Page 58 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

“If you don’t want to throw up, stop gagging and start sucking.” He withdrew and lunged back in, reaching the back of my throat. I had no choice but to lap my tongue along his length. My cheeks hollowed, and I tried to slack my jaw to better accommodate him. But he was too hard, too rough, as he continued to thrust. His taste invaded my mouth, filling every corner and caressing every taste bud. As vile as the act was, his taste was the exact opposite, and it settled in my core with blazing heat. I lapped my tongue and brushed the tip against the head of his cock before dragging it along the ridges of his girth.

A groan ripped from his chest, a low, guttural growl echoing from his throat. The sound had me squirming once again, the silk sheets soft against my aching sex. The longer he stayed in my mouth, the harder I tried to rock my body against the mattress.

Saint let go of my wrist and grabbed my hair. “You want to see what it’s like to really mark someone, Mila?”

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and pumped with the rhythm of my mouth. “This is how you mark someone.” He came, hard and heavy, ribbons of his release bursting into my mouth, and I was forced to swallow. An act I always thought of as disgusting and degrading now suddenly had me rocking my body and flexing my hips in search of my own release. It was torture to taste his pleasure on my tongue while the need throbbed between my legs.

Saint moaned out loud and sucked air through his teeth, slipping his dick into my mouth a few more times, making sure I milked every last drop of his orgasm. He pulled out and sat back, spit dangling down my chin. “God, such a sight you are with my cum in your mouth.”

He leaned forward and placed a kiss on my forehead. “Are you aching for me?”

“Yes.” I breathed. There was no use denying it. I wasn’t strong enough to fight it anymore.

“Do you want to come for me?”

I nodded, and my eyes rolled closed.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he whispered, and I willing obeyed.

Saint got up, and I sagged into the mattress as he tied my wrists with his belt, too exhausted and sore to object. All I cared about was finding relief. All I wanted was to be pushed over the edge.

He tightened the belt. The leather bit into my skin, and he leaned over me, his lips hovering above my cheek. “I’ll make you come. But first I want you to lie here and think about all the times you defied me, fought me, disrespected me,” he bit out with clenched teeth, “and then I want you to decide whether it wasreallyworth it.”

No. No. No.

“Saint, what are you doing?”

I tugged at the restraints, and he straightened, a glint of malicious intent in his eye. “I had to tie your arms and make sure you don’t finish it yourself.” He shot me a sly grin. “Behave while I’m gone.”

“Saint, please.”

He pulled on his pants and winked at me before he walked out and closed the door behind him. I called after him, screamed his name, but he ignored me like I was nothing.

I squirmed. I wiggled. I flexed my hips out of desperation for release. But I couldn’t. My body needed more—so much more than a mere silk fucking sheet.

Spent, and tired, every taut muscle about to snap and break, I buried my face into the mattress. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry again. I vowed to never let him take another tear, but I couldn’t stop it. The pain was too much…so I cried.

20

Saint

I pouredmyself a glass of bourbon and snapped my fingers toward one of the crew to remove Anete’s lipstick-stained cocktail glass. After that morning, I was a hundred and ten percent sure Mario would never make the mistake of having Anete—or anyone else, for that matter—accompany him to one of our meetings without my permission. I gave him more than just a piece of my mind and reminded him how crucial discretion was whenever it came to my business. Without my generous paycheck every month, Mario wouldn’t even have a bucket to piss in.

Anete wasn’t worth labeling as a complication, but the way Mila acted, doing a complete one-eighty and kissing me as if I was the air she needed—now,thatwas a complication. And one I couldn’t afford.

I could taste the desperation on her tongue, feel her desire linger on her heated lips. Within the span of five seconds, it was strong enough to fucking drive me insane, my dick all but ready to rip from my goddamn pants. It took the last shred of my self-control to not fuck her right there and then in front of Mario and his slut of a daughter. Andthatwas what pissed me off—the fact that Mila’s kiss, her little act of jealousy, was powerful enough to make me lose my grip in front of others. And for that, she needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to understand if she so much as looked at me in a way that would make me want to lose control, she’d have to carry the consequences. As a man, losing control meant weakness. As a Russo, weakness meant defeat. Especially now while I was so close to getting what I wanted.

I swallowed a mouthful of bourbon and felt far from satiated. Even though I just came down Mila’s throat, my cock still throbbed to feel her walls close in around me. And knowing she was in my bedroom, bound and aching for me, was driving me insane. Not even the sting of alcohol could calm the simmering blood in my veins.

She tried to act all innocent and vanilla, but I saw the darkness in her eyes. I saw her need to let go and succumb to the wickedness of our most primal instincts. We were all animals, born and bred to fuck. Seeking pleasure was the single most powerful biological motivator in the world. It manipulated us, controlled us, dictating our every decision. But once you’d tasted the carnal pleasures free from the restrictions society had placed on something as natural as fucking, there was no going back. While Mila fought against it, her body embraced it—which was why I pushed her toward that edge and steadied her on the ledge. Now it was up to her to take that final leap.

“How did the meeting go with Mario?”

I turned toward Elena, who took a seat on one of the swivel chairs by the bar. “Good.”

“Does he have enough time to get everything ready?”

I shrugged. “Yes.” I kept my answers simple, hoping Elena would not pursue a conversation.

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