The Rise of Saint

by J, Bella

  “What? Like maybe you’re just afraid you won’t be good enough.” I inched my face closer to him. “Maybe that’s why you’d rather let your fingers do the dirty work for you.”

  His eyes flared with anger, blue orbs turning black with lust and rage all rolled into one moment of complete fucked-up-ness. His lips crashed into mine with such force it pushed my head painfully against the wall.

  There wasn’t time to think or to react other than to kiss him back. Our teeth clattered, our lips ravaged, and fire blazed in my belly.

  With rushed hands, he tore his tattered shirt from his chest, and I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel his flawless skin under my palms, admire his ripped muscles and roped abs with my fingertips. But he grabbed my wrists pinned them above my head with one hand and used the other to yank his pants down with violent tugs. I gasped for air but refused to stop. I didn’t care if I suffocated from his kiss or burst into flames from his touch. All I cared about was letting go, to accept the fact that maybe…maybe I was just as fucked-up as he was because all I wanted—no, desperately needed, was for Saint to fuck some sordid pleasure into me.

  With a rushed hand guided by a frenzy of ecstasy that had us both by the throats, he bunched the dress of my skirt around my waist. Already, I was squirming against him, my body ready and primed, on the verge of snapping in half. I was no longer the victim who had been wronged or the girl who had been kidnapped and taken halfway across the world. I was no longer the ten percent shares he wanted or the signature on a goddamn piece of paper. I was an eager participant, a willing slave to the witchcraft of his dark touch.

  He bit down on my bottom lip, and the taste of my own blood exploded in my mouth. But I didn’t care. It didn’t hurt. It just added fuel to the fire, the blaze that was seconds away from incinerating me.

  He stilled, staring at the blood on my lip, and his eyes flashed with a thirst for indulgence, every line on his face cast in shadows of debauchery. He leaned in and softly lapped the blood from my lips. My insides turned to liquid heat, and arousal coated the insides of my thighs.

  Rolling his hips into mine, his hardened length pressed against my aching core, and I couldn’t stop my desperate moan from slipping out. He echoed my moan with his own and once again crashed his mouth to mine. Taking. Claiming. Demanding.

  He let go of my wrists and grabbed my thighs with impatient fingers and forced them around his waist. My arms fell around his neck, and I inhaled deeply—his scent of power and sex, pure fucking adrenaline, oozing out of his pores.

  The head of his cock nudged against my entrance, and he nipped at my lip again, his hands firmly placed under my ass. “This is the part where I ask you if you’re sure.” He nudged my cheek with his nose, and I looked at him, nothing but twisted desires and sordid pleasures swimming in the sea of his eyes. “But I’m not the kind of man who asks.” The tip of his cock entered me, and I craned my neck as my lips parted. “I fucking take.”

  With one hard, unyielding thrust, he impaled me. Pain seared through my spine, and pleasure shot down to my core. Buried to the hilt, he gave me no time to adjust to him, to get accustomed to the feel of him stretching me to a point of pain. He reared back and plunged into me.

  “Is this what you want?” He bit out, his expression as hard as his grueling thrusts. “You want to get fucked? You want that sweet little cunt ruined?”

  I couldn’t hold on. I couldn’t even breathe, too consumed and possessed with a kind of pleasure I had never felt before. Saint had subjugated my entire body, and I was now completely at his mercy.

  My arms fell from around his neck, and he let go of my ass, pinning me with his body, and nailed my hands to the wall above my head. “I swear to fucking God,” he growled, “you better keep those legs up.”

  I whimpered when his cock slipped out of me, my body instantly hating the empty feeling. But Saint lunged back in, hard and deep. He became less frenzied, and when I opened my eyes, I saw the strain in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched. Perspiration beaded on his forehead, and he bit his lip, his expression something between pained and possessed. God, I loved it. I loved watching him fight for control because that meant I made him want to lose it.

  Every muscle in his arms pulled taut as he kept my hands pinned above my head. Drops of sweat trickled down the side of his neck, pooling in the hollow of his shoulders, olive skin glistening with exertion.

  I closed my eyes. The pleasure he rammed into me, one unfrenzied yet powerful jab at a time, was catapulting me to the peak of oblivion.

  “You fucking look at me when you come.” He spat out each word as if it burned the tip of his tongue. “You wanted to get fucked, now you’ll show me what you look like when you goddamn get what you want.” His voice carried the dark timbre of domination, and I opened my eyes, staring straight into his. There was no warning, no build-up to a crescendo. Saint merely tightened his hold around my wrists, pulled back until only the head of his cock was at my entrance, and like rolling thunder, he pummeled back in, and I cried out. My orgasm slammed against my core, ricocheting up my body, crashing against every bone until I could no longer contain it and the echo of pleasure ripped from my screams.

  Saint continued his ruthless onslaught, an unforgiving, unapologetic barrage of a man who—as he said—simply took what he wanted. And I gave it…willingly.

  I kept my eyes open the entire time, and he kept his gaze locked on mine. His nostrils flared as he continued to bite his bottom lip, the hard tenor of his grunts filling the space between us.

  Pleasure continued to linger in my bones. It was like sex after sex, the mind-shattering, body-breaking ecstasy reignited with his every thrust.

  A groan ripped from his throat in a tenor that sounded like pain and pleasure rolled into one. He stilled, and I felt his cock jerk inside me, filling me to the brim with his climax, and all the while he didn’t even blink as he stared at me. Something ominous flashed in his eyes, and for a moment, it scared me. I didn’t know what to expect or what he’d do next, my insides coiled tight with the remnants of my orgasm and the fear his glare inflicted.

  A few moments of deafening silence, and then it happened. Saint slammed the wind right out of me…by kissing me as if it would mean death if he didn’t.

  22

  Saint

  Emotions slammed into me as I came inside her. It made a giant motherfucking crack in the walls that protected me from the kind of feelings that could weaken a man, lower his defenses and give him the kind of vulnerabilities a man like me couldn’t afford. It trickled down my spine like so many of her tears had trickled down her cheeks because of me. It crushed my shoulders with its weight, like I had crushed her entire existence with my own vendetta, pulling her into a world she didn’t want to be in. Just like I felt something I didn’t want to feel. Something that made me look at her with more than indifference. Something that made me see the strength in her eyes, the beauty in her soul that dazzled even through pain and tears. It never wavered, and it was sucking me in. Drawing me to her like a demon to a sinner.

  Instead of pulling out of her to sever the connection that surged between us, I slammed my lips against hers, starved out of my mind for her taste. As if fucking her against the wall like a savage wasn’t enough, I wanted more. I wanted to consume her every way possible, ruin her so no one else could ever have her after me.

  I allowed my tongue to delve deep in search of hers, lapped and explored as if her mouth was a treasure of hidden riches I had yet to find. There were so many things that could be revealed by a simple kiss—and I wanted to know all of it. I wanted to know her thoughts, her secrets, hunt for them in every corner of her mouth.

  The whimpers that slipped from her lips turned into a thunderstorm that plundered through my soul, and I tightened my hold on her wrists as I squeezed her harder between my body and the wall. It was unnerving, the way I wanted to keep kissing her, how I didn’t want to let go of her. The longer I felt and tasted her, the more I wanted.

>   She’s making you weak.

  I surrender.

  You’re losing sight of what matters.

  Am I?

  She’ll consume you.

  I don’t care.

  Stop!

  I tore my lips from hers and pulled back. She slid down the wall and stumbled to her feet.

  Her eyes cut to mine in surprise, and she touched her cut lip. It reminded me of what her blood tasted like on my tongue. Pure ecstasy. It was as if I had tasted her soul—pure and unsullied. Mine. But only for six months. After that, she’d leave, go back to her own life. And, as she so eloquently put it, forget I existed.

  The thought gnawed at my bones, angered me, thinking the day would come when she would walk away and wipe me from her life as if I were nothing but an unwanted pencil mark. A speck of dust on the soles of her feet.

  I hated it. But I hated that I cared more.

  I grabbed my pants from the floor and pulled them on while she remained unmoved by the wall. Knowing her, there were probably a thousand and one things she wanted to say to me, but for some reason, she chose to keep her mouth shut.

  Good.

  I spotted her white panties by the foot of the bed and picked them up.

  “Saint—” I tossed the panties at her, and she caught them before they could land on her face. “What the hell?”

  I grabbed a fresh shirt from my drawer. “Go take a shower.” I glanced at her wet thighs. “You reek of cum.”

  Hurt flashed in her eyes, and her cheeks went from a flushed pink to a pale white. But I refused to let myself feel even a sliver of remorse. I steeled myself against it, against feeling remorse, and stormed out, slamming the door behind me.

  Jesus, I was so fucking angry. At her. At me. At this entire fucking situation. Marrying her was the plan. Seducing her, fucking her, and treading on the edge with her was not.

  I was on my way up the stairs to the deck when I spotted James sitting by the bar, a brown envelope resting on the countertop.

  “What’s that?” I pulled the shirt over my head.

  “A copy of Francesco Torres’s will.”

  “I already have a copy of it.” I poured myself a drink and offered James one, but he shook his head.

  “It seems there was a newer draft we didn’t know about.”

  I almost choked on the mouthful of bourbon. “What?”

  “The Torres family lawyer was instructed to be discreet about it, to not reveal it until absolutely necessary.”

  “By who?”

  “Katarina Torres. Mila’s mother.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  James slid the brown envelope toward me. “You should read it.”

  I stared at him warily. James wasn’t one who could easily be read, but right now the man’s face was painted with worry lines.

  Placing my drink down on the table, I opened the envelope and pulled out the pieces of paper that suddenly felt like they weighed a ton.

  “The last paragraph.”

  I glanced at James then flipped through the pages. It took me twenty seconds to read the paragraph James was referring to. Twenty fucking seconds, and it tore the world from under my goddamn feet.

  Anger exploded and burst through the cries of shattered glass as I threw the crystal tumbler across the deck.

  I bit down on my lip, my jaw clenched, and fists balled. “This is going to ruin everything. Every-fucking-thing.”

  23

  Mila

  It had been days since Saint and I lost ourselves in one another. Days since I gave in to depraved desires I never knew I had. My body came to life under his touch, as if it no longer needed air. Just him, his kiss, and the way he felt inside me. But clearly the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  Days had passed since he spoke more than five words to me. Most of the time, he was behind closed doors in his study, and the only person allowed to go in and out was James. Even Elena seemed to get the cold shoulder from her nephew.

  I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me. That I didn’t lie awake at night secretly hoping he would come for me. Take me. Touch me. Kiss me.

  My body had become its own enemy, and flames were reignited every time I thought about how roughly Saint had taken me, how raw it was to be with him and fall apart by his hand. He was right that day on the plane. I’d had sex before, but I’d never been fucked. Not like that. And now that I knew how it felt like to have no inhibitions when it came to sex, experienced the freedom of letting your desires control you, it was all I wanted. All I thought about. Every day, more and more, I wanted him, my body aching to be consumed by him again. But his absence was a cruel reminder that I was nothing to him but a signature on a piece of paper.

  I glanced at James, who sat under the roof of the deck pretending to read some car magazine while he kept an eye on me. He was like a guard dog. When I moved, he moved. It was stupid, really. We were on a yacht. Where the fuck was I supposed to go?

  I put my sunglasses on and settled back into the recliner, doing what I’d been doing for the last couple of days. Soak up the sun and at least enjoy the Italian summer. I refused to sit in my room like a prisoner and let the walls smother me. When I asked Elena for a swimsuit, she had three bags of swimwear sent in from the mainland. The price tags on some of those were ridiculous, judging by the tiny amount of fabric they used to put it together. After wasting an hour of my life going through them all, I opted for a strapless black bikini. It wasn’t like I needed to grab anyone’s attention around here.

  I closed my eyes and tried to silence my thoughts when I heard the high-pitched noise of a Jet Ski engine growing louder and louder. It was only when the sound idled right by the yacht that I opened my eyes. Saint dived from the Jet Ski into the water and came up at the edge of the flybridge. He pulled himself out of the water, strong arms ripped and wet, his all-year-round tan glistening. He straightened and pulled a hand through his midnight hair as water continued to drip down his body. Jesus. It was like a scene from a goddamn Calvin Klein ad. With shredded abs, wet and tempting, every toned muscle on his body sun kissed and practically bathed in sin, I was thankful my eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. I’d already embarrassed myself enough when it came to him.

  Saint grabbed a lounge chair and placed it next to mine before settling on it. My pulse raced instantly, every inch of my skin caressed with his presence. God. I hated that he affected me simply by being near me.

  “Surely there has to be a less revealing swimsuit among the other fifteen Elena charged to my credit card.”

  I laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

  “Is there anything in that statement that makes you think otherwise?”

  “Yeah. The fact that you think you’re entitled to have an opinion over what I wear.”

  “You are my wife.”

  “Yet you’ve been ignoring me like I’m nothing.”

  He didn’t look at me and kept staring out in front of him as if he didn’t even hear me.

  “You know what? Screw this.” I got to my feet, about to walk away, when he reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me down on his lap, air rushing from my lungs with a huff.

  His body was cold and wet, yet flames surged and raged through my core the second I looked into his eyes.

  He bit his lip and stared at me like I had angered him. Like he was on the verge of losing control. Our gazes remained locked for what seemed like a small eternity, and I was aware of every breath he took—his chest rising and falling, the vein in his neck pulsing to the rhythm of his heart.

  “Why do you insist on challenging me, Mila?”

  “Why do you insist treating me like I’m not good enough for you?”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “What else am I supposed to think?”

  “You’re supposed to think nothing.” He bit out his words, and my heart hiccupped.

  I expected more cruel words to follow, but then the grip he had around my arm loosened, and his gaze fell to my n
aked shoulder. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, the sight reminding me of what he tasted like—a thousand sins dipped into a single fantasy.

  He dragged a finger up my arm, and a shudder wracked through me, my veins heated with desire coated with adrenaline. “You’re supposed to fear me, not challenge me.” His finger circled over the swell of my breast. “Your body is supposed to reject my touch, not welcome it.”

  “What makes you think my body welcomes your touch?”

  His dark brows arched. “Another challenge?”

  “Maybe.”

  He leaned his head to the side and traced his finger down across my nipple. Slow. Sensual. Seductive. It pebbled beneath his touch, and a part of me wanted to pull away, be angry at the fact that he had ignored me for days. But my body wouldn’t let me, loving and needing his touch too much.

  He drew a lazy circle around my nipple before moving down. “You walk around dressed to tease me, wearing something as flimsy as this bikini, fabric I can easily tear off so I can have my way with you. Have I not hurt you enough?” He let his finger linger on the naked flesh around my navel. “Have I not proven to you that I’m not a good man?”

  My breathing became labored, and I clenched my thighs when I felt his cock harden against my hip. Anticipation flared, a throbbing need between my legs desperate to be filled. It no longer felt as if days had passed. My body was as high as it was the day he fucked me against the goddamn wall.

  I shifted so his hard length pressed perfectly against my ass and watched as his eyes turned from man to hunter. Animal to predator. “Have I not proven to you that I’m stronger than you thought the day you took me?”

  “Strong, yet so naïve.”

  Abruptly, he forced his hand between my legs, cupping me hard, his expression fiercely primal. “I can smell your arousal, Mila. It clings to you, and it’s fucking tempting me. That is why I need to be careful with you.”