Page 151 of Only Mine
Swallowing loudly while staring at all that carved, toned muscle under his ink, I trail behind him toward the bedroom. The air inside is warmer, but it’s not the heater. It’s the way he keeps glancing over his shoulder at me with twin flames in his eyes.
With his bare, rippling back to me, he goes to his drawers and pulls out one of his old tees, triple-washed, gray, oversized. I take it without a word and disappear into the bathroom.
By the time I return, he’s changed into low-rise sweats. His hair is damp, pushed back, and the fire in his eyes has turned into a damned inferno.
The sight of him like this, his skin glistening from leftover rain, the carved V of his muscles disappearing into his sweats and his hair slicked back, makes my knees go weak.
Saint’s gaze moves down to my bare thighs, then back up to my face and stays there.
“You okay?” he asks, but there’s nothing casual about the question. He’s looking for signs of retreat, of second thoughts, of any reason to stop what’s about to happen.
I nod. Words are beyond me.
He crosses the floor in three strides.
The scent of him—rain, grass, cologne—fills my lungs. He stops just short of touching me.
I’m drawn to him like a magnet, sliding my palms up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the wild stutter of his heart. I tip my chin up, and he bends down, mouth finding mine with a hunger that’s almost violent. Tasting him again is so dizzying that I can’t decide which way is up.
Saint’s hands slide down to the back of my thighs, and in one motion he lifts me into his arms, holding me there like there’s nowhere else I could possibly belong. He carries me to the dresser, setting me on it and I almost laugh, because of course he chooses the dresser over the comfort of a bed, but the look in his eyes swallows the sound.
Saint kneels between my knees, palms braced on either side of my hips, and just looks at me. His breathing is short when he drags his knuckles up my thigh and goose bumps bloom in their wake.
My fingers tangle in his damp hair, tugging gently, urging him closer. Saint doesn’t need much encouragement. His mouth finds the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and a shiver racks through me. His tongue traces a hot path upward, my hands fisting in his hair, gluing him to me as the pleasure builds, tight and hot in my belly.
Saint captures my gaze while sucking on my clit, and I nearly come apart by that alone.
He releases his lips long enough to rumble against my swollen folds, “You taste like mine,” before diving back in.
My world narrows to the feel of his mouth, the rough scrape of his stubble against my thighs, the insistent pressure of his tongue. I cry out as the first wave hits me, sharp and overwhelming.
Saint doesn’t stop. He pushes me higher, gripping my hips to pull me closer, holding me steady as I come apart.
Before the shudders fully subside, he’s standing, his hands at the hem of my borrowed T-shirt. He pulls it over my head, tossing it aside without a glance. His eyes roam over my bare breasts, lingering on my hardened nipples.
“Beautiful,” he says in a thick voice, his lips shining.
Saint lifts me again, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, but he still doesn’t carry me to the bed. Saint chooses the wall, his erection hot and hard against my entrance.
He kisses me then, deep and flavorful, his tongue tangling with mine when he enters me in one smooth, easy thrust.
I gasp into his mouth at the sensation of being filled by him again, the friction just right, the angle so deep I see white behind my eyelids.
Saint’s rhythm is urgent, desperate, each thrust a claiming.
This isn’t just sex. It’s our reunion, ourreclaiming, a collision of two people who were starved for each other.
I brokenly say his name against his mouth, over and over, as he keeps driving into me.
He bites my lower lip, grinning when I whine, then slides his hand behind my head to cradle it, his other arm braced under my thigh, holding me against the wall as if I weigh nothing. I’m so high up I’d fall if he let go, but he never does.Saint has always been the only man to make me feel weightless and pinned down at the same time.
Saint pulls out, just enough to make me mewl in protest, then lifts me higher against the wall. He’s strong enough to manhandle me like I’m nothing, and for once, I want to let myself become just sensation and heat.
He shifts his grip, cupping my ass. There’s a glint in his eyes, a dare, and then he does something I don’t expect.
Saint rocks his hips in a slow, rolling grind, then dips his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth, hard and greedy, while still circling inside me.
The sudden, sharp pull makes my toes curl. I clutch at his shoulders, nails raking the wet, hot skin, clinging as he slides in and out, slow at first but with growing, premeditated intent.
