Page 68 of My Fallen Saint

I’m on my feet and through his cracked-open door in an instant. I stop cold, drawn up by the shock of seeing the most together man I’ve ever known standing with his body so tense it’s a wonder he doesn’t snap, his hair wild around his face, and his unseeing-eyes burning like a feral creature. He’s in the far corner, his body angled toward me and the desk opposite him. The wall behind it is stained. Shards of glass from a shattered vase cover the desk, and the air is heavy with the pungent scent of rose petals.

I must make a sound, because he shifts his weight toward me, and I see the moment when he realizes I’m standing there. When he’s no longer lost in the fury that has grabbed him, and I become the object of whatever passion has overtaken him.

He takes a step toward me, but I don’t move. My heart is pounding, and I don’t know if it’s fear or excitement or lust or need. All I know is that this moment is charged. Intense. Wild.

And, damn me, I want to burn in the heat of it.

Another step, so he’s right in front of me, a wall of pent-up energy. Anger, maybe. Frustration, definitely. Regret, probably.

He looms above me, and though reflex almost sends me backwards, I plant my feet, stay right where I am, and tilt my head back so that my eyes meet his. Earlier, I’d changed into sleep shorts and a tank top with no bra, and now my nipples are hard against the thin material.

His gaze locks me in place, and my breath comes hard. I want to speak—hell, I want to beg—but I don’t want to break the spell.

Slowly, he lifts his hand, then trails his fingertips lightly down the side of my face, just barely brushing my lips before descending further to graze my neck. He cups me there, his hand encircling my throat as he moves closer, the pressure of his hand steering me backward until I’m against his bedroom wall, unable to go any further.

He keeps me pinned there with his hand, then slowly rakes his gaze over me as his other hand follows, trailing up my bare thigh, then over the thin cotton of my shorts. His fingertip teases the strip of skin between shorts and top before skimming lightly upward, only to end up cupped over my breast, his thumb brushing lightly over my tight, sensitive nipple.

“Closure, Ellie? That’s not what you need, and it sure as hell isn’t what you want.” His hand tightens on my neck, and I lift my chin. I can breathe just fine, but there’s no denying I’m at his mercy, just as there’s no denying that I’m so wet I can feel the slickness on my thighs.

“It’s not closure,” he repeats. “You want the danger. The knife edge.” He leans closer, then whispers, so close I feel the scratch of his beard against my ear, “You want me to throw a match into the gasoline and make you burn.”

I whimper. Because oh, dear God, he’s right.

“Do you have any idea how vulnerable you are right now?”

I swallow, my throat moving against his hand as electricity crackles between us.

He pulls his hand from my neck, but doesn’t release me. Instead, he holds me in place by gripping both shoulders, moving even closer to me as he does, so that I feel the brush of his jeans against my thighs, the heat of him penetrating my thin shorts. I’m bare underneath, and I’m aching for him, both craving and dreading the moment when he releases the tight hold on whatever fury is roiling around inside him.

He runs his hands down my arms until he reaches my wrists. Then, in one rough movement, he tugs my hands above my head, pinning them to the wall with one hand as his body presses against the rest of me, trapping me completely.

I was a cop, and I grew up in a cop’s household. I’m no stranger to self-defense. But I’m a small woman, and I’m no match for this man. I know it. He knows it.

I’m breathing fast, but he’s perfectly calm as he bends his mouth to my ear and whispers. “Right now I own you. You’re one hundred percent at my mercy, and you don’t have a clue what I’ll do. That turns you on, doesn’t it, baby? That danger? That fear. I need to hear you say it, baby. Whisper it and make me hard.”

I close my eyes, wishing I could deny it. But there’s no point. He knows the truth. It does scare me. That vulnerability. The loss of control.

I’ve been calling the shots with the men I fuck for years now. Forceful. Demanding. Taking what I wanted and then walking the hell away.

But this—oh, God—this is what I’ve craved. And Devlin is the only man who’s ever seen it.

“Yes,” I whisper. “You know it is.”

“I do,” he says, sliding my tank top up so that my breasts are exposed and my face is covered. I suck in a breath, then start when I feel his tongue on my nipple.

“Here’s how I know it, too,” he says, then grazes his teeth over my breast. “Your puckered nipple. This hard little pebble.” He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks, a tremor runs through me with the force of an orgasm.

“Tell me you liked that,” he says, as one of his hands slides down my ribs, over the curve of my waist, and then over the jersey material of my shorts. He teases the tip of his finger along the hem of the shorts that grazes my inner thigh. I’m not wearing underwear, and the shorts weren’t designed for modesty. And the gentle brush of his skin in such a sensitive area is firing every sense in my body.

“I bet your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re biting your tongue to keep from begging me. You want to beg me to touch you, to slide my fingers deep inside you. But you’re fighting it. Not wanting to give me the satisfaction.”

He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth. “I’ll tell you a secret, baby. I’m already satisfied just knowing how wet you are for me.” He moves his finger as he speaks, sliding it back and forth along my slit, but never penetrating. I don’t want him to know how much he’s making me burn, but I can’t help myself. I move my hips, gyrating in demand, and then I actually whimper.

“Christ, Ellie, do you know how sexy that sounds? How hard you’re making me?”

His voice is raw, and I can imagine the lines of his face. The heat in his eyes. I can’t actually see him, but that’s okay. I like this. Being on display for him. Being a plaything for him. Letting him take control and knowing that I’m reaping the benefit.

His hand slides down the outside of my thigh until he’s cupping me behind the knee. “Should I lift your leg like this and hook it around my waist? Pull your shorts aside so I can see that sweet pussy?”