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“Just trust me,?????.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I savor the way the nickname rolls from his tongue. I can almost forget the way it sounded when Popov spoke it.
“I may have to do some things you won’t like.”
“Like what?” My heart begins to race.
“I just need you to trust me,” he repeats, squeezing my nape softly.
With a hesitant touch, I place my hand over his, threading our fingers together. When he doesn’t shy away, I sigh in relief. “Okay. I trust you.”
We stay this way, both needing a moment to center and prepare ourselves for what’s ahead. “Go shower. I’ll take this bullet out.”
The mention of his injury has me pulling away, attempting to tend to his wound. But Saint presses his hand over mine, right over the bullet hole, and simply stares at me. Who knew a look could convey a thousand words?
On instinct, my gaze drops to his lips. I want to kiss him. So badly. I want to stop feeling this constant fear and just lose myself in something that isn’t swathed in darkness and gloom. But Saint releases me, putting an end to that train of thoughts.
“I wasn’t lying when I said it’s just a flesh wound. I can manage.”
With a deep sigh, I know there is no point in pressing because he’s made up his mind.
He goes on the hunt for a first-aid kit while I decide the thought of taking a real shower after all this time is too incredible to pass up. Without hesitation, I slip the green dress over my head and reach around my back to unhook my bra.
When it falls to the floor, I slip my thumbs into the waistband of my underwear but pause when I realize Saint is watching me. He’s found a first-aid kit, but his bullet wound seems the least of his worries as he stands unmoving, focusing his animated eyes on my body.
My nipples instantly pearl, and my breasts tighten.
He places the kit on the counter, then walks over to me at a languid pace as his gaze peruses every inch of my skin. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to touch you again.” He places his palm against the side of my neck, cupping it gently. “And it kills me inside.”
I’m too afraid to move because if I do, I will smash my lips to his and beg he consume me while we have the chance.
“I want you,?????.” He slides his hand down my throat and it comes to rest on my chest over my heart.
My knees buckle, and my sex clenches. His overwhelming honesty leaves me at a loss for words.
“I haven’t wanted anything more in my life. But no matter how much I want you.”There’s always a but.“I won’t drag you into this mess. I will get you out of here. I promise.”
He can feel the thrashing of my heart under his palm. “What about you?” I’m not stupid. The likelihood of us both getting out of this unscathed seems impossible.
He smirks something wicked, causing my chest to heave as I’m suddenly short of breath. “You let me worry about me.”
“Saint…” But all conversation ends when he leans forward and suckles over my thundering pulse.
“I want to mark you. Like a fucking caveman, I want to rub my scent all over you.”
My eyes roll to the back of my head because him rubbing me anywhere sounds like a brilliant idea. He’s doing this to distract me, and it almost works.
“You have a gun. You’re a good shot.”
He hums against the column of my throat, sending an electrical current all the way to my toes. “Too much is at stake.”
“What could possibly mean more to you than your life? Your freedom?” I question, refusing to surrender to the glide of his lips.
Saint kisses downward, licking a path from my neck to the top of my breasts. I arch into him, looping my fingers through his mussed hair and moaning softly. When he takes a nipple into his mouth, I see stars. But I persevere.
“Tell me.”
He circles my areola, sucking my breast with a desperate hunger.
