Page 27 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“Are you sure about that?” I flexed again, harder this time, pushing her body against the desk, only her toes now touching the ground. “You might be a strong woman, determined to fight me. But let me assure you,” I reached up and brushed her hair from her neck, dropping my lips to the flawless exposed skin, “you don’t have what it takes to survive me, to not break while being fucked by a man who craves your pain. Your fear. And like I said,” I dragged a hand down her side and over the curve of her hip, dipping between her legs, “refuse my offer of marriage, and I’ll whore this little body of yours. And trust me, there are some sick fuckers out there far worse than me.”

Like the switch of a light, she stilled instantly, her body like ice against mine. “I agreed to marry you. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to do as you’re fucking told. Defy me, and you will bear the consequences. There’s no room for error when you’re my wife, Mila. None.”

“I don’t want to be your wife.”

Like venom, her words dripped with repulsion, and I could almost smell her hate. Her rage. Her fear. It seeped through her pores, and it made her so much more enticing.

I yanked her up, her dark, wild curls brushing against the side of my face as I twisted her around, pinning her hands on the desk, crowding her between my arms. The way she glowered at me, fiery forest irises shooting blades of hate right at my forehead—it made me want to tear her clothes off and show her all the different ways she could use that hate for her pleasure…and mine.

A wicked grin started at the edge of my mouth. “You know, on my way to New York to find you, I thought to myself, what the fuck am I going to do with a wife? An arranged marriage was not an idea I was particularly fond of.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

I smirked. “But I have to admit, Mila, the thought of having you as my wife, owning you, I’m starting to like it.” She didn’t respond. Fuck, she didn’t even move. It had been a long while since I felt this entertained by a woman, this intrigued. I could easily have played with her all night, watched her fight me with all she had until she could no longer deny her most primal needs.

Without warning, I wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her up against me. A shriek ripped from her throat as I turned us around, slamming her back against the wall before I pinned her wrists above her head.

Her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath, sweat beading down the slit of her breasts.

“Who would have thought the poor, little orphan girl would have it in her to intrigue a man like me?”

She lifted her chin. “Not one of my finest moments.”

Her well-aimed sarcasm had me smiling, and I allowed myself the pleasure of tracing a single finger down her chest, dragging the tattered fabric of her shirt to the side, revealing her naked breast. A soft whimper left her lips, and I looked her in the eye as I started to draw a lazy circle around the soft curve of flesh. With our eyes locked, it felt like a silent game of cat and mouse—the cat hungry for the mouse to come out and play a game it pretended to want no part in. Yet there was a wicked glint in the little mouse’s eye that made me wonder if she was secretly fighting the same depraved desires as I was.

Round and firm, the darkened flesh around her hard-pebbled nipple begged to be licked, my tongue so very eager to oblige. I was a powerful man, and the wordimpossibledidn’t exist in my world. But while I held Mila, so utterly powerless against me with her half-naked body on display, it was impossible for me to resist what belonged to me by blood, and soon, by law.

The swell of her breast was the perfect shape, and as I leaned down, I made sure to keep my eyes on her face. I wanted to watch her while I played with her, tortured her body by letting her need something she didn’t want.

“Tell me, Mila, if I keep you, will you continue to fight me?”

“With every breath,” she vowed, the expression on her face pained, but there was something else, too. A sheen of jaded lust that painted her cheeks with a faint flush as she watched me bring her nipple to my mouth.

I didn’t wait for permission. I didn’t need it. Not from her. Not from the woman who was born mine. Whose fate had been engraved in our bloodlines.

I sucked her nipple into the heat of my mouth, greedy to taste her. The whimper that rolled from her lips had me sucking hard, the delicate noise leading to a craving that propelled me into a fucking frenzy that would ultimately end with me taking her right here, right now, without so much as a nod of permission from her. The tip of my tongue circled the pebbled peaks, lapping against her flesh while my palm squeezed with vigor. If I didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t stop until it was too late.

A groan rumbled in the back of my throat as I let go of her nipple with a loud pop, my tongue already craving another touch.

That was the moment a single tear escaped, slowly trickling down her cheek. One would think I’d be moved by her display of fear, sorrow, pain. But no. It only made me want to break her so much more.

In time. Soon.

I leaned my head to the side. “Take your clothes off and go take a fucking shower.” I grabbed her shoulders and nudged her to the side, but her foot got caught on the edge of the carpet, and she stumbled to the ground on all fours. If I was a man fueled by emotions and romance instead of driven by vengeance and justice, I’d be helping her back up. But I glowered down at her, more tears running down her face, and I felt no sympathy, no remorse. That was what years of harboring such a dark need for justice did to a man.

“Remember what I told you, Mila.” I stalked toward her. “Tears turn me on.”

“Stop.” A tear lapped into her mouth. “Please stop.”

“Get up, take your motherfucking clothes off. And walk.” My lust had turned into a heated need that could easily morph into something darker, something cruel and unrelenting.

Her arms almost buckled beneath her weight as she tried to push herself off the ground. “Why are you doing this to me?”

I grabbed her elbow and jerked her upright, swinging her front against my chest. “Because I can.”

Her whimpers turned into sobs, every crease on her forehead and pull of her lips contaminating her pretty face with trepidation. Was this all it took to intimidate her? To break her? Hopefully not.

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