Page 55 of Saint Valentine

I shook my head, my lips tightening. “He was going to fuck around and reveal the truth by accident—that my daddy wasn’t really dead.” I tilted my head, studying Saint. “I started helping him. Blew up a few cars, cracked a few heads with some bats. You know my legend.”

Everyone did.

“We found out that Dillinger’s cokehead son pulled the trigger, but we never knew who gave the order. I always thought deep down that it was your Donato. Even at eight, I recognized that kind of evil.”

“I killed Zack Dillinger, Brooker pretended to get out of the life, but he was still immersed in it, his mind set on getting power enough to go to war with your daddy. I went away to college. My daddy never told us you warned him. If he had, things would’ve been different.” I leaned in, my breath warm against his cheek. “Thank you.” I pressed my lips to the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t react to my kiss. He was still pissy and trying to hide it.

“Then why are you back?” he asked.

I dropped my eyes. “You’re not going to like it.”

“Tell me.”

I sighed, looking anywhere but at him. “Brooker knew you had a little infatuation with me. Because my momma told his momma about the ring, and she told him. He asked me to come back, get close to you so we could get to your father.”

I felt his muscles tense beneath me. A knot formed in my own stomach as I watched his face. The vein in his forehead looked like it was about ready to pop.

“I was planning to run into you,” I admitted. “Have you get me access to your father. Then we’d off him, and our family would finally be avenged. After that, I’d disappear again.”

My voice dropped. “But then Jason’s stupid fucking daddy decided to steal from the mob, and everything went to hell.”

“So you were going to use me?” he asked, his voice tight.

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “You’re such a fucking Type A personality. With a one-track mind. After everything I told you, all you heard was how I might have wronged you.”

Before he could respond, I started tugging at his belt. He looked confused but let me. I stuck my hand in his pants, freeing him, and then lifted myself, pulling my shorts to the side and sinking down onto him in one fluid motion.

“Forgive me now, husband?” I whispered.

His head tipped back like the sensation was too much.

“Yes,” the word slipped from his mouth before he could stop it. His face twisted, jaw clenching—he hadn’t meant to say it.

I moved, rolling my hips in a rhythm that had us both breathless. My fingers dug into his shoulders as I leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “You can be mad, but you’re mine now,” I murmured, throwing his own words back at him. “Always have been. Always will be.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hands squeezing my ass cheeks.

"Don't do that. Do be cute." he warned, but there was no heat behind it.

I popped my hips.

His fingers dug into my ass, stopping my movement.

His voice was raw and needy when he spoke again. “I want to fight this. Push you away. Remind you how much you claimed to hate me. But I can't.” He shook his head.

“Look at me, Aria, in the eyes” he demanded.

I met his gaze. “Don’t lie to me again.”

I nodded, ready to move again. My pussy was throbbing.

"I won't, scouts honor."

"You weren't no fucking girl scout." He laughed and the tension in his body slowly ebbed away.

Then I moved again, rolling my hips and everything else faded away.

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