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With a hesitant touch, I slowly place my hands on his cheeks, pleading with him to look at me. He fights me, groaning, but he is no match, thanks to his drugged state.
“Saint, please don’t give up,” I whisper, sniffing back my tears. “I will get you out of here. I promise.”
He merely moans in response.
Brushing back his matted hair, I run my fingers over his full beard and cradle his cheek in my palm. “Where is the stubborn son of a bitch I’ve come to know? Fight!” My desperation shines. I need him to snap the fuck out of this.
I understand he’s broken, but I am too.
“Please, don’t leave me.” I press my lips to his forehead, to the tip of his nose, and lastly, to his mouth. I kiss him chastely because his lip is still cracked.
A small bubble of hope swells within me when a miracle happens—I feel him kiss me back.
I forget about the two men watching and pretend it’s just Saint and me. I gently thread my fingers through the long locks curling at his nape and deepen our connection. He groans softly.
To feel him this way, to have him in my arms is indescribable, and tears stream down my cheeks. When they slip into our parted lips, a pained sigh leaves Saint before he pulls away and rubs his nose against mine, reassuring me.
More tears soon follow.
He may be handcuffed and wounded, both physically and psychologically, but here he is, comforting me. My love for this man knows no bounds, and I will do anything, anything to make sure he leaves here.
Unable to stop myself, I wrap my arms around his nape and hug him tightly, burying my face into the side of his neck. He leans forward, accepting the comfort, accepting my touch. Our hearts beat in unison, finally reunited.
“Trust me, okay?” I whisper into his ear, nuzzling into him and savoring our closeness because I’ve craved it since the moment I lost him. Even though he doesn’t smell like him, my body hums at being pressed up against him this way.
He nods floppily in response. “Okay…?????.”
“Incredible.” Oscar’s voice ruins the mood. I’d almost forgotten he was here—almost. “That was awfully touching, but I’m still not convinced.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think,” I spit, spinning quickly over my shoulder to face him. I ensure to keep a hand wrapped around the back of Saint’s neck.
Oscar isn’t affected in the slightest by my insult. “You will. Ingrid.” With a flick of his head, he gestures for her to go to Saint.
I am about to ask what is happening, but when one of the men lets Saint go, only to grab me and drag me over to Oscar, it’s apparent that talk time is over.
Oscar wraps his arms around my middle to stop me from turning around and punching him in the face. I wiggle madly, but it’s useless. He has a strong hold. The man returns to Saint, who is struggling weakly to break free.
“Let, let her go,” he pants, words clearly painful for him to speak.
Oscar doesn’t do as he asks. Instead, he reveals why we’re really here. “Ingrid, on your knees.” When she is about to drop to her knees, facing him, he tsks her. “No, facing Saint.”
My stomach drops because I have no idea what’s about to happen.
Ingrid does as Oscar asks, not that she has a choice. She awaits further instruction.
“Do you think he is handsome?” Oscar questions her while I fight with all my might to break free.
“Yes, Oscar, very handsome,” she replies in a robotic tone, peering up at Saint.
“You have splendid taste. Now it’s your turn to touch him.”
Ingrid turns over her shoulder to look at Oscar, then at me. “Haven’t I made myself clear enough?” he mocks in a patronizing tone.
Ingrid’s lower lip trembles.
“Just in case you’ve misunderstood, I want you to take Saint’s cock and put it into your mouth. He won’t come for me, but maybe he’ll come for you.”
The walls close in on me, and I suddenly can’t get enough air.
