BAD SAINT (All the Pretty Things #1)

Six-4

“Still hate me?” Saint huskily asks.

And the answer is no because I hate myself more.

I remain silent, unsure what to say or do, but when Saint presses his chest to my back and slithers his hand over my hip, it’s evident I’m no longer in control. I should fight him, but I don’t. I don’t have the strength to.

He cups my heat, undoubtedly feeling my arousal. Air gets trapped in my throat, and I gasp, tears stinging my eyes. I am angry with myself for being such a f*****g weakling, but when he slips his warm hand into my underwear, those feelings soon turn to yearning.

I disengage from everything and simply…surrender.

He runs a finger along my heat, hissing when he feels how wet I am. My s*x pulses, wanting more. So I disgracefully part my legs slightly. He traces along my entrance, using my arousal as lubrication to slide along my feverish flesh with ease.

“Stop,” I whimper, but it’s weak as my actions are not reflecting my demands. My plea is met with Saint sinking a finger into my s*x.

I slump forward with a winded cry, a thousand emotions overtaking me, but Saint ensures I stay upright when he drapes an arm around my middle and holds me prisoner in every sense of the word. He works his finger in and out deliriously slow while every part of me blushes.

“No,” I moan, attempting to dance out of his hold, but the fight just has Saint nudging in deeper.

“Stop fighting me. You won’t win…because you don’t want to.”

The sound of my ripe flesh sucking him into my warmth embarrasses me because it confirms my body is a traitorous w***e. This man has caused me nothing but anguish, but when he increases his rhythm, I forget everything because the pleasure suddenly overrides the pain.

I am helpless, a gluttonous fiend because when he flicks over my swollen c**t, I want so much more. I part my legs wider, allowing him deeper access, and he takes what I give. He works me sluggishly, exploring every part of me while I yield, allowing him to be my puppeteer.

I am no longer the same Willow because my body rules me. After feeling nothing but misery, I just want to feel good for a small fraction of time. I know this is wrong, but fighting him is pointless. He always wins. And this time, I want him to.

When he senses I’ve surrendered to his touch, he inserts another finger. My eyes bulge from my head as I’m stuffed full. “Oh, Aнгел.” He sighs low, sinking in deeper. “You really are a virgin.”

I’m too lost to argue for my virtue because he slowly plunges his fingers in and out…in and out, and before long, I’m arching back, leaning into him to deepen the angle. He is composed and completely in control as I come undone in his hand.

With two fingers, he begins to pumps in and out of me wildly as his thumb rubs over my inflamed core. The combination is a delicious evil, and I bite down on my lip to stop myself from asking for more.

After tonight, you’d think I’d shy away from being touched this way, but those advances weren’t welcome. Saint’s touches aren’t either…so why do they feel so damn good?

A burning simmers low, and I know it will only take a few more strokes before I cross the line of no return. His skill is unmeasured because I don’t remember ever feeling this way. He knows where to touch me to make this feel so good. I lose myself to the cadence of Saint thrusting those long fingers into me as he ensures I take everything he gives by pinning me between his chest and arm. I am engulfed in his signature fragrance, and I moan.

“Feel good, Aнгел?”

His hoarse voice adds to the sensation, and I cry out. But I’ll be damned if I express that to him. “No,” I manage to choke out, bucking my hips and riding his fingers.

He chuckles in response and plunges in deeply while I scream, making a liar out of me.

I am disgusted with myself, but I want to see. I want to see what he’s doing to me. With my heart in my throat, I peer downward, but nothing can prepare me for the sight before me. Saint’s fingers sink deep into my swollen, ripe s*x, controlling me and bending me to how he pleases. But when he strokes over my c**t, I know this is for my pleasure. He wants me to come.

I’m transfixed and lax, rocking and bouncing, chasing my release which burns every part of me.

“I told you,” Saint says with hunger, his speed almost punishing. “You behave; I reward you.”

“Oh, god…” I groan, unable to tear my eyes away from him fingering me. “Please…” I need to come. Now. I am so close. I can taste the sweet surrender. I’m racing toward the pinnacle, and I just know my release will be explosive.

He uses the arm around my waist to pin me still, reminding me this is his show. “But you don’t…”

His words are lost to my cries and breathless panting. Shame on me. “I punish you.”

I don’t understand what he means because when he pinches my c**t, I see stars. But instead of continuing his assault, he withdraws his fingers and lets me go. I droop forward with a winded yelp, not understanding what just happened.

“No…please.” I was almost there.

My heart is thrashing wildly, and my breaths are jerky as I gasp for air. But I turn over my shoulder to see a nonchalant Saint place the fingers that were just inside me into his mouth. He suckles them, his gaze never leaving mine. I instantly flush the brightest crimson.

His eyes flicker briefly when he licks his fingers clean. It appears he’s just tasted the most delicious dessert. But his delight soon turns when he removes his fingers. “So this is your punishment,” he concludes while I blink.

I suddenly feel like nothing but a w***e. I cover my breasts, tears stinging my eyes. “You as-asshole,” I stutter, my high soon fading.

The happy endorphins soon turn to nothing but shame.

“Yes,” he affirms with a stiff nod. “I am.” His words are contradictory to what I see, but I shove that aside.

A tear scores my cheek, but I let it fall as it’s my scarlet letter, my mark that shows the world what an i***t I am. I allowed him to defile me, but worse still, I liked it—I wanted it. I wanted to come, and once again, Saint demonstrated that I don’t do anything unless he allows it.

I feel cheap as if I’ve just sold a small piece of my soul.

Turning back around, I lower my chin, permitting the tears to fall freely. I am nearly naked, my body flushed from Saint’s touch, but he’s denied me any pleasure as yet another lesson—Saint is my master, and I am his slave. And no matter how smart I think I am, he’s always ten steps ahead.

He leaves me alone, arms shielding my nakedness as I sob helpless tears. My body doesn’t know what to do as I want to come. And I want to cry.

I crawl over to the mattress, curling into the fetal position as the heat simmers. What I just did crashes into me, and the ring on my finger weighs heavy like a manacle around my heart. I just cheated on my husband…and I did so without a second thought.

Saint humiliated me, which is what this little exercise was all about. Yet I know he doesn’t remain unaffected…I saw the proof, the monster bulge in the front of his pants. But that doesn’t matter. I need to stop seeing him as my savior because he’s not.

I am merely a means to an end—he told me so himself. There is no happily ever after for me. And after what I just did…I don’t deserve one. Clutching the cross around my neck, I remember Saint’s words.

“I think He might make an exception for you.”

But he’s wrong. There aren’t enough Hail Marys to save my soul.