Page 47 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

Fear. Fear was good. As long as she had fear in her veins, she’d do what she was told.

A gush of wind forced its way through the open space, and a lock of her wild curls brushed against the side of my neck. As if a touch from Aphrodite herself, desire rallied inside me, and I gripped the edge of the table until my knuckles turned white. My cock throbbed together with the swell of lust that burned my loins. I had to fight against the urge to tear that wedding dress off her body and make her spread her legs right here on the goddamn table, not caring who watched.

The scratching sound of the fountain pen gliding over paper made me look down, Milana’s signature perfectly placed on the dotted line. The T of her surname was signed almost identical to her father’s, with an almost unnoticeable twirl at the end. A tear fell directly above it, and I continued to watch as the paper soaked up the wetness, as if her sorrow sealed the contract.

Mila grabbed hold of the table, her legs unsteady. I reached for the pen she still clutched in her hand, and my palm brushed her skin. An electric current zapped from her hand to mine, and she looked up at me, her eyes wide with confusion. But I pretended as if nothing had happened, as if I felt nothing, and took the pen before signing my name—our marriage now legal and binding.

I dropped the pen, grabbed my glass, and brushed past her in complete disregard. “Get some sleep. You have dark circles under your eyes. It’s unbecoming.”

My words were meant to hurt, meant to scorn. She was nothing but a street rat with a mistaken identity and a million-dollar signature.

“What happens now?”

Her words stopped me in my tracks, and I pulled my lips in a straight line as annoyance burned my tongue. I turned and shot her a devilish smile. “Now we have our honeymoon.”

The sudden ashen color on her cheeks brightened her full, pink lips. That perfect cupid’s bow enticed me from across the distance between us, and I was reminded what it felt like to feel them on mine.

“Is this all not cruel enough that you feel the need to be a bastard and toy with me as well?” The hard edge in her voice was merely a mask to hide her fear. Her uncertainty. But nevertheless, I’d be a fool if I allowed her to speak to me that way.

With a few long strides, I closed the distance that kept us apart. A rush of adrenaline fueled my strength and burned my veins as I grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back before I grabbed her neck and forced her down, bent over the fucking dining table.

“What did I say about disrespecting me?” I pushed down hard, her lips puckered with her cheek against the white oak. She tried to speak, but I tightened my fingers around the back of her neck, her tears staining my priceless dining table. “And what did I say about your tears?” I bit my bottom lip, my cock throbbing with depravity, her body bent and held in place perfectly for me to take her right here, right now. There was no one around, no one who could stop me. And even if there were, she was my wife now. I owned her.

“Please—”

“Unless that please is followed by the words ‘fuck’ and ‘me,’ I suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

She shut her eyes, more tears slipping down, and then I lost all control. I lost all sense of right and wrong, seeing onlymywill.Mydesire.Mycraving.

I grabbed the paper and shoved it closer to her face. “Look. You see that?” She opened her eyes and whimpered. “That signature right there says you’re mine. I own you. That also means you are mine to take whenever the fuck I want.”

My fingers tore at the overlay of her dress, frantic to expose the part of her I wanted to claim. There was nothing she could do but cry, giving me more tears that plunged me deeper into the darkness—a place where I didn’t give a fuck. That came with the Russo blood that ran through my veins, an entitlement to always take what you wanted without remorse, without regret.

“Saint, please—”

“You liked it, didn’t you? When I kissed you.” I pulled the skirt of her dress over her ass, white satin panties teasing me into a frenzy. “When I slipped my tongue in your mouth, did you want it to be your cunt? Did you wonder what it would feel like to have my mouth suck an orgasm out of you?”

I kicked her feet apart, forcing her legs wider. “When I had you on my breakfast table, did you want me to fuck you? Was your body on fire for me, your pussy wet?”

“No,” she whimpered. “No.”

“Liar,” I gritted out and leaned over her, my chest against her back. “If I had to drag a finger through your cunt, what would I find, Mila?” I trailed my palm across her ass. “Will I find your body ready and needy for me?”

Her cheek flushed, her tears no longer running freely. I placed my lips against her ear and inhaled the citrus scent of her hair. “Should I touch you and find out?”

I traced a single finger down the slit of her ass, over her panties, and I felt her body move beneath mine as she took a deep breath.

“Saint, don’t do this.” Her voice lacked conviction, a measly stain of fortitude.

“Prove me wrong, and I’ll stop. But if I find you wet for me, I will take you, and I will fuck you until you scream for me.”

Her hips moved, and I smiled as I slipped a finger inside her panties, pulling it to the side, exposing a firm, round, sensual ass cheek that practically begged to be punished with red, burning flesh.

I sat up and glanced down, wanting to see if her pussy glistened for me. My cock pressed against the zipper of my pants, throbbing and aching with a need to fuck. The second I slid my finger into her, I groaned when her needy little cunt welcomed me—all soaked and ready.

“Jesus Christ.” I pulled my finger out of her, just to sink it back in. This time, her hips moved, her body wanting to play along. “You’re wet, Mila. Your body is weeping for me. That means—”

“That means nothing,” she spat, this time putting a little more effort into trying to sound convincing. But she couldn’t fool me. Not when her body responded to me in this way.

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