Page 65 of Saint of the Shadows

She found the zipper at the neck. It purred as she undid it. As she pushed away the armored neoprene of his suit, she admired the rippled muscles of his back and the groove of his spine. She followed the groove with her tongue. He tasted like the city, hints of copper and salt.

He exhaled through his teeth. “Should we head inside? Someone might see us.” Thunder pounded closer.

She asked, “Do you need to tap out?”

“No.” His grimace softened. “But we need a signal if we do.”

She pushed the back of his head. “Like a safe word?”

His leather-clad cheekbone pressed into metal, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Any preferences?”

She peeled the top layer of his suit off, stopping at his hips. His suit bound his wrists to his body.

“Sálvame,” she answered.

“Our safe word is sálvame?”

“All right, Vincent, I’ll stop.” She backed a few steps, holding her palms out.

He chuckled and faced her. “I said it as a confirmation not—”

She grazed his chest with her fingertips. “You don’t want me to stop.” He struggled, pulling against his bind. She yanked the wisps of his chest hair. “I told you not to move.”Bam! She shoved him into the HVAC unit again because she could be dangerous too. Her fingers released him, and she kissed the red marks on his chest, flicking her tongue in the shape of a cross.

She turned her back to him and rolled her hips into him. “I know it hurts to want me so much.” The heat of his impassioned breath burned against her neck. Her hips coaxed him again, and she added, “Show m—”

He wiggled free of his sleeves, grabbing her at her hips. He pushed. She braced to resist. Theystumbled. She caught herself against the ledge wall, her palms scraping the stone.

Bent over the ledge, her curves ached to meet his solid muscles. Yet nothing. Did he ditch her in a switchy state of submission? Trap her in a biggotchamoment before disappearing? She looked back. He hadn’t left. He had begun to untie his mask.

Marisol stopped his hand. “Keep it on.”

He growled and rocked into her backside. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, riding the high of another unlocked secret: Masks stayed on tonight. She’d have the real version of him, the contradiction. He’d be the hero to save her, and he’d be the villain she conquered.

He reached around and unbuttoned her jeans with rough jerks, pulling them off. He dropped to his knees and pressed his face against her ass cheek. His nose caressed higher and higher. A soft kiss became a bite. His teeth pulled at her underwear, guiding them down her legs where they bound her at the ankles.

His caressing nose and mouth traveled up her leg, reaching their destination with a nibble at her rounded flesh. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He gripped her cheeks and separated them. His tongue traced over her folds. She stiffened; her eyes popped open in shock. Not ready. Too… He hummed. She quivered from the vibrations of his mouth. Filthy. Another hum and his mouth explored further, his tongue grazing her clit. Too much. She lifted her thigh back to block where his mouth, tongue, nose—the rest of him—dared to go next.

He drew his head back. “Do you need to tap out?” His breath, hovering close, heated and teased her.

Her hands trembled against the ledge. “Um...” She squeezed her thighs together, surrendering to her fears. Too sweaty. Too dirty.

“You can say it.”

Danger and desire twisted her insides, wringing them to liquid. If feeling his breath drove her wild, why would she stop him? She steadied her palm and inched her legs apart. “I didn’t say the word for stop.”

His lips and tongue returned with a vengeance. Possessed with slick heat, she arched her backside. Then his fingers joined his mouth and... my God. Lightning dazzled among the clouds moving above them.

After a prod of his tongue and a circle of his fingers, she gasped and reached back, holding the tie at the back of his mask. Before she caught her breath, he devoured her. Her body fought a tug of war. Her hand, gripping the back of his head, demanded more. Her hips, tilting away, sought to dull his power. But his hold on her meant that the only direction she’d go was his. He mastered her as her supplicant.

She begged, “Please,” but she wasn’t sure what for—release or respite. His tongue fluttered. Her body seized. “Vincent!”

Marisol let go of his mask and gazed back at him with heavy-lidded, sex-drunk eyes. Pleasure racked her body in ever-returning waves.

He ran the edge of his tongue over his pout and rubbed his lips together. “Hm.”

”Hm,” she breathed.

But he moved without permission. There must be a consequence.

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