The first real day of break, I wake up to absolute silence, and it’s blissful. Loni and Henry both took off yesterday, and Saint’s supposed to be on a plane to New York, where he’ll be spending the break at their Manhattan home. I get out of bed and decide to head straight to the pool. Moving to my dresser, I begin digging through one of my drawers in search of my swimsuit when suddenly, my phone starts to ring. I frown, wondering who could be calling me first thing in the morning on day one of break.
To my shock, Saint’s name flashes on the screen.
I answer with a baffled, “Hello?”
“Come downstairs.”
His voice is clipped and leaves very little room for argument.
“Huh?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Ellis.”
He’s extra bossy today. Oh, goody.
“I thought you were going to New York?”
“Changed my mind. Now pack a bag and get your ass down here, I’m tired of waiting.”
With no further explanation, he hangs up. I take my phone from my ear and stare at it for several moments, completely lost. Why would he change his mind about New York? Was it just to spend more time with me, or had something new happened between him and his dad?
Though I’m certain it’s probably the latter option, the thought of him specifically staying for me makes my heart flutter in a very stupid way. Shaking my head to dispel the stupor he’s cast over me, I don’t hesitate to pack a bag. I should at least send him a quick “Fuck Off” text, just to save face and at least pretend he can’t order me around, but I don’t.
I’m too curious and excited about what he has planned, and I don’t want to waste any time with the usual games.
Once I’m packed, I hurry from my dorm and make my way down to the building’s entrance. I immediately spot a sleek looking Tesla in the street. It has to be his, and I frown, surprised at his having an electric car since he normally speeds around campus in his shiny Range Rover.
Saint opens the driver’s side door and steps out of the car as I approach.
“Hi,” I say, then I flinch, knowing that sounded lame.
“Hey,” he replies with a slight tilt of his chin. His eyes run the length of my body, and it’s obvious what he has in mind for us. Without a word, he grabs my bag from my hand and tosses it into his backseat. “Get in.”
I nod and move around the car, slipping into the passenger’s side as he settles in behind the wheel.
“Where are we going?” I ask as he begins to drive.
“My house. In Malibu.”
My eyes go wide. “Your house?”
He nods, his eyes locked on the road. Then, he takes one of his hands from the steering wheel and places it on my bare knee. I don’t know why I decided to wear leggings instead of jeans, but subconsciously I think I was hoping they’d provide him easier access. God, I’ve gotten way too easy when it comes to Saint. I don’t even try to pretend to have qualms about what we do together anymore.
My breath hitches as his hand moves higher up my thigh, his destination clear. He never takes his eyes off the road as he hooks his fingers around the waist of my pants and pulls them down just enough to slip his hand inside. I spread my legs instinctively as the tip of one of his fingers finds my tightening clit beneath my panties.
“Saint,” I murmur, my breathing thick and unsteady.
“You ever been finger-fucked speeding down the interstate?” The way he asks is so casual, as if it’s a regular occurrence in his own life.
It probably is. He probably does this all the time to girls.
I squash the thought, not wanting to go there with myself. I’m not about to be jealous of Saint and his colorful past. His fingers inch lower, and he parts my folds. I gasp and squirm, but his grip on me is too strong to escape as his fingers work faster and faster. I’m gasping, and it feels like his hand is moving with same speed as his car. They’re synchronized, working together to get me off. It’s not long before I’m tumbling over the edge and crying out in relief as my orgasm crashes through me.
While I’m still shaking in my seat, he pulls his hand from my pants and puts his fingers in his mouth. He hums with satisfaction, and I bite my lip, my thighs clenching at the sight.
“What are you doing?” I murmur.
He smirks. “What does it look like? Tasting you. I’ve missed tasting my little masochist.”
Even though he just made me come, I’m getting revved back up watching. He’s so fucking cocky, it should infuriate me, but it doesn’t. It turns me on, and I can’t believe how much. I can’t think of anything to say to him. My mind is mush. I can’t think straight, but luckily, he pulls up to a set of tall gates within the next few minutes.
Rolling down the window, he punches some buttons on a keypad, and the gate swings open. We pull forward, up a winding driveway to the most gorgeous house I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s a three-story Spanish style house with big windows and elaborate iron work all over the façade.
My jaw drops and he pulls up to park in front of the four-car garage.
Turning to me, he arches his brow. “You ready to go in?”
I force my mouth shut as I turn to him with wide eyes. “Y-yes.”
Except, the truth is, I don’t think I’m ready to enter his world at all.
27
Stepping into the house, I’m even more floored by the interior than the exterior. This is one of those houses people dream about and see on display on HGTV, but never think they’ll get the chance to actually walk through in real life. The high ceilings are all wood planks and exposed beams, and the back walls are mostly windows that look out over the beach and gently rolling emerald waters.
I wander through the massive foyer, marveling at how the place feels like a medieval castle, but with a modern, airy twist. Saint moves past me toward the spacious living room, and I follow him because what the fuck else am I supposed to do?
“This place is amazing,” I murmur, my eyes sweeping over the grand, marble fireplace dominating one wall of the room.
“Trust me, it’s not,” he growls, dropping down into a cream-colored chair that looks too fancy to sit in.
My brows shoot up nearly to my hairline. “What do you mean by that?”
He shrugs. He’s not looking at me, which typically means he doesn’t want to talk to me about something. I gingerly sit on the edge of a long sofa that matches his chair in design and fanciness.
“You’re being weird, Saint. Why’d you bring me here?”
He leans forward in his chair until his face is inches from mine. “Isn’t it obvious? I was bored and wanted my favorite girl to play with.”
I scowl at him. “I’m not your damn toy.”
“Okay, Mal.” He claims my lips with his, and before I fully comprehend what’s happening, he’s pulled me from my seat into his lap. I’m straddling him, clutching his hair as his kiss consumes me.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Saint. What do you think you’re doing?”
I startle, tearing my lips from his and spinning my head around to find an older woman in a maid’s uniform ogling us from the foyer. Saint lets out a growl of annoyance.