Page 93 of Savage Saint

“Such a greedy little thing.”

“You started it.”

“I did.” Before she can continue arguing, I hook her legs around my waist, tighten my hold on her, and dismount the bike.

“Santos!”

“Save your energy, Pocket Doc.”

She grumbles something under her breath but lays her head on my shoulder, her nails absentmindedly playing with the back of my head. Not scratching, just running them across the area in a lazy pattern. No words are exchanged between us. None are needed as I head up the stairs and straight into my bathroom, setting her down on the countertop.

The shower is warm and ready in seconds; I strip her out of my shirt and help her inside, almost following when she moans. The water slides down her curves, and she tips her head back, putting on a private show for me.

Her eyes close as the water slides down her face, then travels lower, over her shoulders and chest. She exhales slowly, the tension leaving her body inch by inch while wet curls cling to her neck and back.

Beautifully exhausted.

I lean against the counter and watch her.

Genesis opens one eye and tilts her face in my direction. “You’re staring.”

“I know.”

“That’s creepy.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Says you.” Her lips twitch, but she fights back a grin. Even well fucked, she still has enough energy to give me shit.

Trouble. Pulling my phone out of my front pocket, I dial prospect Cano without taking my eyes off her. He answers on the second ring.

“Presidente?”

“I’ll need a large order from the pica pollo spot. Get the usual, include two desserts.”

“Same sides?”

“Get tostones, fries, salad, and fried cheese along with the chicken. Pick her up a couple of sodas from the clubhouse. I’ll take a beer.”

“Got it. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“Make it an hour. Exactly one hour.” I hang up and toss my cell onto the counter. Genesis watches through the glass, her brow raised. “What? Want something different?”

“No. But two desserts?”

“Covering my bases.”

“That sounds thoughtful, Saint. People might start confusing you with one.”

“So much sass.”

“You like it.”

Fuck, I do. Not that I say it. Instead, I push off the counter and drop my pants, leaving them in a heap in front of the vanity before stepping inside. Steam wraps around us instantly; I realize she’s lathering herself with my body wash, and not the unscented one I keep for when I have a headache. She likes smelling like me.

Genesis turns beneath the spray, her back to my chest, and presses against me. No more teasing or smart remarks, just warm, damp skin beneath my fingers as I massage what’s left of the lather across her chest, tugging on her nipples between each pass.

They’re hard. A little swollen. Perfect.