time in my life I didn’t bother with a condom.Jesus, fuck. If that was the difference it made, the next girl I take to bed I’d make sure was on the pill or had an IUD or implant. I can’t fucking wait to feel that sensation again. Yeah, that must have been the reason for it.

Pausing halfway down the hallway, I rest my forehead against the wall, my heart still racing, blood seeming to pulse inmy balls.What if it wasn’t the lack of latex between us, but it was her?

I’d fucked her bare as it didn’t matter if my seed took root, she wasn’t going to be alive long enough for it to be a problem. I fucked her to get the need for her out of my system. I know myself, I like variety, and once I’ve made my conquest, unless it’s a club girl there for convenience and a change from using my hand, I’m never interested enough to go back for seconds. But Pippa? I’m already regretting I ran rather than taking the opportunity to dip my wick for the second time, only to prove the sensations from the first were a fluke, of course. No woman could be that good. No pussy addictive.

Hearing voices below me, I straighten, wipe my hands across my face, and complete my path down to the club room. Spying Gris, without pausing to welcome him back or politely ask about the health of his mother, I bark instructions that he’s to go upstairs and make sure my girl,my prisoner, stays put.

Instead of jumping to obey me, he wavers and jerks his head toward the window from which I can see the bunkhouse the prospects call home. “Just got here, VP. I need to freshen up?—”

Interrupting him as I can’t even see a speck of dust on his face, I snap, “I gave you a fuckin’ order, Prospect. I expect you to do it now.”

Still reluctant, he narrows his eyes. “Why isn’t she in the barn?”

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