Page 55 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

With my chin raised, I tried my best to stand as tall as I could against him. “There shouldn’t be a difference. You want me to put up the perfect act as your wife, then you need to be the perfect husband. It’s only fair.”

“Fuck fair. No one said our little arrangement will be fair.”

“I told you before, I will not be humiliated by your sexual antics. And definitely not by some blonde bimbo who tried to dig her claws into a man who just introduced her to his goddamn wife.”

His face flashed with anger, his ire aimed at me. I could practically hear the blood boil in his veins where mine was the exact opposite—frozen beneath chilled skin.

It took every ounce of courage I had to not inch away when he stepped right up to me—tall frame and broad shoulders threatening to smother the last bit of air from my lungs.

I kept my eyes etched on his, his gaze hot and hungry, like a predator ready to strike. Primal. Powerful. The intensity that radiated off him trapped me, and I couldn’t move. With every exhale, the knotted terror in my stomach twisted tighter, but it was no longer fear. No longer panic. It was something dark and erotic, tempting as if lightning had struck the air and electric currents crashed between us. My tongue became useless, my mind incapable of putting a single sentence together. I had never been so overwhelmed with someone’s presence, but Saint—he floored me, even when he made no secret of his wicked intensions. He broke down all my defenses, luring me with a seductive darkness. It was dangerous how easily he affected me, as if he had a supernatural hold on me, some magical spell that handed him all control.

Saint snarled and grabbed my chin, digging his fingers into my flesh. “You tempt me too much, woman,” he gritted out, and my heart kicked into high gear, my chest rising and falling rapidly with every breath. “Your fight, your defiance, it turns me the fuck on.”

Flashes of last night bombarded my thoughts. His touch. His words. The release. It was all there as if it happened a second ago, yet my body hungered for it as if a millennium had passed since then. It was wrong for me to want that again. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about how good it felt to be defenseless and unable to stop him forcing pleasure into my body.

I didn’t attempt to jerk free from his grasp, and he continued to stare down at me. My lips parted, and a rumble ripped from his chest a split-second before he crashed his lips to mine with such force my feet faltered, but his arm was around my waist the same instant his tongue darted into my mouth.

Growling, he kissed me as if he was an addict and I was his last fix, the last he’d ever experience. His tongue was ruthless as it assaulted my mouth, his kiss chaotic and frenzied.

I moaned and tried to claw at his neck, but he only kissed me harder, his tongue slipping in deeper. As if someone had lit a match inside my core, flames erupted, and my clawing hands turned into a desperate embrace as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. The sound of our lips smacking resounded around us as we fought to devour each other. There was nothing delicate or sensual about the way we kissed. It was primal instincts and feral hunger that fueled us. We were all hands, and lips, and desperate tongues, our bodies ravaged for one another.

Saint let go of my chin and pulled me up. Without a single moment of hesitation, my legs wrapped around his waist, my mind void of everything other than the need that tightened my core with anticipation.

He carried me across the room, and I couldn’t get myself to try to stop him. I didn’t want to stop him. I was the prey that willingly offered its throat to be slaughtered, not caring that its body would be drained of blood. Of life. Because right now, at the cruel hand of the devil, I had never felt more alive.

I was still lost in his kiss when he let go and dropped me onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress.

“Turn around.”

“Wh—”

“I said,” he grabbed my ankles and effortlessly forced me onto my stomach, “turn the fuck around.”

“What are you doing?”

“Showing you how it’s done. How to really mark someone.”

I tried to scramble up the bed, but his hands were on my hips and under my dress as he yanked my panties down. He grabbed my ankles and forced me from the top of the bed.

He jerked my legs apart and spread my thighs wide. Something cold bit into my skin, and I twisted so I could glance back, only to see a chain around my ankle, tied to the post of the bed, glinting with evil intent. Suddenly, I no longer felt so self-assured as to what it was I wanted—what my body wanted.

“Saint, I don’t like this.” I tried to kick and pull my leg free, but he merely tightened the chain. “Stop, please.”

He grabbed my other ankle and forced it toward the other post, but I managed to jerk it free from his grasp.

“You’re only making this more fun for me by fighting, Mila.”

“Stop!” I yelled. I screamed, but his strong hand wrapped around my ankle once more. This time, I couldn’t free it.

“Scream again, and I’ll shove your panties down your goddamn throat so deep you’ll suffocate.”

Chains bit into my skin, and I pushed myself up on my hands and knees when I heard the rip of a belt as he pulled it from around his waist.

“Saint, please.” The first lash struck, and I cried out, the skin on my thighs seared with the painful bite of leather.

“Lay back down, or I’ll only strike harder.”

“Please.”

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