Page 5 of The Sins of Saint (The Sins of Saint 3)

“Fight what?”

“Your biological urge to fuck.”

I moaned and closed my eyes. Forcing me to keep still had me feeling every inch of him inside me. His length, thickness, how his girth stretched and filled me. Every muscle in my body was taut, my veins heated with a fire that threatened to burn me to ash. My legs started to tremble, and I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as I fought the ache that had my insides knotted and twisted, my body on the verge of imploding.

“Saint, don’t do this.”

“Shhh, Mila.” He brought a hand up to brush the curls from my face. “I want you to know what it feels like.” He slipped his hand in between us, and his thumb found my clit, teasing me with a gentle touch. “I want you to experience the tension and the agony of being unable to cleave your way into finding the pleasure your entire fucking existence demands.”

My body trembled. My heart pounded inside my chest. My core quickened, and I could barely take a breath.

“I need to move.” My hips shifted just an inch, and I could feel his entire length brush against my inner walls, the sensation so strong a moan ripped from my throat and sliced past my lips.

Abruptly, Saint grabbed my waist, digging his fingers painfully into my flesh. “You’re not playing by the rules.”

“You’re right. I hate your fucking rules.” I clenched my teeth, desire quickly morphing into raging lust.

I dug my nails deeper into his shoulder, determined to take my own goddamn pleasure. But his other hand came down, and he gripped my waist so tightly it hurt, and it forced me to keep still, our eyes fixed on one another.

“I always make the rules, Mila. You should know that by now.”

“Silly me for thinking we were past the point of you needing rules just so you can go on some power trip.”

With a swift move of his arm, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head to the side. Pain seared across my scalp, and I hissed in agony. “You think now that you are pregnant you have the upper-hand here? That carrying my seed inside your womb somehow changes the chain of command here?”

“You’re hurting me.”

“Yet still you want to ride my cock.”

“I guess that makes me a masochist now, doesn’t it?”

“No.” He slanted his head to the side. “It makes you mine.” He let go of my hair and removed his hand from my waist. “Fuck me.”

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the throbbing ache his cruel touch left just above my hip. “I think I’ve lost my appetite for a goddamn orgasm right now.”

His sapphire eyes burned with fierce dominance, an iron-clad superiority that conveyed a clear message. I was his. I was his to do with as he wished. To worship, or ruin. To protect, or break.

“You have five seconds to move those greedy hips and ride my dick like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, or I swear to God I won’t touch you for weeks. One—”

I remained still, silent as I kept his glare, defiance pulsing in my veins.

“Two—”

He rolled his hips, a subtle movement that reminded me how good he felt inside me.

“Three—”

I exhaled labored breaths as my body started to burn once more.

“Four—”

I bit my lip, my urge to fuck stronger than my need to fight.

“Fi—”

I grabbed the edge of the seat behind him, enclosing him with my arms, and lifted myself before slamming back down, allowing his hard length to impale me. Our moans collided, a filthy melody of sordid desires that possessed us both. With his arms at his sides, his hands nowhere near me, there was nothing keeping me from taking what I wanted. Needed. Craved. There was no restraint, no obstacle that stood in my way. It was just us in the back seat of a limousine, a classic cliché of the billionaire seducing the poor girl while she would trip on all the wealth she never had.

“Faster,” Saint growled, biting his bottom lip as his ice-cold stare penetrated mine, a beastly expression cast in shadows of sin on his face.

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