Page 116 of The Bad Boy Rule

A few seconds later, Saint walks into the dining room, his tattooed arms full of paper grocery bags.

Per usual, the sight of him distracts me, my gaze trailing over the dark ink on his skin and veiny forearms.

God, since when did veins start being so stupidly hot?

Probably because the man is literally the hottest thing to exist, and somehow, I ended up lucky enough to have him.

“Stop looking at me like that, Golden Girl, before I have to bend you over and fuck you on this dining room table. Then, you’ll be upset because I ruined your Thanksgiving plans,” he rasps, his voice doing that thing where it goes all gravelly and deep, sending a shiver racing down my spine. “And you know how much I hate making you upset, baby.”

I’m shamelessly pressing my thighs together, andof coursehe notices because my man notices everything.

His mouth tilts into my favorite cocky, sexy smirk as he slowly licks his lips and his eyes travel down my body, pausing on the skirt I wore today. His tongue runs across his teeth. “You also know how much I fucking love these.”

I am so obscenely, out of my mind obsessed with him it’s ridiculous. Only fair since he’s even more obsessed with me.

“Saint,” I warn, despite the fact that I want to drag him to my bedroom and spend the rest of the night having him do filthy, dirty things to me. I take a step back, noticing his wolfish gaze, trying to ignore how the space between my thighs throbs. “No. You stay over there, and I’ll stay over here.”

He chuckles darkly. “That sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Golden Girl?”

Okay, you know what? Maybe we could just cancel Thanksgiving.

I mean, it’sjustdinner. Who cares? We can order pizza or something.

Saint carefully sets the bags on the table without disrupting anything, which I’m thankful for since I did just spend the last hour working on this tablescape. Then he saunters toward me wearing a pair of dark jeans that are molded to his thick, powerful thighs and a black, long-sleeve henley that he’s got pushed up to his elbows.

He looks good enough to eat.

But judging by the dark, predatory look in his eyes as he closes the space between us, Thanksgiving dinner isnotwhat he’s hungry for.

I lift my hands between us as I step backward. “Saint, stop it right now.”

Another step closer.

“I’m serious!”

Not serious at all.

Okay, maybe a little bit because I’m really excited to host my own Thanksgiving for the first time.

He collides against me, his big, rough hands sliding along my jaw and cradling me not so tenderly in his palms, and Jesus, I love it.

I love when he’s like this.

All growly, and dark, andhungry.When he doesn’t hold me as if I’m going to break.

His lips hover over mine, a breath away, but not kissing me. Yet.

“What do you expect out of me, baby? You wear that little skirt that shows off your legs, making me fucking crazy, and then you look at me like you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt. Like you want me to fill you up. That would be crazy, though, because then you’d be sitting through Thanksgiving dinner with me dripping out of you.” He pauses, gaze dropping to my parted lips. His tongue traces along my bottom lip slowly until I’m sure I’mactuallygoing to lose my mind. “You’d love that though. My dirty girl loves it when I give her my cum.”

I have no idea how I still have rational thought when I’m currently being touched by a man who knows my body inside and out. And he isabsolutelydoing his best work right now.

“Saint, your mother is going to be here in thirty minutes.”

He groans, the deep sound vibrating through me as his head drops to my shoulder. “Baby, for fuck’s sake, please do not mention my mom right now.”

“Well… it’s true. So,behave.”

When he lifts his head from my shoulder, I press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips. “It’s your mom’s first time here. And it’s our first Thanksgiving together. I want it to be perfect. I want her to feel comfortable.”

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