Page 63 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

I whimpered when his cock slipped out of me, my body instantly hating the empty feeling. But Saint lunged back in, hard and deep. He became less frenzied, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the strain in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and he bit his lip, his expression something between pained and possessed. God, I loved it. I loved watching him fight for control because that meant I made him want to lose it.

Every muscle in his arms pulled taut as he kept my hands pinned above my head. Drops of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, pooling in the hollow of his shoulders, olive skin glistening with exertion.

I closed my eyes. The pleasure he rammed into me, one unfrenzied yet powerful jab at a time, was catapulting me to the peak of oblivion.

“You fucking look at me when you come.” He spat out each word as if it burned the tip of his tongue. “You wanted to get fucked, now you’ll show me what you look like when you goddamn get what you want.” His voice carried the dark timbre of domination, and I opened my eyes, staring straight into his. There was no warning, no build-up to a crescendo. Saint merely tightened his hold around my wrists, pulled back until only the head of his cock was at my entrance, and like rolling thunder, he pummeled back in, and I cried out. My orgasm slammed against my core, ricocheting up my body, crashing against every bone until I could no longer contain it and the echo of pleasure ripped from my screams.

Saint continued his ruthless onslaught, an unforgiving, unapologetic barrage of a man who—as he said—simply took what he wanted. And I gave it…willingly.

I kept my eyes open the entire time, and he kept his gaze locked on mine. His nostrils flared as he continued to bite his bottom lip, the hard tenor of his grunts filling the space between us.

Pleasure continued to linger in my bones. It was like sex after sex, the mind-shattering, body-breaking ecstasy reignited with his every thrust.

A groan ripped from his throat in a tenor that sounded like pain and pleasure rolled into one. He stilled, and I felt his cock jerk inside me, filling me to the brim with his climax, and all the while he didn’t even blink as he stared at me. Something ominous flashed in his eyes, and for a moment, it scared me. I didn’t know what to expect or what he’d do next, my insides coiled tight with the remnants of my orgasm and the fear his glare inflicted.

A few moments of deafening silence, and then it happened. Saint slammed the wind right out of me…by kissing me as if it would mean death if he didn’t.

22

Saint

Emotions slammedinto me as I came inside her. It made a giant motherfucking crack in the walls that protected me from the kind of feelings that could weaken a man, lower his defenses and give him the kind of vulnerabilities a man like me couldn’t afford. It trickled down my spine like so many of her tears had trickled down her cheeks because of me. It crushed my shoulders with its weight, like I had crushed her entire existence with my own vendetta, pulling her into a world she didn’t want to be in. Just like I felt something I didn’t want to feel. Something that made me look at her with more than indifference. Something that made me see the strength in her eyes, the beauty in her soul that dazzled even through pain and tears. It never wavered, and it was sucking me in. Drawing me to her like a demon to a sinner.

Instead of pulling out of her to sever the connection that surged between us, I slammed my lips against hers, starved out of my mind for her taste. As if fucking her against the wall like a savage wasn’t enough, I wanted more. I wanted to consume her every way possible, ruin her so no one else could ever have her after me.

I allowed my tongue to delve deep in search of hers, lapped and explored as if her mouth was a treasure of hidden riches I had yet to find. There were so many things that could be revealed by a simple kiss—and I wanted to know all of it. I wanted to know her thoughts, her secrets, hunt for them in every corner of her mouth.

The whimpers that slipped from her lips turned into a thunderstorm that plundered through my soul, and I tightened my hold on her wrists as I squeezed her harder between my body and the wall. It was unnerving, the way I wanted to keep kissing her, how I didn’t want to let go of her. The longer I felt and tasted her, the more I wanted.

She’s making you weak.

I surrender.

You’re losing sight of what matters.

Am I?

She’ll consume you.

I don’t care.

Stop!

I tore my lips from hers and pulled back. She slid down the wall and stumbled to her feet.

Her eyes cut to mine in surprise, and she touched her cut lip. It reminded me of what her blood tasted like on my tongue.Pure ecstasy.It was as if I had tasted her soul—pure and unsullied. Mine. But only for six months. After that, she’d leave, go back to her own life. And, as she so eloquently put it, forget I existed.

The thought gnawed at my bones, angered me, thinking the day would come when she would walk away and wipe me from her life as if I were nothing but an unwanted pencil mark. A speck of dust on the soles of her feet.

I hated it. But I hated that I cared more.

I grabbed my pants from the floor and pulled them on while she remained unmoved by the wall. Knowing her, there were probably a thousand and one things she wanted to say to me, but for some reason, she chose to keep her mouth shut.

Good.

I spotted her white panties by the foot of the bed and picked them up.

“Saint—” I tossed the panties at her, and she caught them before they could land on her face. “What the hell?”

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