Page 273 of Vicious Saint
Unless formal wear is called for, it’s rare to see Saint outside a sports jersey and hat. He’s still rocking his usual Jordans, whitehigh top 1’s, but this time they’re accompanied by ripped jeans and a cream fitted crew to match the Nike check on his sneakers.
My cheeks heat when I take in every sinful curve of broad muscle defined by the T-Shirt—pecs, biceps, narrow waist, even a hint of his six pack.
All taut and furious with me.
Fuuuuuuck.
No eighteen year old in the world should be allowed to look this damn good without a warning label:
BEWARE: Direct eye contact will result in dropping panties.
ButI’mthe fucking problem here?
“What? You don’t like it?” I respond to Saint the same way I did Carlo, biting back the joke he has no idea I’m making of it.
Carlo does, though, because he looks ahead and chuckles.
“I do,” he grinds out. “And that’s why you’re not fucking wearing it.”
“Oh, but I am.” I boop his nose, loving how worked up he’s getting, that is, until darkness takes over his eyes like a storm cloud.
Shit. Was it the boop?
Too emasculating?
Did I just wake the wrong beast?
“Get out,” Saint orders with a slitted gaze.
It confuses me until his head whips around to Carlo.
“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, a lot colder this time. “And tonight you’re not seenorfucking heard.”
Carlo, not as easily riled by Saint’s cave dweller antics anymore, drifts a questioning side eye to me, and after a moment of studying which man is in front of me, I tell him it’s okay to leave. Saint’s mad, yeah, but he’s stillSaint, and his anger is mixed with something all too enticing.
The moment the door is closed, I’m met with a smoldering gaze hot enough to light my damn body on fire. But then again…there’s not much that isn’t hot about how Saint looks tonight.
He steps close enough to tower over me, and I lick my lips, equal parts aroused and terrified when his fingers tangle in my hair.
A wave of pleasure courses between my legs when Saint tilts my head back, perusing my face like a starved lion.
Eyes. Cheeks. Jaw. Saint studies them all in a slow, deliberate, clockwise motion.
“Letterman…” I breathe a needy sigh, right before his lips crash to mine in a violent, demanding, not at all pretty way.
The second my mouth opens for him, Saint groans, moving his tongue with mine in furious swirls and laps.
My own primal instincts take over, and I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer.
“You like extorting my weakness, huh, Jimi?” His voice is low, filthy, and dangerous. “Is that it?”
“Maybe a little,” I say breathlessly, as Saint slams me into my small rectangular table.
“Mhmm…” He hoists me on the edge of it, then settles between my legs, grinding his erection against my pussy. The friction from our jeans is intense enough to force a moan out of me.
“You’re a wet fucking dream.” His lips claim me again with a bruising kiss. “Butonlyfor me.”
I can smell the message behind the compliment from a mile away, let alone zero millimeters.
