Page 114 of That Sik Luv

Dropping my hand, he sits back on the bench again, apparently ready to watch what I do with those wet fingers. Already feeling the cool air of the room hit my dripping center, I release a soft sigh, calming myself to the best of my abilities before parting my thighs wide before him again.

With saucers for eyes, he leans forward in his seat.

“Heaven help me,” he whispers, peering up at me through his lashes, his hooded gaze trailing down to my exposed and dripping center. “You’re beautiful.”

I grind my back teeth at the sweet sentiment, not allowing it to penetrate my newfound steel exterior.

His eyes flutter up to my face again, soft and questioning. He wants to touch, but wonders where that line protecting his purity lies and whether he’s willing to cross it for me.

Propped up with one elbow now, I slide my fingers over my shaved sex, swollen and wet from already being used. My clit hums with arousal, simply at the thought.

“I’ve often wondered what you looked like,” I whisper, using my middle finger to rub circles over my clit. “I mean, I’ve felt it before.” Beneath his slacks, I see his erection. “That day in the kitchen. Along your thigh.”

He sits up taller, his shoulders drawing back, muscles stiffening at my words.

“I’ve imagined feeling it right here.” Dropping my head back against the bed, I push my finger deep inside my pussy, a breathy moan escaping me.

“Oh Briony,” he breathes. “Jesus, I can’t...I can’t.”

I continue fucking myself with my finger, legs spread before him, with one hand still holding that skirt across my thigh as I lift my hips to meet the pleasure that’s taking me hostage.

“Oh, God,” I moan, swirling my finger in the mess that Aero left, feeling entirely aroused and ready to burst.

“I can’t,” he murmurs again.

Awaiting the touch of a hand that can’t control itself anymore, I lie there with my finger deep within my sopping center, dead silence suddenly filling the room.

I prop my head up and see Saint sitting on the edge of his seat with his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face, breathing harshly through his lips. He rubs a hand down his face, but instead of the dark temptation that was previously emitting from his blue eyes, when we connect, there’s a look of disappointment and disgust twisted within him.

“Saint,” I whisper, sitting up abruptly and pulling my skirt down.

Fuck, I’m losing him.

“I-I’m sorry,” I plead.

He shakes his head, refusing to look at me.

Shit.

“I crossed a line, Saint. I shouldn’t have—“

He stands from the bench, heading towards the door of my room, but turns back towards me again, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. He drops his hand, looking like he wants to say something, but shakes his head instead.

After a moment, he sighs, the frustration with himself evident. “I’m taking advantage of the fact that you’re scared and lonely, and it’s entirely wrong of me.”

It’s all falling apart.

“I should...I should go,” he says, finally peering at me with remorse.

He will not go through with this. His morals are too strong. Stronger than mine ever were. I was naïve to think I could sway a man so easily with my sexuality. Especially one so deeply intertwined with the church and its teachings.

“No!” I say, standing, reaching out to place my hand on his forearm to stop his pacing. “Please, don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m not in the right headspace either. Maybe we can just...” I sigh, my eyes darting wildly around the room. “Can we just talk? Just...talk?”

I’m grasping at straws here, needing to not fail for myself and Aero.

I look up at Saint’s face when his hand grabs for mine. His mind is clearly running wild with decisions and indecisions. I’ve thrown him into a storm of thoughts, ideas, and images he can’t unsee. He appears to be working out impossible theorems in his head at the moment.

“We can talk,” he whispers, looking down at me and finally nodding.

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