Page 97 of Martyr
“She’s supportive of our… endeavors.” He winks. “She just wants a play-by-play later.”
Oh, fuck.
“Daniel, Jace, and Wolfe left, so it’s just us,” he adds.
He strides by me and climbs the stairs. I stare after him for another moment, then come to my damn senses. I take the steps two at a time to catch up with him—or rather, linger a few steps below to admire his ass—and follow him into Tem’s apartment.
It’s empty. He yanks his shirt off and tosses it over his shoulder. It hits me in the chest, and I automatically catch it. My gaze is drawn to his naked, muscled back. Tattoos cover it, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. The placements are impeccable, each one moving with the lines of his body.
I drop his shirt and lose mine, too. I kick off my shoes, tug off socks, and unbutton my pants, my dick already hardening in anticipation.
He’s just in jeans, too, by the time we reach the bathroom. He goes in and starts the water, and he’s barely turned around when I pounce.
I kiss him hard, pressing my body to his. My skin wakes up at the contact, my dick straining against my jeans. He shifts, widening his stance, and grasps at my waist. He kisses back just as fierce, his teeth snagging my lower lip and biting down.I groan at the bloom of pain and the way the sensation goes straight to my groin.
He’s hard, too. His hips move, shifting against me, and I feel it pressing on my thigh.
His hand sweeps up from my waist, over my nipple, and comes to a rest over my heart. Where his tattoo is.
He drags his lips from mine and looks down at it, blinking. “You didn’t tell me about this. When my mind was all fucked up.”
“No,” I agree.
He meets my gaze. “Why?”
Why, indeed?
“Because I didn’t want that to influence you.” I catch his chin in my hand so he can’t turn away. “I didn’t realize, when you first came into Hawthorne’s office, that you had forgotten. But I had been looking for you…”
Because Ouranos wanted you dead.
Still does, probably. I would say I’ve effectively cut ties with the man after last night. There’s no going back.
“I caught a glimpse of you walking down the hall and thought I was seeing things,” I confess.
Saint leans in until our lips are almost touching. He keeps his eyes on mine, and I revel in his newfound confidence. Like restoring the two years’ worth of memories has given him back his shine.
I can recall the way he blushed on the beach beside that house in North Falls, his gaze dropping to my cock and then quickly away. Or the way he fought—let’s not forget that. We were strangers back then, but he moved with savage beauty.
“Well, thanks for not manipulating me too much,” he says.
I huff a laugh, then quickly fall silent when he grabs my dick through my jeans. He squeezes and tugs lightly, smirking at me. My reaction.
“These should come off,” he says.
He finishes dragging my zipper down and pulling both the denim and briefs down my hips, thighs. He crouches, guiding my feet out, then looks up at me.
“Hmm.” He leans in and opens his mouth.
Oh, fuck.
He slides the tip of my cock past his lips, and warm wetness envelops my length. His tongue flicks at my piercings, then dips deeper. I lean forward and brace myself on the wall behind him as he tastes me.
It’s clear he’s never done this before, but he doesn’t seem to have any problem exploring.
Or experimenting.
He sucks, his cheeks hollowing. His hand comes up, and he grasps me. He twists his hand, the pressure tight and a perfect combination. I imagine this is how he likes it. A blending of sensations.
