Page 87 of No Saint

It’s while I kiss him that I begin to remove his clothes.

“Amelia,” he warns.

“I’m not trying anything,” I whisper, “But you can’t sleep in clothes.”

“I’ll sleep in the chair.”

“No,” I kiss him, “You’ll sleep with me.”

“Giving orders, wife?” He teases with a smirk.

“I am.”

“I’ll be back,leonessa,climb into bed.”

He turns and stalks into his walk in while I climb back into bed, waiting for him. He returns only minutes later, a pair of grey sweats hanging from his hips, all his glorious muscle and that damn, hypnotic V all on show for my eyes to devour. I damn near swallow my tongue.

No man was built as perfectly as him.

I’d never let anything happen between us while Lincoln was in the same room as us, but I could admire the view. He grins, sinking those dimples into his cheeks that disarmed me every time.

“Are you sure?” He asks at the edge of the bed, hesitating.

I nod and lay, turning to my side and curling Lincoln to my chest. The light in the room goes out and then his weight presses into the mattress as he presses the length of his body to the back of mine, his nose going to the back of my head where he inhales.

“Are you smelling me?” I whisper.

“As intoxicating as any drug,mondo mia, but twice as addictive. There is not a part of you I do not crave.”

34

It had been about a week since Amelia had been home. The tension between us after sleeping in the same bed every night was now about ready to snap. She teased relentlessly throughout the day but with shit still happening with the city, I’d barely been home with her. My cock had been semi hard for days and I was about to fucking snap.

It’s late by the time I get home, finding the den empty but my men stationed around the house. Enzo stands outside my bedroom door, nods once when he sees me and exits.

Amelia and Lincoln were likely sleeping inside so I enter quietly, trying to come up with a plan on how I would get her alone.

Only when I get inside, Amelia is not there, and neither is her son.

“Amelia?”

I do a quick scan and find the bathroom door ajar, the sound of water sloshing coming from within.

I knock, “Amelia?”

“Come in.”

I’m expecting what I find. Amelia leans back in the bath, her dark hair thrown over the back of the rim and bubbles covering her. Her eyes are closed and there’s a dewy sheen to her skin from the heat and steam.

I swallow. Hard.

“Where’s Lincoln?” I grit out, grabbing the vanity and gripping it.

“Your mother helped me set him up in his new room. He’s sleeping.”

She says it so nonchalantly, doesn’t even open her eyes.

“He’s not here?”

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