Page 120 of Savage Saint

I hold a hand up. “I know, but if anyone ruins it for her, they deal with me personally.”

Los is usually quiet, but he snorts. “Pretty sure we all figured that already, Presidente.”

“Good.”

Genesis looks over then, winking at me because she knows I’m watching.

Her smile gets bigger, too.

Every smile. Every laugh. Every irritating eye roll she throws my way for the rest of our lives.

Mine to protect. Mine to keep.

Always.

EPILOGUE #2

SANTOS

“Quiet, Bebe. Your father doesn’t need to hear his little girl coming on my cock.” At my words, Genesis tightens around me, a full-body shiver rushing through her. “That’s it, my beautiful wife. I want you walking down the aisle, dripping of me.”

“Papi, I’m…Dios,” she moans, one hand gripping the edge of the vanity I’m fucking her on. We’re inside her dressing room next to the resort’s private gardens, our wedding guests already waiting on us, but I could give a fuck.

Instead of the planned family reunion, the moment my mother introduced Genesis’s mother to my godmother, everything changed. The three made this the main event: stress-free for my Pocket-Doc, only sending her text messages for confirmation on everything from colors to the flowers and the location.

The resort had to be booked out completely. No outside guests allowed on the premises, and everything is being handled by a local business—owners more than willing to bend over backwards to accommodate the two families, the club included. Those from my chapter, and the Royal Bastards who knew my father from our time in Louisiana, came to witness.

Jameson also sent a generous gift.

Someone who knows someone who talks too fucking much.

“Oh, que rico.” My bride shifts the skirt of her dress, creating a small rip. She spares it no more than a glance, gyrating her hips to meet my thrust. “Don’t worry. I got an extra one…it’s identical.”

She’s breathless. A little flushed. Mine.

“Fuck, you’re perfect.” My hands leave her hip, grabbing the torn edge of her dress, and rip the satin bodice upward until her breasts are exposed and the spaghetti strings slip off her shoulders. Her bra is strapless, pretty and white against her golden skin, but in my way.

I yank the cups down to just under her tits.

They’re bigger than a few months ago.

I smirk, lowering my head to take one tight nipple between my teeth, tongue flicking it before pulling in deep into my mouth. They’ve been extra sensitive lately. Immediately, a hot rush of wetness slips from the tight hole clenching around me, making a mess, and I want more. When we say I do this time, it won’t be me standing in front of a judge Jameson knows.

The man didn’t ask any questions, just signed the marriage license, and walked off with an envelope full of cash.

That one was for me, but today…this is for her.

The pretty white dress and flowers, our families—by blood and club—and everything she demanded of me a few months back when she turned my proposal down because she was already married. Dramatic, such a brat, and I wouldn’t trade one sarcastic, smart-mouthed bone in her body.

I love her just like this.

“Fuck, Santos.” She lets go of the vanity edge and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me close. Genesis likes it when my body covers hers. The same way I revel in owning her—tossing her over my shoulder like my pocket-sized doll.

Or Pocket Doc. The name has always fit her better.

Genesis is small, so fucking smart, and unapologetic about who she is.

It’s one of the first things I noticed about her; she does not break.