Page 152 of Only Mine
I can’t get enough of him, his hands, his mouth, the way he fills me completely. Saint releases my nipple with a wet pop and braces my back with one arm, bending his knees so he can fuck me up, not just in. It’s an angle I’ve never felt before, and the sensation is so intense and precise that I can’t even moan, I just gulp at the air, my body clenching around him, his cock hitting the same spot inside me until I’m whimpering.
I’m not just coming; I’m unraveling, every muscle in my body seizing, my mouth frozen open in a silent scream.
“You feel that?” he rasps, voice wrecked. “That’s me. All fucking me.”
I nod, the words lost, and he rewards me with a slow, devastating thrust that drags the ridge of his cock so deep I see into space.
Saint’s eyes are narrow slits, blue turning almost black. His lips bracket my jaw, teeth scraping as he mutters, “I’m never fucking leaving, you hear me?”
I want to answer, but my brain is too busy detonating behind my eyes. All I can do is nod, pulling at his hair, needing him closer, needing him to finish what he started. Saint reads my mind, one hand leaving my ass to slip between our bodies, thumb circling my clit.
I come again, raw and bright and so sudden it nearly hurts. My body pins itself to the wall, Saint’s arm the only thing holding me together. He groans, shudders, then comes with a force that makes me feel drunk, dizzy, completely gone. His hips piston through the aftershocks, wringing every last drop until he’s spent and I’m boneless … and stuck onto him like a sticker.
While still inside me, he spins us, this time carrying me to the bed. Saint lays me down, sliding out. Then he crawls over me, kissing up my stomach, my chest, my collarbone, until he reaches my lips.
We kiss until he settles beside me with a contented sigh. The Saint who never lets anyone see him soft is gone, at least for me.
“Are you real?” I mumble, burrowing into the pillow to escape the possessiveness of his stare. I don’t think it will ever fully sink in how important he thinks I am—that I matter.
He laughs, soft and easy. “I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I roll onto my back, searching his face for any trace of the old Saint, the one who would push me away the second things got too close. I find none.
“Ivy will be home soon,” he says, then runs his palm down my bare arm. “You want to stay for dinner?”
I smile. “Only if you’re cooking.”
Saint’s mouth quirks. “I’ll do you one better.”
He leans over, grabs his phone from the nightstand, and starts typing, then hands it to me with a sly grin.
On the screen is a reservation confirmation. For three. At 7:00.
“Ivy’s favorite,” he says. “There’s a new dessert on the menu. She’s been talking about it for a week.”
My face splits into a smile so uncontrolled that I have to hide it behind both hands. “You made a reservation at your own restaurant?”
He shrugs, grinning for real now. “Never done that before. Figured you should be my first.”
“Saint…” It finally hits me that it’s a reservation for three. The rest of my sentence dissolves.
He sits up, elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready. But I want her to see that I’m not hiding. That you’re…” He shakes his head, at a loss for words.
“That you want me to stay,” I finish.
He doesn’t answer, just pulls me onto his lap. I brace for another round, but instead, Saint wraps my legs around his waist and holds me so tight, my bones fuse to his.
Saint rests his chin on my shoulder, breath cooling the heat he’d just set off, and murmurs, “Ivy’s been making a list of her favorite dinners. Every night, she asks if I think you’d like them, too.” He buries his nose in my neck, voice muffled. “The way she says your name. You should hear it.”
I should. I want to. I want everything. Dinners, lists, the slow creep of new traditions. The thought makes my eyes sting.
He must sense the shift because he kisses my jaw and says, “We can start over. Tonight, if you want.”
Start over.As if this is a story that could ever loop back to the beginning.
“I don’t want to start over,” I say, twisting a little so I cansee his face. “I want more of this. Messy, complicated, all of it.”
Saint’s eyes crinkle at the edges. “Good. Because this is about as neat as I get.”
