Page 14 of Saint
“Power,” I answer honestly. “Control. The ability to shape this city the way I see fit."
“Not to help people?” She raises an eyebrow.
“That’s a convenient side effect.” I take a sip of my wine. “I grew up with nothing, watching people with power decide who got to eat and who went hungry. I decided early on I’d rather be the one making those decisions.”
She nods slowly. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“I’m honest about many things, Lily. Especially what I want.”
Her foot brushes against mine under the table, and I’m not sure if it’s accidental until it happens again, more deliberately this time. I raise an eyebrow at her boldness, and she gives me an innocent smile that doesn’t match the wicked press of her foot against my calf.
“Tell me about growing up in Brooklyn,” she says, taking another sip of champagne. Her lipstick leaves a perfect imprint on the glass.
I share stories I rarely tell anyone—about Nico and me causing trouble, about my father working three jobs, about the scholarship that changed everything. She listens intently, her foot continuing its exploration of my leg under the table.
When we finish the main course, I stand and move to her side of the table. Her eyes follow me, wide and uncertain but filled with heat.
“Stand up,” I tell her softly.
She obeys, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.
“Now sit on the table. Right here.” I pat the polished surface in front of my chair.
She hesitates only a moment before perching on the edge of the table, her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. I sit back down, positioning myself between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, though I think she knows exactly what I’m doing.
“I’m ready for dessert.” I place my hands on her knees. “Spread your legs for me, baby girl.”
She swallows hard but does as I ask, her thighs parting slowly. I slide my hands up under her dress, finding the thin silk of her panties. With one quick motion, I tear them away, the fabric giving easily in my hands.
The sight of her bare pussy, pink and swollen, glistening like honey in the candlelight, nearly shatters my control. Her delicate folds glisten with arousal, begging for my touch, my tongue, my cock. I lick my lips hungrily, looking up to find her watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, her perfect breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Fuck, you’re absolutely drenched,” I growl, sliding my thumb through her slippery heat, coating it in her sweet nectar. “Is all this cream just for me, baby girl?”
She nods, a whimper escaping her parted lips as I circle her swollen clit with deliberate, torturous precision, feeling it pulse beneath my touch.
“Tell me, Lily. Tell me this pretty pink pussy is dripping wet for me.”
“It’s for you,” she gasps as I increase the pressure, her hips bucking against my hand. “Oh God, please..."
“Please what?” I lean forward, my breath hot against her inner thigh, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal. “Say exactly what you need, baby girl.”
"Please... taste me.” The words come out in a broken whisper that sends blood rushing to my already painfully hard cock. Her thighs tremble as she spreads them wider, offering herself completely.
I’ve been with countless women, but none have affected me like this innocent girl begging for my mouth, her slick arousal glistening in the dim light. I press my lips to her inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses toward her swollen center.
“Since you asked so nicely,” I murmur against her skin, “I think I’ll have my dessert now.”
Chapter 11
Luca
I spread her legs wider,her thighs trembling under my palms, and bury my face between them. The first taste of her on my tongue is like nothing I've experienced before—sweet and tangy, delicate yet potent. I groan against her flesh, the vibrations making her gasp.
"Oh my God," she whimpers, her fingers tangling in my hair.
I take my time devouring her, mapping every glistening pink fold with the flat of my tongue before zeroing in on her swollen clit. Her hips buck wildly against my mouth, but I pin her down with bruising force, and my fingers dig into the soft flesh of her thighs. I own her pleasure now. I flatten my tongue against that throbbing bundle of nerves, applying merciless pressure that has her writhing and begging on the mahogany table.
