Page 49 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

The sound of Mila’s sobs.

19

Mila

My legs wereweak and trembling at the knees, the skirt of my dress still pulled up over my hips. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even push myself off the table.

Numb and utterly spent, I continued to lie there as sobs wracked through me. Like torn flesh and oozing sores, my tears ripped from my body as the infection spread. My veins burned with poisoned blood, my gut heavy and torn inside out. I felt wretched. Tainted, as if I was touched by the devil himself. Saint managed to turn my body against me. My head lost the battle, and I succumbed to something sordid and twisted, something that made me fall apart under his touch, and I lost control. And now that the ecstasy wore off, reality sank in, and like an anchor it pulled me underwater, and it was filling my lungs, drowning me one tear at a time.

Fabric wiped across my waist and down my thigh, and I remained still as he continued to clean me, removing every trace of the sticky mess he left on my skin. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. The silence was loud enough. Deafening.

What just happened? I didn’t know. I didn’t know whether it was something I wanted to happen or not. My emotions were just all jumbled into a giant cluster of confusion.

“Mila—”

“Don’t, Saint. Just…don’t. I beg you.” Exhaustion crushed me, and I didn’t have any strength left. I didn’t have it in me to spar with him again. Not tonight.

Fingers brushed against my naked skin, and the torn fabric of my dress slipped over my ass and down my legs as he covered me. I managed to push myself up from the table, a wet stain pooled where my cheek was.

I wiped at my face. “May I go?” I asked, as if permission was needed for me to retire. As if I had to ask my master whether I was allowed to go to my room.

He remained still and granted me no answer, forcing me to look at him, to see if his expression gave any indication as to what he wanted from me in that moment. But there were only creases of stone and eyes of ice that stared back at me. His dark hair was ruffled in perfect disarray, his bow tie loose and shirt untucked. He seemed out of sorts, kind of like the entire fucked-up situation we found ourselves in.

The time that passed with our gazes locked felt like an eternity, neither of us attempting to make a move or speak a word. It was the most uncomfortable silence I ever had to endure, like a carving knife slowly slicing away skin from bone.

Saint lifted a hand and reached out. My first instinct was to inch away from his touch, but I had been with him long enough to know better. After what just happened, the last thing I wanted was to bait the beast.

His hard knuckles brushed down my cheek—a tender act that contradicted everything that happened up until this moment.

Brad.

My kidnapping.

The reveal of who I really was.

Marriage.

I shifted from one foot to the other, still feeling the wetness of my climax soaked into my panties, coating my thighs.

Saint took a step closer, so his frame crowded me, his close presence robbing all the air around me. “I won’t apologize, Mila.” His stare burned into my soul with no trace of remorse. “You are my wife now. I won’t ever apologize.”

I didn’t respond in any way. Nothing I said would have been able to change anything.

He dropped his arm to his side. “Go to bed. Get some rest.”

Relieved, I turned my back on him. All I cared about was getting out of this dress and succumb to the exhaustion that clamped down on every muscle.

My tears had dried, and my eyes stung. I was angered because I once again allowed him to take my tears, to take a part of me that was supposed to be mine, and mine alone. Just like the red-haired girl, I was angry at myself for allowing my tears to fall freely.

Unable to stand in the Jimmy Choo heels for a second longer, I plucked them from my feet. Barefoot, tired, and humiliated, I walked away from him. With every step, I felt the tension stretch thin, threatening to snap. I could feel his gaze on me the entire way. It was only once I descended the stairs to the bedroom quarters that I felt free from him. Free from the pull and the unease of being in his presence.

The satin shoes dangled from my hands, and when I opened the bedroom door and saw Elena standing by the window, the tears which I thought had dried stormed down my cheeks.

“Dear child.” Elena held her arms wide, and like a little girl, I rushed toward the comfort she offered. “It’s okay,” she cooed as I cried into her shoulder, my body shuddering with every tear.

Overwhelmed with emotions I’d never felt before, I cried as if I stood before an open grave, bawling with grief.

“It’s going to be okay.” Elena hugged me tightly, and I allowed myself the few moments of reprieve by soaking up the solace she so willingly provided. “You’re a strong woman, Mila.” Her voice remained soft and kind.

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