Page 88 of Savage Saint

Unmistakable. Trouble. I want him.

It’s growing between us with each movement, and I find myself hiding the heat across my cheeks beneath the excuse of exertion. Pretend the whimper that escapes every time his fingers dig into my hips, or he breathes out my name in that deep, velvet tone, has everything to do with my failures to break his hold and nothing to do with the way my pussy clenches around nothing.

I’m a liar, while he’s an unmovable statue.

Not even the sinking of my teeth into his bicep earns me more than a grunt.

Eventually, when he’s done amusing himself, Santos releases me. At this point, I’m ready to lie on the mat and take a nap. Instead, though, I bend forward with my hands braced on my thighs, trying to catch my breath while he jumps down and stalks across the room to a fridge.

Whatever he grabs, I don’t care. Don’t give a flying one that he has a clear view of my sweat-soaked tits encased in the sports bra, especially when he towers over me, his hand holding a bottle of water toward me.

“Slow sips.”

“Thanks,” I say, righting myself before taking the uncapped drink. The water is cold, and a little drips from the top to my chest—his eyes darken. He follows the few drops while I take a few deep sips.

Then his gaze moves back to my:

Lips.

Eyes.

Back to my chest.

A few times, they run the full expanse of my body, but I don’t call him out on it.

“How did I do?”

“Better than expected.”

“Careful, Presidente. That sounded like a compliment.” It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that his right hand clenches when I address him by his title. Interesting. Maybe I’m coming down from the tumultuous emotions this lesson came with, but the gym feels electric.

I’ve gone from nervous to fearful to proud to playful and now completely aware of every solid inch of this man. And more heady than that, he’s just as aware of me.

I see it. Feel it.

“You should be careful, Genesis.” A clear warning. The space between us feels charged.

“Or what?”

At the clear challenge, his eyes narrow. He looks like a predator.

I take two steps back, my next sip slow. “Think I can take you down yet?”

“No.” Flat and rude, he slowly shakes his head.

“Want to test that?”

“Behave, Pocket Doc.”

“Loser buys dinner tonight,” I sing-song, but he just looks at me. Doesn’t move a single muscle, looking lax while I’m still feeling the rush after a workout. Because this has probably been the most intense hour of my life, and I’m an ER nurse.

With his size, I have limited options to take him down, so I aim for his legs. I rush in low, hook one foot behind his ankle, and twist with everything I have…

He barely stumbles. Instead, I find myself lifted off my feet and stared at, a hair’s breadth between his lips and mine.

“That was cute.”

“You’re an ass.” My insult only amuses him. Then, before I can try again, he shifts his grip, deliberately letting himself stumble. I let out a surprised gasp and hold on tight, my fingers digging into his upper back as he takes us both down. At the last second, he turns and takes the brunt of the fall while I land on him. Pin him. “I’ll take this win.”