Page 171 of Vicious Saint
Long and thick it bounces until he’s got it fisted in his hand.
“Guess I’m a little needy too.”
I watch Saint stroke himself, swallowing whatever saliva is left in my mouth.
“You gonna keep admiring my hard-on, Jimi? Or do something about it?”
Common sense rears its ugly head, along with the reminder our parents are sleeping somewhere in this house. My aunt. His sister too.
“We can’t, they’ll hear us.”
“Am I supposed to give a fuck?”
“Little bit, Letterman.”
“Does this mean you don’t want me taking your ass tonight?”
Yeah…definitelynotthe time to sail narrow waters with such a big boat.
“That’sexactlywhat this means.”
Saint’s smile is as cruel as it is wide. “Then it’s a good thing I still don’t give a fuck.” Before I can react, he yanks me to him by my waist and flips me over. “Sorry, Jimi. No time left for me to wait for your ass to strangle my cock.”
“Wait!” I croak when he settles behind me, absolute panic flooding my system.
Not because I don’t want him to do this, but because I know how much harder it’s going to be to cut ties if I allow him to take another one of my firsts.
Obviously notthatone.
But virginity is more than just a torn hymen for me.
It’s first feelings, experiences, even decisions.
And so far I’ve allowed my enemy-turned-frenemy-back-to-enemy-stepbrother to own at least four of them.
Saint grips my neck, his dick nudging my ass as he turns my head to meet his icy glare.
Then, moments later, it melts away.
“Shit.” He rears back, taking in the fear I know is written all over my face, and I take in the conflict striking his.
Once again Saint threatens to do unspeakable things to me but cuts himself off at the moral crossroads he insists are never there.
The saying “be careful what you wish for” has come to mind a lot these past few days—because when I stood in the shower demanding Saint to keep showing me his good side, I never thought he actually would. Or that I’d grow attached to it the way I am.
“I’m giving you one chance to tell me to leave, Hendrix.”
I have no idea why hearing those words have tears welling, or why Saint feels the need to swipe a free one away with his thumb.
This is not supposed to happen.
Weare not supposed to happen.
Yet…here I am.
Admiring the monster and the man.
There’s lust, restraint, and an urgency on Saint’s face I can’t quite figure out, but can tell it has nothing to do with back door sex.
