The first couple of days, I didn’t mind the not talking part. It’s easier to stay detached, after all, if we’re not bothering to get to know each other. After a week of just pure sex, however, I’m starting to get a little agitated. I’m curious about him—this beautiful boy who’s tormented me in ways that are both beautiful and ugly. Even if I’m still not sure I like him, I want to know more about him.
We’ve already had sex twice tonight, and I’d figured he was done when it was clear his dick was down for the count, and I was hardly capable of moving. He’d surprised me when he’d pushed me to my back and begun kissing me in a frenzy, telling me he needed my taste on his tongue before he went to his own room. Now, I feel my orgasm approaching and I’m terrified I won’t survive it.
Saint reaches up and palms my breast as he devours me. Pinching my nipple, he sends me careening into my release, and I begin spasming uncontrollably as I moan until my throat hurts.
When I float back down from heaven, he lifts his head and licks his lips, giving me that smirk of his that makes my toes-curl.
“You’re a mess, Ellis,” he teases, his tone husky and hot. He crawls up so he can kiss me on my lips. He does this every time because he likes to make me taste myself. What I haven’t confessed to him is that, secretly, I love it too.
“It’s your fault,” I gasp, my breaths heavy and shallow. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”
He shakes his head. “Not when it comes to this.”
I bite my lip and run my fingers through his hair, and it’s almost a tender moment. But then he’s pulling away and crawling out of bed to get dressed. Sighing, I roll to my side and watch him, the satisfaction from my climax dimming somewhat.
Once his pants are on, he hunts around for his shirt. As he’s pulling it over his head, hiding his delicious torso from me, I decide to be bold.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I say.
He looks at me, one eyebrow darting up. “Like what?”
I shrug. “Something real. I already know a lot of the bullshit. Give me something of substance so I can pretend you’re human and not this god that your fan club swears you are.”
He laughs at that. I’ve found I enjoy making him laugh, though I’ve never heard him lose himself completely to humor like other people do.
Running a hand through his thick, golden hair, he mutters, “Something real, huh?” Dropping his hand, he asks, “Why do you want to know anything about me?”
I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling of my room for a moment as I consider how to answer him.
“Guess I want to believe there’s more to you than great sex and a dumpster personality?” He chuckles again, and I hide a smile, moving onto my stomach to face him with my head propped in my hands. “Come on. Give me something. It doesn’t have to be anything important.”
He scratches his chin as he studies me for a few moments, and I begin to think he might deny my request. What do I do then? Stop sleeping with him?
Probably not because everyone’s prone to weakness and nightly lapses of judgment.
But I hope he gives me something anyway.
Several moments pass in silence, and I begin to think he’s going to leave me wanting.
Then…
“I’m an insomniac.”
I hold my breath as I perk up. “Really?”
His head moves up and down. “Yeah. I can go for days without sleep. It’s annoying.”
That’s terrible for him, but I’m so relieved that he’s telling me something so personal about himself. I wonder who else knows? Laurel? He never stays over night with me, but did he with her?
Why does that thought send a sting of jealously stabbing at my chest? I’m not jealous of their relationship. Whatever it had been, I’m positive it was a toxic mess.
But you might be jealous of their intimacy.
Stupid fucking inner voice.
“I like music, too.”
I gawk at him. He’s telling me more? I thought I was lucky to get the insomniac thing.
“What’s your favorite kind?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m not picky. I like all kinds.”
“Do you have a favorite band or singer?”
“At the moment? Probably Highly Suspect or Twenty One Pilots.”
I wouldn’t have pegged him as a fan of either. He’s kind of blowing my mind right now. “Favorite songs?” I ask softly and he seems to think about this for a second before he scratches his head.
“I guess Lydia and Heathens. I also never forget a face.” That last tidbit is delivered in a low voice that sounds a little … dangerous.
“I-I suppose that could be valuable someday, when you take over your father’s company.”
A shadow crosses his expression, and for a moment, I think I’ve said something wrong. The next second, though, he grabs his shirt and yanks it back off.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he stalks toward me. The look in his eyes sends a thrill running through me. He’s hungry again, and I’m his prey. Pushing from my belly, I move to sit on my butt and scramble away from him.
He grabs my ankle and pulls me to the edge of the bed, then leans over me with his hands on either side of my head.
“I changed my mind,” he growls against my lips. “I’m not leaving. If I don’t get to sleep tonight, neither do you.”
The next night, I’m just about ready to head out to go to the pool, when a knock takes me by surprise. With a frown, I cross my room in my swimsuit and open the door. I’m surprised to find Saint standing on the other side.
“What’s going on—”
He cuts me off by grabbing me and pulling me into a deep kiss. Backing me into the room, he kicks the door shut behind him. His hands are all over me as he tugs, groping my breasts through my swimsuit and yanking at the crotch so it rubs against my pussy.
I gasp and tear my mouth from his. “What are you doing? I was going to go to the pool.”
“Not tonight,” he growls, cupping my ass and picking me up.
“What’s gotten into you?” I breathe.
“Nothing,” he snaps, and I don’t believe him for a second. “But something’s about to get into you.”
He drops me on the bed, strips naked, and proceeds until my legs begin to cramp from how tightly I’m clutching him. Tonight is slightly different. Still rough, still amazing, but I sense some strange desperation in him. It feels like he’s trying to distract himself with me—or lose himself in my body. I don’t know what’s gotten him so agitated, but I don’t dare ask. I know last night I was really lucky to get as much out of him as I did, and I don’t want to push my luck by asking for more so soon.
Saint doesn’t bother removing my swimsuit. He yanks the top down so my breasts pop free, then tugs the crotch aside so he can stroke my sex before sliding his cock deep inside me. I know some guys have a thing for swimsuits, but I can’t tell if that’s what this is, or if he’s just impatient. His hips thrust into me so hard, my teeth rattle, but I don’t want him to stop or slow down. I love how raw and rough we are with each other. It’s as if all our angst and anger is poured into our sex, and each encounter culminates in this explosive release that momentarily dissolves our hate for each other.