Page 310 of Vicious Saint
Especially since I’ve reassured him like a bajillion times.
“I forget I’m heavier than you.”
Bringing Saint closer by the neck, I place a soft kiss on his lips, still trying to keep up the light tempo. “Okay, well, I survived.”
He laughs, but it’s hollow, so I cup the sides of his face, running my thumbs in soft circles around his cheeks.
“Saint, listen. I’ve never once believed you’d ever physically hurt me. Or anyone you care about. It’s time for you to believe it also.”
Am I stupid? Sometimes.
But no longer when it comes to Saint’s anxiety over hurting me.
I realized the moment he admitted what happened with the little girl at his school and tried explaining in depth to him how it wasn’t his fault. What happened that day was a horrific tragedy,but she survived, and Saint has a tremendous amount of self-control when it comes to his loved ones.
You know the expression beating a dead horse?
Well, this is like beating a dead quarterback.
Saint looks away, blinking a few times as he usually does.
I allow him some time to ruminate, but the second I feel the mood shifting downward, I’m full force on redirecting.
“Didn’t you mention something about painting?”
This has a bit of sparkle returning to Saint’s eyes when they’re back on me. “How could I forget?” He grins, reaching for the blue bottle of paint, shifting his weight on one side to twist it open.
That’s when I realize…he’s still inside me.
“Shouldn’t you…” I quirk a brow where we’re still connected. “Do something about this first?”
Saint nonchalantly pours a line of paint down my stomach, making my abdomen dip from the cool sensation. “Jimi, if I had it my way, my Royal Cock would be sewn inside your pussy.” He places the bottle next to him, and a hiss skates past my lips when his finger swirls the color around my skin.
“Asshole. I said you’re not allowed to call it that.”
No response is given, other than attention on my body as he paints it. My belly button, my ribs, my waist, every surface prickles with his soothing motion. Prickles turn to full on sparks when he draws a line over a peaked nipple.
“Mhmmm…” I hum when he dips through the valley of my breasts, and arch my back when he slides over another hard nipple.
It’s been over a year and a million touches since I first met Saint, and yet his fingers on me feel no less like being zapped by a livewire.
Somewhere between my arousal drunk haze, Saint’s managed to start pouring another trail of paint from my neck to my abdomen.
But this time, instead of collecting the blue for lazy swirls, he’s actually painting with purpose. Specifically over the ribs caging my heart.
I watch him intently as he smiles, drawing four small circles next to each other, right under them a sideways oval.
Tilting my head for a better look, I realize it’s…
“My second prized possession,” Saint says, as if hearing my thoughts. “Protecting my first one.”
My heart expands, bursts, and gets put back together all at the same time when Saint gazes up at me, an undeniable emotion sparkling the blue in his irises. I know because it’s the same one I can feel sparkling in my green ones.
Love.
The limitless, insane, unapologetic kind.
In other words…the forever kind.
