Page 32 of Saint

My boyfriend’s killer.

And I want him, even if I can’t say that out loud because it’s wrong on every level. He wants to hurt me, along with anyone who gets close to me. Fear rattles my heart, yet my stomach churns with something else.

The longer I stare at Saint, the pressure starts to build. My core tenses and my lashes flutter. His hands grip the chair, and I imagine it’s his fingers digging into my thighs. His mouth warming my core. His eyes watching me react.

I exhale on a moan, hating that he’s drawing out my darkness.

The moment the sound escapes my lips, Saint is on his feet, circling the room. Tension builds between my legs and in the air. Everything is about to snap, and it’s terrifying.Hot. Wrong.

My pussy pulses as the tension builds. And builds. And as Saint reaches the bed, towering over both of us, I’m on the verge of erupting.

Nixon doesn’t notice Saint standing over him, but he’s all I see. Towering, making my pussy quiver. I tense, my core warming as everything starts to crest, but right as I’m on the verge, Saint reaches down and grabs Nixon by the hair, pulling him off me.

Nixon’s neck strains as he’s forced to look up at Saint.

“What the fuck, dude?” Nixon reaches for Saint’s wrists, but before he can grab them, Saint has a knife at his throat, and he freezes.

“She tastes good, right?” Saint asks him. “Like fucking paradise?”

Nixon doesn’t answer, doesn’t so much as move, as the blade is already digging into the soft flesh of his neck.

“Remember that when you’re rotting in hell.” Saint drags the blade across Nixon’s neck, splitting it open.

Blood pours down the front of him as his breath gurgles. Splatter spots my calves as it spurts out, and I push myself back on the bed.

But there’s no escape; I already know that.

Saint shoves Nixon’s body to the side to bleed out on the floor. Then he climbs onto the bed over me.

My eyes are wide as I glance down at Nixon on the ground beside us. Blood puddles around him. Pools of rage Saint paints in my name.

Saint lifts his bloody blade to my throat, and my attention snaps back to him. The point of it sits just beneath my ear, cutting into the soft flesh ever so slightly.

“Did that feel good, kitten?” He drags his nose along my jaw, slipping his other hand under my skirt and grabbing my pussy so hard I groan. “Did you enjoy having another man’s tongue between your legs?”

“No,” I whisper.

“Don’t lie to me.”

I try to shake my head, but the blade scrapes my skin. “I didn’t want that.”

He grabs my pussy harder. “You moaned for him.”

“I moaned for you.” I dare to grab Saint’s wrist. The backs of my fingers graze the handle of the knife, but I don’t try to pull away because there’s no overpowering him. “I don’t want to be shared. But you didn’t give me a choice. And I was scared, so I focused on you. I moanedfor you.”

He presses close. Familiarity and fear bleed together as he holds me.

“I don’t share, kitten.” Saint hovers his face over mine, and all I see are those dark eyes cutting through the ski mask. “I granted a dying man his last meal before I sent him to hell for touching what’s mine. There’s a difference.”

“You can’t kill everyone who puts a hand on me.”

“But I can.” He ticks his head to the side, tosses the blade to the bed, and grips the back of my hair, tipping my head. “I can do whatever I want when it comes to you. And I will, Violet. I’ll prove my loyalty in blood. In screams. In death.”

His nails dig into my scalp, and he grips my hair harder.

“Saint,” I moan.

“Yes, kitten.” He drags his face along my neck, inhaling. “I’m your Saint. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

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