Page 54 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

I puffed my ponytail with my fingers and got up, raising my chin. Teaching Anete a lesson was the mission, but while I sauntered across the deck, Saint was the target. I never took my gaze off him and pretended as if Anete wasn’t even there as I swayed my hips. She wasn’t the only one here with natural Italian curves.

Saint looked my way as the click of my heels came closer, his gaze locked on mine. I forced myself to think about last night, to think about what it felt like to have his hands on my body, his touch on my skin. I thought about his fingers caressing and exploring between my legs, his guttural groans as he shot ribbons of cum onto my silk panties. Thinking about it gave me courage. It gave me the fortitude I needed to take every step with sheer confidence and sensual poise.

A gentle breeze ruffled through the flare of my dress, its warm fingers of summer heat caressing my thighs.

Mario was the first one to react when I joined them. “Milana, enjoying the Italian sun?”

“Very much.” I shot him a charming grin then turned all my attention to the man in the soft blue dress shirt and Ralph Lauren chino shorts. The man who, as of last night, was now lawfully my husband.

I wrapped my fingers around his elbow, and with the other hand I reached up and touched his cheek, turning his face down to mine as I pushed myself up on my toes, and locked my lips onto his. I wasn’t being subtle, or shy. I was being possessive, seductive, the Russo wife who kissed her husband with nothing but vehement passion.

Saint didn’t stop me. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his arm snaked around my waist and fingers bit into my hip as he hardened the kiss. Our tongues danced and lapped while our lips devoured. His mouth tasted like oaky vanilla and caramel—the strong notes of bourbon, and I relished the zest on my tongue. I was no longer trying to prove a point or trying to stake my claim. I was merely surrendering to the flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach, and willing the craving to never ever stop. It wasn’t like our kiss last night. Last night, it was gentle, tender, a lovers’ waltz. But now, it was different. It was a tangled web of lips and tongues ravaging, tasting, not caring if chaos followed.

Mario cleared his throat in the background, severing the moment, and I cursed the day he was born.

I lowered myself back on my heels and touched my throbbing lips.

Saint’s fingers dug even deeper into my hip, and I flinched. “I apologize for my wife’s…passionatedisplay. Being newlyweds seems to have made our desire for each other,” he looked down at me with blazing eyes, “uncontrollable.”

I swallowed hard. To them, it probably looked like a husband staring down lovingly at his wife with nothing but passion. To me, from where I stood, it was the scalding glower of a man who was born to dominate…and punish.

“You must excuse us,” Saint said politely, not letting go of my waist. “We have our honeymoon to get back to.”

“Of course.” Mario nodded. “I’ll process all the necessary documentation as discussed and confirm via email when everything has been finalized.”

“Thank you, Mario.” Saint glanced at Anete. “Enjoy the rest of this beautiful day.”

If it wasn’t for the heavy weight of concrete currently settling in my chest, I might have enjoyed the sullen look on Anete’s face. It kind of reminded me of what a dog’s face looked like when you teased him with a piece of meat and then ate it yourself. I would have enjoyed the look on her face more if it wasn’t for Saint’s cruel hand and icy fingers that bit into my hip.

My heart pounded like a jackhammer against my ribs, and I was sure it would crack through the bone at any moment.

We watched Mario and Anete leave on the speedboat, the sound of the engines disappearing into the distance. It happened so fast, I forgot to take a breath as Saint twisted his wrist, twirled me around, and pinned my arm behind me. I gasped for air when his other hand reached for my neck, fingers digging into my throat as he pulled me back against his chest.

“What the fuck was that?” His cold voice grated down my spine.

“What do you mean?” I cringed against his grueling hold around my neck and wrist.

He jerked my arm and pulled it farther up my back. “That little inappropriate display of yours in front of our guests.”

“You wanted me to act the part of your wife. That’s what I did.”

“Bullshit,” he bit out, and I could hear his jaw tick. “You think you can piss on me? Mark me like you fucking own me?”

“That’s not—”

Abruptly, he let go of me, and grabbed me by my hair, his fist tangled between the curls as he tugged hard. My scalp burned, and I stumbled over my own feet as he dragged me across the deck and down the stairs. “I’ll show you the real meaning of marking someone.”

“Saint, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, I haven’t even begun to hurt you.”

I grabbed at his wrist, desperate for him to let me go. But his grip tightened, his hand firm and unyielding as he pulled me by my hair. The confidence I had earlier was gone, my insides filled with nothing but concrete.

Saint let go of my hair and shoved me into a room before he slammed the door closed behind him. I stumbled but gathered my footing just in time to keep myself from falling on my ass. “What is your problem? I was doing what you want me to do by acting my part.”

“No, you were acting like a jealous bitch trying to mark her fucking territory.” The hard lines on his face were feral, cruel, as if he wanted to tear me in half. Clenching his jaw, he stalked toward me. “I do not belong to you. You belong to me. Do you understand the difference?”

I scraped together all the courage I had and refused to show signs that he intimidated me even though my heart was lodged in my throat.

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