I’m not going to go in, though. Saint can go fuck himself. I’m not going in. I’m not.
After about thirty minutes—when I conveniently discover that my phone is dead—I throw back my head and cry out in frustration.
“Fuck you, Angelle,” I groan to abso-fucking-lutely no one.
When I walk inside his house, I immediately sense that something’s off. Everything seems alright at first glance, but there’s a thin layer of dust on the entryway table. For any other household, that wouldn’t be a big deal, but here it seems so out of place.
My eyes land on Saint, sitting on the bottom step at the staircase, his brow furrowed.
“What?” he snaps.
“It’s dusty.”
He shrugs. “So?”
“You’ve got round the clock housekeeping and staff,” I say, as if that should be explanation enough.
His eyes flash with irritation as he shoves to his feet. “Those were my parents’ employees. The house is mine now, and I didn’t need them talking shit behind my back and judging me.” He takes a step closer to me. “Just like you don’t need your phone while you’re here.”
Before I can stop him, he slides his hand into my back pocket and fishes out my cell.
“What are you doing?” I snap, lunging for my phone, but he holds it over his head and out of my reach.
I mean, it’s dead anyway, but I still feel naked and vulnerable without it, especially here in Hell House.
“I don’t need you getting distracted while we’re here,” he says, grabbing my chin in his fingers and tilting my face up to his. “You’re going to tell me who killed Jon Eric.”
Swallowing hard, I squeeze my eyes shut while I mentally count to ten. When I open them, his intense glare is almost enough to blind me. “Why would you think I’d ever tell you that?” I demand, but my voice breaks on me.
His nostrils flare. “You’re either going to tell me like a goddamn adult or I’ll fuck the truth out of you.”
Holy shit. That’s even more outrageous than his demand that I snitch on scary ass Ghost. I stare at him, dumbstruck. “You’re not serious,” I finally say. “Torture by cock, Saint? Seriously?”
My pulse quickens at the gleam in his icy eyes. “Do you even have to ask me that?”
I let out a shriek when he bends down and wraps one arm around my legs, throwing me over his shoulder like I weigh nothing. Dangling helplessly, I beat at his back with my fists as he turns to the stairs to take us to the second floor.
“Let me go!” I shout, kicking my legs.
His hand comes down hard on my ass. “Tell me the truth.”
I press my lips together and refuse.
He chuckles. “Fine, Ellis. My dick’s hard anyway.”
Making his way into his bedroom, he slips me down to the floor so I’m standing in front of him. I open my mouth, ready to rip him a new one, but his lips come crashing down onto mine and silence me. His kiss is fierce and dominating, and my body instantly melts for him as I let out a wispy little moan. His hands grip my ass as he grinds his growing erection against me. He’s overwhelming me, scrambling my mind so I can’t remember why this is a bad idea.
Before I realize it, he’s backing me up toward the bed. The back of my knees hit the mattress, and he gives me a little shove so I fall backwards. Then, he’s taking my clothes off and throwing them over his shoulder before yanking his own t-shirt up and away from his head.
It’s kind of sad—how the worst boys have the most epically beautiful exteriors.
“Saint,” I gasp when he presses my knees apart. “Do you really think this shit’ll work on me?”
He skims a hand between my legs, grinning as he answers, “Maybe, maybe not, but I want in. And I won’t stop until you tell me what I want to know, no matter how tired or sore you get.”
It’s a threat, but I feel a perverse thrill course through me.
“You’ll stop if I tell you to,” I murmur as he strokes me with mind-boggling skill.
“Then say it, little masochist. Four letters. It’s easy as fuck.”
“I hate you,” I grit between clenched teeth, and he responds with a smug look that tells me he thinks I’m full of shit. “You won’t last either.”
He laughs right in my face then places a kiss on the tip of my nose. “A few minutes of recovery is all I’ll need. You? You’ll break, little masochist. Eventually.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong, but I’m already writhing beneath him and he’s only used his fingers so far.
I might be in trouble.
Suddenly, he removes his hand from between my legs and grabs my ankles, spinning me around like a rag doll so my head is draped over the edge of the bed, my long dark hair sweeping his bedroom floor. I don’t realize what he’s doing until he unzips his jeans and pulls his cock out in front of my face.
“First things first, though,” he says, a sudden edge to his deep voice. “You’re going to make it up to me for that shit you pulled with Liam tonight.”
“I don’t understand,” I murmur, even though I’m 99.9 percent sure I know exactly what he wants.
Sure enough, he fists his dick and rubs the head against my lips. “Open.”
I do. I can’t help myself. When he gets like this, I’m putty in his hands.
When my mouth is open, he pushes his length inside. He goes in deep, towards my throat.
“Have you ever deep-throated?” he asks, his voice slightly strained.
I shake my head the tiniest bit as I fight not to gag on him.
“Relax.” He places one hand on my throat, gently massaging there. “Don’t fight it, and it’ll be easier.”
I try to do as he says, and I have to admit his tender caresses and soothing tone do help. I breathe through my nose and it’s like my throat loosens bit by bit, so he pushes in deeper and deeper.
“Good girl,” he groans.
I wish I could see his face, but it’s not possible from this angle. His thighs are tensed around me, though, and I can tell he likes this. He pulls back slightly and sinks in again. He repeats the process a few more times, extending his strokes with each pass until he’s thrusting into my open mouth. It’s strangely exciting doing this, and I’m a little surprised that I don’t hate it. He begins picking up speed, and I gag a little bit at first, but then force myself to relax. I let out a startled cry when he leans over and begins fingering my clit, and I almost forget not to bite him.
Soon, he’s found a steady pace. He’s not as rough or fast as some of the other times I’ve gone down on him, but I can tell he’s holding himself back. My heart flutters a little bit. This is supposed to be my punishment, but he’s being so mindful not to hurt me.
When I start to squirm, he pulls back, panting.
“On your hands and knees.”
I cough a little as I roll up and wordlessly move to obey. Once I’m set, I hear the rustle of clothing as he takes his jeans off completely, and then the bed dips as he climbs up behind me. He wraps his fist around my hair, and I know he’s done being gentle.
He slams into me without warning, and I scream as mind-numbing pleasure explodes through me. The sound of his body slapping against mine echoes through the room, the only other noise apart from our grunts and moans. I’d be knocked down from my hands to my elbows if it wasn’t for his hold on my hair keeping my head up.