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“Don’t test me. I’ll use it. I swear I will,” I cry, digging in a fraction. The pliability of his flesh exposes how easily I could press a little deeper and draw blood.
“I don’t doubt that for a second,” he says, suspended over me calmly. “After what I’ve done to you, I deserve it. So, come on. Do it.”
“What?”I gasp, the shake to my hand escalating.
“Do it,” he repeats. When I freeze, he leans into the knife, causing a trickle of blood to seep from the small cut I’ve made. I attempt to pull back, horrified, but his hand shoots out and clutches tightly over mine. He forces my hand forward, cutting deeper into his flesh.
“No!” I cry, recoiling, but his grip is firm.
“Do me a favor and end my miserable life. At least I’ll die by the hand of someone I respect.”
“Saint, no!” I exclaim, my stomach turning when he forces me to sink the tip of the knife deeper into his neck. But it falls on deaf ears. It cuts his skin like a hot knife through butter. I scream, bile rising because the blood begins to trickle faster.
“Ah???, this ensures your safety. With me dead, I won’t be forced to hand you over to the man I despise most in this world. The man who destroyed my life. The man who made me into the monster I am today,” he acknowledges with a bittersweet tone. “Nothing means anything to me anymore. I’m dead inside.”
His admission and seeing him bleed have something in me relinquishing, and I whisper, “You’re r-right. I do…” We’re caught in a deadlock. It takes my breath away. And so does my confession because it changes everything. “I do…belong to you. And I hate it. So I can’t hurt you. No matter how badly I want to, I can’t, and that makes me pathetic. A coward. No wonder Drew chose me. I am a fucking weakling.”
Tears of anger sting because all along, I’ve blamed Saint for my situation. But, in reality, it’s my own fault for not seeing through Drew’s lies sooner. I never should have married a stranger I barely knew, but I was desperately chasing my happily ever after and ignored the signs.
I should have known someone like me doesn’t deserve a fairy-tale ending, no matter how badly I wanted it. No matter what I’ve accomplished, deep down, I’m still that young girl pinned beneath Kenny, trying to break free.
“No, ah???,” Saint says, snapping me from the darkness. His sentiment touches me in a way I could never imagine. “That makes you human.”
It happens in the blink of an eye.
Saint releases his grip on me, and I cry out in relief, my arm growing limp. He seizes the knife and tosses it across the hut. I don’t have a chance to ask if he’s all right because he’s on me, pressing kisses down my throat, over my breasts, and down along my stomach.
This is happening so quickly, I don’t have time to think. But when he lifts the hem of my tank and circles my navel with his tongue, I forget about everything and just feel. His heavy stubble is soft against my skin, and I arch backward, parting my legs to accommodate him.
This is wrong, so very wrong, but I quash down my good sense and lose myself in his touch. His fingers are frantic as they unsnap the top button of my shorts, then unfasten the zipper. When he yanks my shorts down and grips the top of my underwear to pull them down too, what he’s about to do has me shutting my legs quickly.
His arm snaps out as he holds my upper thigh in place. “Open your legs, ah???.”
My cheeks blister. “I, it’s okay, you don’t have to.” I stumble over my words because I’m embarrassed.
He lifts his head unhurriedly from between my legs. His long hair hangs mussed around his face, his lips red and succulent. He is a commanding beast, and the sight has everything tingling. “I know I don’thaveto. I want to.”
When he tugs at my underwear again, I push lightly at the front of his shoulder. He peers down at my hand, one brow raised higher than the other. “I don’t like that,” I confess softly, a complete buzzkill.
“Don’t like what?”
Cringing, I’d rather pull out my fingernails than tell him, but my self-respect is long gone. Taking a breath, I avert my eyes and admit, “Oral sex. I don’t like it.” I never have, and being stranded on an island without a shower and proper toiletries has me disliking it even more.
When he’s silent, I risk a glance his way. He seems to be mulling over my revelation.
“Don’t take it personally,” I quickly add, not wanting to ruin the moment. “It’s just, in the past, I haven’t enjoyed it. The guys who were down there made me feel like they were trying to eat me alive.”
I’m expecting him to respect my wishes, but this is Saint we’re talking about. “Oh, I promise, you’ll enjoy it this time.”
Before I can protest, he’s sliding my shorts down my legs and tossing them aside. He sinks back on his heels, examining every inch of my body. He reaches forward and slowly removes my underwear. Even though I have an overpowering urge to cover my modesty, I allow him to strip me because it’s clear this is happening.
Every part of me blushes as he runs a hand over his mouth, his eyes fixed on my sex. I really wish I had running water as the dip in the pond today barely allowed me to wash as well as I wanted. “I—”
But my objection never sees the light of day because he leans down and kisses the inside of my ankle. I’m highly strung, but I try my best to relax when he begins to kiss his way up my calf, gently spreading my legs apart as his lips slither up my inner thigh.
He takes his time, using his mouth and tongue, but when he edges toward my sex, I clam up. His hands are either side of my hips, stroking softly. I tense, expecting a tongue to prod my heat, but instead, he settles between my thighs, using the tip of his tongue to draw what feels like the alphabet up and down my leg.
This is different and new, and goddamn, when he squeezes my hip and sweeps his tongue from my knee to inches from my sex, I groan. He’s teasing me, and I like it. I know he doesn’t like to be touched, so I clench my fists by my sides, squashing down the urge to thread my fingers through his long hair.
