Page 73 of Only Mine
I pull him down until our lips are seconds apart. “I’m asking you to stop overthinking and just be with me. Tomorrow will still be complicated. The new nanny will still come. But right now? Right now, I just want you.”
He groans, capturing my mouth in a kiss that’s all desperation and adrenaline. “You have no idea how much I’ve needed to hear that.”
“So stop talking,” I repeat against his lips, reaching for his shirt. “Off. Now.”
His mouth claims mine again as I tug his shirt upward, desperate to feel his skin against my palms. Saint breaks the kiss just long enough to rip the Henley over his head, revealing the full canvas of ink that I’ve only glimpsed between shadows. Dark lines swirl across his chest, down his ribs, disappearing beneath his waistband. I trace a finger along a constellation of stars etched under one pec.
“Beautiful,” I whisper.
“Your turn,” he growls, his hands finding the hem of my shirt.
I lift my arms, letting him pull it off.
Saint drags his teeth across his lower lip when he sees my white bra. Nothing fancy, but the want in his eyes makes me feel like I’m wearing the finest lingerie.
“Christ, look at you,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down my sternum.
His hand pauses at my shoulder, thumb ghosting over the raised lines we’ve both been pretending don’t exist. The scars that led to our fight, to my walls slamming up, to his frustrated silence. His eyes flick to mine, a question there.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Not tonight.”
Something passes over his face. It could be anger at whoever marked me, frustration at my secrets, or his want despite it all. Probably all three.
His mouth tightens.
“Saint.” I catch his face between my palms. “Please. Just—don’t ask. Not now.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then he leans down, pressing the softest kiss to my shoulder, right over the worst of the scarring. The tenderness of it makes my eyes burn.
“Okay,” he rasps. “Not tonight.”
His mouth continues its path, kissing along my collarbone and down to the edge of my bra. Each touch feels like a promise that my secrets can stay buried for now, and that he wants me anyway, damaged parts and all.
“But Wrenley?” He looks up at me, eyes clouded with possession. “One day you’re going to tell me who did this to you.”
It’s not a question. I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“Good.” He rises to kiss me again, fiercer this time. “Because right now, all I want is to make you forget everything but my name.”
My skin pebbles under his touch. When his thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin cotton, I arch into his hand with a gasp.
“Sensitive,” he notes, a wicked gleam appearing in his eyes. “I wonder where else...”
Saint lowers his head, replacing his thumb with his mouth, drawing the peak into wet heat through the fabric. The sensation shoots straight between my legs, and I whimper, clutching his shoulders.
“Saint, please?—”
He reaches behind me, unclasping my bra with practicedease. When it falls away, he sits back on his heels, just looking.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
“I’m memorizing,” he corrects.
But then his mouth is on my breast again, hot and insistent, and thinking becomes impossible. His tongue circles my nipple while his fingers tease the other, and I’m writhing beneath him, desperate for more friction.
“Too many clothes,” I rasp, reaching for his belt.
Saint captures my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. “Patience.”
