“Come here, beautiful,” he snarls.
I push up onto my knees and move to straddle his lap. Taking hold of his length, I line him up with my entrance, then hold his gaze as I slowly sink down. I let out a little, desperate cry as he fills me to stretching.
When my ass is flush to his thighs, I pause and hold myself still, adjusting to being so filled. Even after so many times, it still burns a little at first. Once the little discomfort has passed, I begin to move my hips. It’s not the first time I’ve rode him like this, but he usually prefers to be in charge and set the pace himself. He’s feeling generous tonight, and I’m not going to waste my chance to have control over him.
Resting my hands on his chest, I drop my head back and move faster and faster above him. He grips my hips but doesn’t try to slow me down or speed me up. He grunts and groans, until the room is filled with the sound of our skin slapping and our mingled, breathless noises. As I move my hips over him, nothing else matters. There’s nothing in my mind but the pursuit of release. I can feel it, building in my gut, and I grind down on Saint as I chase after it.
“That’s it, Mal,” he growls, his fingers digging into my flesh. “Come for me. Fuck me harder and come.”
As if my body was just waiting for his permission, I feel my orgasm explode within me. I cry out to the ceiling as I spasm and clench my legs around him. He pumps his hips up into me, reaching his own peak, and with a shout, begins shooting inside me as his muscles strain and his face goes red.
When I come down from the high, I collapse against his chest. His arms wrap around me and hug me tight. He’s still inside me, and we stay like that without saying a word as we catch our breaths. I can hear his heart racing in his chest, and it makes me grin to know I did this to him. I made him breathless. I caused him to lose control of himself and made him lose his mind with pleasure.
He begins to rub my back with his big hand, and I feel so content and satisfied, I can’t even remember what it was I was supposed to be asking him in the first place.
31
The sunlight is the devil, and I want it to die. It’s shining right against my eyelids, forcing me from sleep. Slowly, I open my eyes and gaze around the room, momentarily disoriented as I realize I’m not in my own bed. I stretch and roll over to find Saint asleep on his back, his arm thrown over his head.
Propping up on my elbow, I gaze down at him with a soft grin. God, he’s beautiful. I love to watch him sleep. He’s been sleeping a lot more now, since we’ve started this thing. It makes me happy to know that I’ve had some part in easing his insomnia. At least a bit. His expression is soft, his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. I raise my hand and trace my fingers down his cheek with a feather-light touch.
His hand suddenly shoots up and captures mine.
“I’ve got a better place this could go.” He slowly leads my hand down his torso and slips it beneath the covers. He uses his fingers to wrap mine around his hard dick.
I bite my lip and begin to stroke. His eyes open and he locks eyes with me. We stare at each other as I work him with my hand. When the urge to kiss him overpowers me, I give in and press my lips to his. He lets out a grunt and comes in my grip.
After another kiss, I crawl out of his bed and creep into his bathroom to wash my hands.
“Who’s James?”
I freeze, the question coming out of nowhere and slamming into me like a runaway city bus. Reaching for a hand towel, I dry my hands and don’t offer an answer right away. I walk to the bathroom doorway and meet his eyes. He’s still lounging in bed, his back against the headboard.
“Why do you want to know about James?” I ask in a soft voice.
“You kept saying his name in your sleep.”
I release a deep, shaky breath. Fuck. Had I known I talked in my sleep, I’d never have stayed over.
“He’s no one,” I insist, turning away from him to find my clothes. He doesn’t say anything for a heartbeat of time, but then I hear him move out of the bed to wander around the room as well.
“Doesn’t seem like no one,” he comments after a few moments.
My shoulders stiffen. “Let it go, Saint. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Why not? You’ve told me so much already. What could be worse than a meth dealing mom on the run?”
A lot, as it happens. My mom’s really on the tip of the fucked-up iceberg, and James is part of that huge chunk of ice hiding beneath the surface of the water.
“Haven’t I told you enough?” I ask with a shrug. “What more do you really want to know about me anyway?”
I feel him come up behind me before his hands clutch my shoulders.
“Is he an ex?” he whispers in my ear. His voice is hard, his grip tight. “The last guy you fucked? Some asshole waiting for you in Bum Fuck Georgia?”
He’s jealous again, but the ironic thing is, James isn’t the one Saint should be jealous of. Turning to face him, I’m startled by the way his eyes blaze when I meet them.
“Would you care if I had someone back home?” I can’t help but ask. It’s a stupid question, really, given the topic at hand, but I’m yearning to find out just what he feels for me.
One of his hands moves toward my collarbone.
“What do you think?” he growls. “If some fucker’s playing games with my pussy, of course I give a fuck.”
“Stop talking like I’m some object, Saint. And … and James and I were never a thing.”
His expression relaxes, but his fingers remain in place, and he rubs a strand of my hair between his fingers. “Then what was he? Why do you dream about him? This isn’t the first time you’ve said his name.”
I stare up at him, my mind scrambling for what to do. The temptation to tell him everything is right there, stronger than ever. I’ve already shared so much with him, and he’s been surprisingly accepting of it all. I think it helps that he’s as broken on the inside as I am, just broken in different ways. If anyone would keep my secret…
“A year ago, my house caught on fire, and James was stuck inside it. He died, Saint. James is dead so you have nothing to worry about. Happy?”
The words are out of my mouth before I fully realize I’m saying them, and then they hang in the air between us like a miasma. His brow furrows, and he stares at me in disbelief. For a second, I don’t think he fully understands what I’ve just said.
“Huh,” he says at last, then turns from me to walk to his closet. My eyes go wide as my jaw drops. That’s it? That’s all he has to say?
“Umm, did you hear me?” I ask, moving after him as I pull on my shirt.
“Yeah.” He disappears into his walk-in closet and starts digging around for clothes.
“A-and … it doesn’t bother you at all?” I move to the door and peer inside after him.
He glances over his shoulder at me and shrugs. “Why should it? Shit happens. It’s not like you murdered the guy.”
My lips part in shock. It’s not like I didn’t murder him either.
“How are you so cavalier about this?”
He pulls on a pair of jeans, then digs out a black t-shirt before turning back to face me with it clutched in his hand.