Page 54 of Saint
“Are you sure?” I ask, surprised by his decision. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
He looks at me now and bites on his lip before shrugging. “It can’t be any worse than the feeling inside this truck. Just drive, Saint. I’m tired, and I want to get this conversation over with. I want to feel normal again.”
Annoyance fills me, and I snap. “If it’s that much of a chore, Noah, you may as well get out of the truck and go home.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then unclicks his seatbelt and opens the door. “You’re an arsehole, Saint.”
He climbs out and slams the door hard enough to make my head rattle. No way, no fucking way! I watch as he stomps up the pavement, then see a car pull away from the kerb. I move quickly up to it, not giving anyone else the chance to pinch it, and slot in. I’m out of the truck the second the engine is off and running to catch up with Noah. The busy path does nothing to help me out as people refuse to budge to let me through.
I reach him as he opens the main door to the building, putting my body between him and the door. His mouth opens, but before he can say anything I crush my lips to his, and I tangle my hands in his hair. Inhaling through his nose, his lips part, ready to voice his complaint, but my tongue slides in to tangle with his. Fisted hands thump against my chest, trying to push himself back—until my hips grind against him, my erection pressing into his stomach. Then he’s kissing me back, his palms flattening on my chest before curling into my T-shirt.
I don’t know how long we kiss for,
it could be a single minute or an hour. I never want it to end. It takes the blare of a car horn to bring me back to the world and break the moment. “Open the door, Noah.” I want to call him boy, to make him mine again, but this isn’t the time or place for my dominance to come to the surface. I was lucky to get away with kissing him.
“You need to move out of the way, then.” The last long empty days vanish as he smiles at me. I shift to the side, giving him room to put the key in the lock.
We make it up the stairs and into his living room. Noah goes to the fridge and pulls out two bottles of beer and opens them before coming back and handing one to me. “Thank you,” I give him a warm smile. “Can I sit down?”
Noah nods, gesturing to the small two-seater sofa. I sit, but he doesn’t move from the doorway. Instead, he leans against the frame. The bottle touches his lips, even as he tips it up, his eyes stay fixed on me.
“I don’t know where to start, Noah. I know I fucked up, that I didn’t read the situation. But I promise to do better. You’re right about not being a good boyfriend. If you’ll let me, I want to try again. But you’re going to have to take the lead and show me how to do this, because holding hands in the street, laughing in bed, and the simple acts of cooking and watching TV sounds fucking awesome. I love you, Noah. I don’t want to lose you. I think it comes down to trust, and you lost it that night. Are you brave enough to take a chance on trusting me again?”
And that’s it in a nutshell. Do I trust him? Of course, I do. I love him. The last few weeks have been harder than the night that started it all. Watching him watching me at work has been a cat and mouse game, and I’m exhausted. So, it’s time. He needs to say what he needs to say so we can either move on or do what I want to do and get back together.
“I trust you,” I whisper.
“Then why aren’t we together again? I’ve hated this time apart; you’ve looked so fucking miserable when you’re around me. I hate that you’ve made new friends and have gone out without me. I’ve hated having an empty bed. I want you back.”
“I want you too.” It’s a simple sentence, just four words, but it means so much. To him and to me.
Saint’s beer is on the small coffee table, and he’s up against me the same way he did at the front door. “Are we done talking? Because I really want to get you naked and into bed.”
Have we actually done any talking? I don’t care about words—I want action. I want him inside me. “You know where the bedroom is.” My words are low, husky, and totally not me, but he gets the point.
Immediately, I’m lifted up into the air, giving me no choice but to wrap my legs around his waist. “Shit, warn a guy, would ya,” I say with an oomph. “You’re fucking strong.”
“Nah, you’re pint-sized.” He struts down the short hallway to my bedroom, the door opens with a nudge of his foot, and we enter the dark room. The only light is the dim glow from a streetlight further down the street.
I expect to be thrown onto the bed and told to strip, but instead, he lays me on my back and kisses me. It’s deep and demanding, but it’s also an apology. It’s everything he wants to say but doesn’t know how to find the words. As our tongues tangle, his hands move to my waist, pushing the fabric up my body. Automatically, my arms rise, so with a short, unwanted break in the kiss, he pulls it over my head. His follows, and they fall somewhere in the room.
I don’t care; all I want is his mouth back on mine. I fall into the kiss, moaning as his fingers slide down my body to the waistband of my sweats. I’ve never been more grateful for gym clothes, no buckles and zips to fumble with. And Saint’s ability to multitask makes getting me naked easy. I kick out of my trainers and use my feet to push the fabric off my legs.
It’s only then that Saint stops kissing me. He pulls back from me, making me immediately miss the weight of his torso on mine. “Get in the middle,” he says softly. There’s no dominance, just the aching want for me. I scramble back, my eyes fixed on his, as he makes his clothes vanish in the blink of an eye. I slowly gaze over the entirety of his sculpted body, the solid width of his chest and pecs covered with a dusting of dark hair. His six-pack stomach muscles ripple as I look longingly, greedily further down to the thick, veined cock that’s standing proudly away from his body, the close-cropped hair at the base giving way to his smooth, heavy hanging balls.
I moan low in my throat as he fists the shaft, stroking the satin skin over the rigid length. A bead of precum nestles in the slit, and I need to taste him. To suckle the head before taking him my throat. “Can I suck your dick, Sir?”
Saint’s sharp inhale of breath takes me by surprise. I take my eyes off his dick and up to his face. “You don’t have to call me that. This isn’t a scene.”
“It was automatic,” I say honestly. “I didn’t even think about it.” I shift around to kneel in front of him. “I still want what we had as a Dom and sub, I need your dominance. It’s the out of the bedroom stuff we need to work on just as much as me being allowed to initiate this, what we’re doing now.” Without waiting for a reply, I lean forward and take the tip into my mouth and suck.
The taste of him after all this time denying myself makes me groan and suck harder. Saint’s groan is even louder. As his fingers rake through my hair, I take him deeper, my tongue flat as he slides to the back of my throat.
“Fuck, Noah, you are so good at this. I’m not sure how much control I have. I’ve missed you so much.” His hips nudge him deeper still.
I pull off, saliva leaving a gossamer strand between my lips and his slit. “Give it to me, all of it. Don’t hold back.” My voice is raspy and so full of need that I can hardly recognise myself.
Saint’s eyes darken—even in this dim light, I can see he’s back in control. “I want in your throat, boy.”
