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“You tell me what that means, and I will,” I counter, ignoring the way my skin tingles with his touch. Being faced away from him makes it easier for me to fight him. But when he presses his warm, supple lips to the side of my neck, my fight soon dies with a low moan.
I grow limp, not because his kiss feels so good, but because I’m astounded by his actions. “Kneel,” he repeats, hovering over my racing pulse. When he bites over it, I whimper and buckle, which allows Saint to force me to my knees with ease.
My body is hypersensitive. I await his next move.
With a slow pace, he stands in front of me. My breathless pants are indicative of how I’m feeling, and when Saint sweeps a strand of hair from my cheek, his fingers lingering, they only grow more profound.
“I should punish you,” he declares, dangerously low.
“You being here is punishment enough.” My words may seem big and strong, but I’m trembling.
A hoarse laugh escapes him.
He stands still while I concentrate on not squirming. I feel like a bug under a microscope. My eyes focus on the floor as I’m afraid to see what his gaze reflects. He cups my chin, coaxing me to look at him.
I do.
I arch my head back, locking eyes with him. He is feral, the chartreuse fire burning me alive. “You like when I punish you, don’t you?”
My flushed cheeks speak volumes.
“What about when I slapped that perfect ass of yours? Did you like that?” He drags his thumb over my lower lip, focusing on our connection. “Or how about when your needy pussy gripped me so tight, I thought I was going to explode? I know you liked that. Your breathless moans still haunt my dreams.”
The line between pleasure and pain once again begins to fade.
He gently parts my mouth with his thumb and strokes just inside my bottom lip, fixated on what he’s doing to me. I try to remain impassive, but my efforts are laughable. He sighs before he removes his thumb and slides his palm down my chest. When he splays it over my pounding heart, I gasp.
The gesture is almost tender.
He seems hypnotized by my rising breasts, and when he cups my right one, he hums low. “You tell me you don’t belong to anyone, but you’re wrong, ah???. You belong to me,” he whispers, an arrogant grin tugging at his lips. “And you hate yourself for it.”
I refuse to allow my tears to fall because this is just another torture technique. He wants to break me emotionally. Psychologically. Physically. And when he rubs his thumb over my erect nipple, he knows he’s slowly worming his way into my soul.
“But don’t,” he continues, kneading my breast as he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “Because I hate myself, too.” When he lets me go, I cry out in desperation or relief. I don’t know. “I hate that you’re able to stir this…this hunger in me. You defy me, and I allow it because I like it. I like the control I have over you because I know how”—he pauses, inhaling deeply—“wet it makes you. How your body begs for a release…because of me.”
I bite my lip, needing to stifle my moan as my arousal coats my underwear.
Maybe I am a whore. Just like my mom said I was because what Saint says is…true.
He gently places his hand on the front of my shoulder and pushes, hinting he wants me to lie down. God strike me down—I do.
I look up at him, my winded breaths leaving me lightheaded. He remains poised and in total control. “These hands”—he holds up both palms—“have done some unspeakable things. But when I touch you…I forget about all the horrible things I’ve done. You should fear me, but you don’t. I want you to,” he says, lowering himself onto me slowly.
He places his hands on either side of me and crawls up my body. My arms are rigid by my side because I don’t know what to do. His heavy weight crushes me, yet we’re still not close enough. He nuzzles under my ear before inhaling deeply along my throat. When he comes to the dip between my collarbones, he gazes up at me, savage and unrestrained.
“Fear always tastes sweeter,” he reveals, closing his eyes as if savoring a sweetness. “But I bet your taste is unlike”—the tip of his pink tongue darts out to wet his lips—“anything else.” When he reopens his eyes, I ignite in a way I never have before. “Do you taste as sweet as you look?”
I whimper, afraid…afraid of my response to him. My body tightens, and my sex clenches. I can’t believe I am yielding to him yet again. His scent, his warmth, and the touch of his skin leave me with a heady, sinking feeling, and I am helpless to fight it.
He hovers over me, the moment charged, but my good sense shines when I remember him making me feel like nothing at all. His attention shifts to my swelling breasts, which are mere inches from his face. It’s a rookie move on his behalf.
With lightning-quick speed, I lunge for my knife, and in one smooth motion, I flick it open and jab the pointed blade against the skin on the side of Saint’s neck. His eyes widen as I’ve caught him off guard.
Kudos to me.
My hand trembles, but I pin him with a glower. “I belong to no one,” I repeat even though it’s a lie because right now, I want to let go and surrender to him.
“I’m proud of you, ah???. Not many can say they’ve caught me unaware and lived to tell the tale. It’s my fault for not being more careful. So the question is, what are you going to do now?” He doesn’t seem frightened that he has a blade pressed to his throat.
