Page 147 of Vicious Saint
“Then stop asking the fucking questions.”
“Are youthatscared to show me your bad side?”
“Yes,” he says instantaneously.
“Then, dammit, Saint, keep showing me your good side!”
He thinks quietly to himself but says nothing…so loud I can tell it’s on purpose.
Which is why, after a few more seconds of the proverbial door being left open, I slam it shut. “You’re never gonna control me. Or stop me from having friends.”
His hand slides to the side of my face. “That a challenge, Jimi?”
“No. It’s me letting you know I’m not Theory.”
The steam, along with Saint’s cock, thickens between us, making it impossible to think about anything other than how easy it’d be to touch it.
“No…you’re not.” Saint hums, so close the water spilling from our lips mingle together. “You’re someone else entirely.”
“Good. So you get the picture, then?”
“Mhmm.” He drifts to one corner of my mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.
“What are you—?”
Seconds are minutes on the edge of the earth as Saint bores into me, and those seconds turn to hours when his lips press against mine.
My skin turns electric and my heart flips in my chest, not a thought in my head to be found as he lingers there.
The room, though? It spins with the fury of a thousand tornadoes.
Sending me flying off the edge of the earth until he breaks us apart.
“So, tell me, Jimi. How’d it feel?”
I’m lost in a daze as I respond, “How did what feel?”
“Getting your first royalty high.”
Saint grins and it makes my damn heart flip a hundred times more—a sure sign I need to get away.
Far from Saint’s touch, his lips, his eyes that are demanding my attention. Before it’s too late.
Because the steam, which should appear as condensation, is now appearing as the lines that keep blurring between us.
That I keepallowingto blur between us.
I manage to turn my head, but Saint’s rough fingers squeeze my neck. “Look me in the eyes, Jimi. I dare you.”
Out of all the games we’ve played, this one would definitely be the most dangerous—because Saint’s eyes are not meant to be looked at without falling headfirst into them.
Well, consider me a glutton for punishment.
With straightened shoulders, I glare up at him. “I’m done playing—”
Before I get the chance to finish, Saint’s lips crash against mine, so fast I can hardly catch my breath.
We stay pressed together, but the second Saint pries my lips open, a maddening rage takes over both of us. We bite, pull, nibble, and when our tongues swirl together it’s with an agonizing force.
