Page 13 of Saint

Saint drags his fingers into the holes and pulls, tearing them.

“What was it you said?” He leans in close, his voice a low growl in my ear. “You liked how he chased her, but it was her being caught that did the trick. How you slipped your fingers into your wet pussy and soaked your hand at how he fucked her while she screamed for him tostop… until she was screaming for him to fuck her harder instead.”

My stomach flutters at the wrong things I admitted to this sick man. He was a devil on the screen, a fantasy never meant to manifest.

“Not like this,” I whisper.

“Exactly like this.” His fingers inch over my skin again, getting closer and closer as he walks them in between my thighs.

He grips me tight, and even if my shorts are between us, I have to bite back a moan.

“I heard that, kitten.” He tips my head back, peeling my cheek from the tree and dipping his chin so his mouth is near my ear. “Your boyfriend’s blood is still drying on the pavement, and your pussy is begging you to let his killer fuck you. Isn’t it?”

“No.” I try to shake my head but can’t with how he’s holding onto my hair. “I—”

I shouldn’t.

It’s wrong that my skin prickles, and every twisted thing he says lights me up.

I don’t want this.

I can’t.

“There’s a reason you never let him touch you,” Saint says, gripping my pussy harder; the contact lights me up in flames. My body reacts to carnal urges, and my hips drive forward, searching for pressure while my mind battles what’s right and wrong.

Saint wakes up the sickness inside me, just like he did the night I admitted every disturbing thing I’ve everfantasized about. The night I admitted to him the real reason I’m still a virgin.

“You don’t want a boyfriend who will make love to you.” He grips my pussy so hard it edges on painful. “You want to be fucked. Taken. Claimed.”

He moves his hand, the heel of it grinding over me through my shorts, as he pulls me against his hard cock.

“Admit you want this, and I’ll give it to you.”

“And if I don’t?”

I’m not sure why I’m challenging him. Or even what I want anymore. Just that I can’t hear or think as he moves himself over me.

“You do.” He moves for the button on my shorts, popping it open. His fingers skate over the bare skin of my hip, teasing the line but not moving in.

This is wrong.

I’m a horrible person.

Liam is dead.

Saint killed him.

And yet, my body reacts to the fear he inflicts.

“I—” I’m not sure what I’m thinking.

His fingers draw a path on my bare skin, and I’m shivering and hot all at the same time.

“Tell me your fantasy, kitten.”

Releasing the tree, I grip his wrist, digging my nails in so hard I draw blood, and I admit in the darkness the things I shouldn’t. “I want to hurt.”

Saint hums in my ear, releasing my hair and spinning me around.

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