Saint: A Dark High School Romance (Angelview Academy Book 1)

by E. M. Snow

  There’s no way out except past them, so I decide to try and slip back into the bathroom and hide. Waiting it out might not be such a bad idea after all…

  Before I can open the bathroom door again, however, Saint’s gaze swings toward me. His eyes widen in disbelief as he stares at me, then they narrow with anger the next moment. Both his parents turn to stare at me, and I’m paralyzed, unable to move from my spot by the bathroom. His mother is tall, platinum blonde, and regal looking. She’s literally looking down her perfectly sculpted nose at me. His father’s eyes become slits as he studies me a little too intently.

  Before I can decide whether to slip back into the restroom and pretend this terrible encounter never happened, or dart past them as if I’m not bothered by the awkwardness, Saint storms toward me.

  Grabbing my arm, he hisses, “Come with me.” Then, he drags me down the hallway, past his parents, toward the entrance to the dining room.

  He shoves me inside the empty space and crowds me up against the nearest wall. His nostrils flare as he asks me in a soft, steady voice, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean?” I hiss. “I was just going to the bathroom—”

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” he insists in a growl.

  My breath catches, and I ball my hands into fists. “Seriously, Saint? Today? Can’t you just—”

  “No. You’re not supposed to be here, Mallory. At Parents’ Weekend.” His voice grows harsher, but I still don’t understand why he’s so upset.

  “Look, I’m sorry I interrupted whatever you were talking about with your parents, but I swear, it was an accident…”

  He slaps his palms against the wall on either side of my head. I gasp and shrink away from him, startled by the look in his eyes. Not just anger, but fear.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Saint, you’re scaring me. What—?”

  “Do you have any brains in that thick head of yours?” he demands. “Can’t you stay out of my fucking way for one fucking day? Just one?”

  Fury flares within me and I shove at his chest. Of course, he doesn’t budge, but it’s better than punching him right in his stupid face, though hardly as satisfying. My concern for him vanishes in an instant. I open my mouth, ready to lay into him, when a deep voice booms through the hall and stops me.

  “Son, what’s going on? You shouldn’t keep your mother waiting.”

  We turn to find his father standing in the dining hall doorway, glaring at us. His icy blue eyes are exactly like his son’s, as are his facial features and build. They’re both tall and broad, though Mr. Angelle is a little softer around the middle. His hair is also dark brown, not blond, with gray at his temples.

  “Dad, give me a minute,” Saint snaps.

  Mr. Angelle doesn’t appear to like Saint’s short tone. He prowls toward us, his expression growing darker with every step he takes. “Who is this?” he demands. “Another conquest, perhaps?”

  “Dad!”

  My eyes bounce between Saint and his dad, and I don’t know what I should say, if anything. I’m offended by Mr. Angelle’s assumptions, but I’m 99.9 percent certain I’d only make this tense situation worse if I said anything.

  Saint moves slightly so that he blocks me from his father’s view.

  “She’s not a fucking conquest. She’s nothing. Nobody. Not worth your time.”

  “Oh, is that so?” Mr. Angelle moves closer, grabs his son’s shoulder, and pushes him to the side. He studies me intently, his expression curious at first, but then changing into something disturbing.

  Something that makes my skin crawl.

  “She doesn’t look like nobody to me.” Mr. Angelle glances toward Saint, who’s fuming next to us, his rage wafting off him like poisonous fumes. “Miss? What is your name please?”

  “Mallory, Mr. Angelle. Mallory Elli—”

  “Her name doesn’t matter,” Saint hisses. “She’s just some girl I hooked up with once who’s gotten clingy.”

  Not only is that embarrassing to hear aloud, it stings that he’s so nonchalant about it.

  Mr. Angelle cocks a thick, dark brow. “Indeed? You seem to be rather eager to hide her from me. I apologize for my son’s rudeness, Mallory. He often doesn’t think before he speaks.”

  I nod, dumbfounded. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.”

  Saint shoots me a vicious look, and his eyes tell me to keep my mouth shut.

  “I don’t believe I recognize you from my son’s class. Are you new to Angelview this year?” Mr. Angelle has turned his entire focus onto me, ignoring his son completely.

  Saint’s gaze bores into me, but I get the sense that he’s no longer the alpha here.

  “Yes, sir. I just started this semester.”

  “And your family? Do I know your parents?”

  My heart thumps hard in my chest and I pluck at the skirt of my dress in agitation. I need to be careful here. I can’t let anything slip. Can’t give anything away.

  “I-I doubt it, sir,” I stammer. “My foster mom is an ER nurse in Georgia.”

  Mr. Angelle stares at me in silence for several moments.

  “I suppose you’re a scholarship student, aren’t you Mallory?”

  The way he’s speaking makes it seem like he’s repulsed by that fact.

  Gulping, I nod. “Yes, sir, I am.”

  “Ah.” His expression cools. “I have always found the Academy’s charity rather … generous.”

  It doesn’t sound like he thinks that’s a good thing.

  “Well, I’m grateful for the opportunity to be here, however it came about.”

  “Hmmm, I’m sure you are very proud of whatever brought you … here.” He directs his icy stare at his son when he says that last word, and it becomes clear to me that Saint doesn’t share just his good looks with his father. They share the same, shitty, entitled personality as well. I’m ready to get out of this situation and put as much distance between myself and the whole Angelle family.

  Plastering on a smile so sweet, I hope it gives them both cavities, I grind out, “I really should be getting back to the picnic. My foster mom is waiting for me.”

  Mr. Angelle returns my smile, and his is dripping with disdain. “A pleasure to meet you, Mallory. I hope we see each other again soon.”

  “Yeah, me too,” I lie through my teeth. Then, turning to Saint, I give him a curt nod. “See you.”

  His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t respond. He just glowers at me as I push past him to hurry from the dining hall and away from his toxic presence.

  That night, I lay in bed, flipping through the pictures I took on my phone of the day. Carley’s already on her way back to Georgia, and I miss her so much, my heart aches. We spent the rest of the day with Loni and Mr. James, and it became more and more obvious that he and Carley were into each other. I wonder if he’ll call her, or if they’ll try to see each other again?

  I hope so. She seemed to really like him.

  Sighing, I let my phone drop to the bed and stare up at the ceiling. In the quiet, away from Carley and my friends, my mind can’t help but wander back to that strange encounter with Saint and his father. Mr. Angelle was an even bigger asshole than his son, but there was something about him that makes me uneasy, even now. Something dangerous. The way he was looking at me—as if he were dissecting me bit by bit—still makes me shudder, even though hours have passed.

  I almost feel sorry for Saint. Of course, he grew up to be a pompous shithead. The asshole apple doesn’t fall far from the asshole tree.

  Forcing the events of the day from my brain, I sit up and reach for the book resting on my nightstand, thinking I’ll read a little before I go to sleep. Before my fingers even brush the cover, though, there’s a heavy knock on my door.

  I go completely still with surprise. It’s nearly midnight. Who could be bothering me this late at night?

  A second knock sounds, more insistent than the first. Grumbling under my breath, I slide out
of bed and pad my way to the door. Twisting the knob, I yank it open, readying to chew out whoever is on the other side, but my words die on my tongue as shock pulses through me.

  Saint is standing at my threshold, staring down at me.

  “What are you doing here, Saint?”

  He points a finger at me and staggers toward me a couple steps. “I came to ask you something.”

  His words are slurred and his breath smells like whiskey, even though he’s tried to mask it with his usual cinnamon gum. He’s obviously drunk, and even wobbles slightly as he stands before me. I close my eyes and pray for patience.

  “It’s late and you’re wrecked. Go to your own room and go to bed.” I move to shut my door in his face, but he shoves his hand against it to keep it open.

  “No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere until I fucking ask you my question.”

  I purse my lips, annoyed, but I know he’s stubborn and angry enough that he’ll never give me any peace until I let him ask his stupid question.

  “Fine,” I sigh, reaching out to grab his arm. “But come inside before you wake up the whole floor.”

  “Fuck your floor,” he snaps.

  “Just shut up and come in,” I snap right back, yanking him into my room. He stumbles slightly but catches himself before he falls.

  Standing up straight, he gazes around, taking in my personal space.

  “Fuck, I forgot how shitty Teague Hall really is.”

  My hands clench at my sides. Entitled, spoiled, ungrateful prick…

  He slowly turns to face me. His expression is intent, his blue eyes darkened by alcohol and something else I can’t quite put my finger on. “Will you please leave?”

  I blink at him, certain I’ve misheard. Did he just say please?

  “This is my room, Saint, I—”

  “No, idiot. Not this room. This school.”

  Oh. I suppose that should’ve been obvious.

  “I’ve told you before, I’m not going anywhere.” I fold my arms over my chest and boldly meet his gaze.

  He stalks toward me. “Mallory … please. I’m asking you nicely.”

  “And I’m telling you no nicely,” I say in the fakest, sweetest voice I’ve ever heard. “I don’t care if you slap a please before the order. I’m not leaving Angelview, end of story.”

  He stares down at me for several moments, eyes gleaming with frustration, then his eyelids shut, and he releases a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  It’s the most shocking thing he’s ever said to me.

  “Wh-what does that even mean?” I breathe, and his eyes open. I shiver because I can’t help but feel like he’s peeling me down, layer by layer, until he can see into my very soul. “Saint…”

  “If you don’t go,” he growls, “then I don’t think I can fucking stay away from you anymore.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  My words die in my throat when he cups the back of my head and slams his lips down onto mine in a searing, angry kiss.

  20

  I’d forgotten how good he tastes. Even flavored with booze and pot, his lips are delicious, and I’m helpless to do anything but melt for him. He’s like a drug. I know that he’s so, so bad for me, but it just feels so, so good to indulge.

  To escape.

  His fingers tangled in my hair aren’t gentle as he angles my head so he can force his tongue deeper into my mouth. My back hits the door, and his body presses flush to mine. I can feel his hardening cock against my belly between the barrier of my t-shirt and his jeans. He didn’t let me see it last time.

  I’m desperate to rectify that now.

  This is wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. A mistake I’ll probably regret in the morning, but I can’t stop my hands from sliding down his hard torso. I reach his jeans and yank on the button the same time I pull down his zipper. He doesn’t stop me this time, which I take as permission to keep going. Slipping my hand inside, I push past his boxer-briefs and wrap my fingers around his length.

  He’s big and hot, and so very hard.

  He snarls into my mouth as I begin to stroke him.

  His free hand cups my breast over my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra, and that fact appears to please him as he kneads my flesh and pinches at my nipple until it’s stiff and poking at the material covering it. I want my clothes off so I can feel his hands on my bare skin.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  I’ve never reacted to a guy like this. I’ve never been so needy and frantic before. Something about Saint brings out my darkest instincts and throws my inhibitions to the wind. Is it because I hate him as much as I want him?

  Do I hate him? Really?

  Yes, of course I fucking do. He’s made my life miserable, which only makes what we’re doing that much more insane. I should be pushing him off and screaming in his face, not jacking his dick while he palms my tits.

  But I think the both of us are just too fucked up to know the difference between right and wrong. We just know what feels good, and what doesn’t.

  And this feels amazing.

  He’s thrusting into my hand and I tighten my grip. He grunts, bites my lip, then grabs my wrist to yank my hand away from him. I try to say something in protest, but he doesn’t stop kissing me, even as his hands grip my ass and he lifts me off my feet. He carries me across my room toward the bed. Breaking our kiss, he tosses me onto the mattress like I weigh nothing. I bounce and let out a squeak of surprise as I sprawl out on my back.

  Saint stands at the edge of the bed. He holds my gaze as, without a word, he reaches up and grabs hold of my pajama shorts and panties. Yanking them down my legs, he tosses both articles of clothing over his shoulder to land somewhere on the floor behind him. My pussy tingles as he pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing every beautiful inch of his chiseled torso. As he stands before me shirtless, with his hard cock protruding from the opening of his jeans, I just want to run my tongue along the ridges of his abs, but before I can make a move toward him, he grabs my ankles and pushes my legs up and apart.

  I’m so open and exposed, I feel the first tingling of embarrassment heat my cheeks.

  “Saint…” I murmur, but he ignores me. His eyes are locked on my vulnerable flesh, like a starving man set before a banquet.

  He lets go of one of my ankles so he can run a finger through my folds.

  “You’ve got one of the prettiest pussies I’ve ever seen, Mal,” he rumbles, turning me to putty with the way he growls my name. I’m so distracted by his words and the heat in his voice, the slap takes me by complete surprise. It isn’t hard, and it doesn’t hurt, but no one’s ever done that to me before. He does it again, and again, light pats against my clit that make me squirm. I’m getting so wet from this, it stuns me.

  “You like when I do that, little masochist?”

  I can only nod and moan as pleasure streaks through me.

  No shit, I like when he does that. When he calls me that.

  He smirks, then shoves two fingers inside me without warning. I cry out in surprise and a little bit of pain at the burn of his sudden invasion. He bends his head and takes my clit between his lips as he pumps his fingers in and out of me, and soon, the burn melts away into toe-curling pleasure.

  “Fuck … Saint! Shit, I…” I’m rambling as he turns my brain into mush. He’s merciless, hurling me into a dark paradise with his hand and mouth, and I can do nothing but lay back and take it.

  I claw at the bedsheets and tug at his blond hair, trying to get a grip on everything he’s making me feel, but it’s a lost cause. He’s pushing me to my peak, his tongue, teeth, and fingers shoving me over the edge as I scream with my release. My orgasm shatters me, and I jerk and spasm uncontrollably as he laps up my juices.

  When I go limp on the bed, he raises his head, looking so damn smug, I want to slap him. I just don’t have the strength.

  He digs into his back pocket and pulls out a condom. I arch a brow.<
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  “I see we’ve come prepared,” I say in a hoarse voice.

  His shoulders flex, then relax, as he winks. “I’m basically a goddamn boy scout.”

  “A little presumptuous of you.”

  His grin is wicked. “Did you want to fuck bare?”

  I bite my lip as the thought sends me to a place I hate to go, hate to remember, but I shake my head. “I’m not an idiot. No condom, no go.” I don’t tell him I’m on the shot because I don’t want to give him a reason to launch into a useless argument.

  He goes to rip open the foil packet, but I sit up, struck by a sudden thought.

  “Hold on, not yet.”

  Saint pauses and stares at me with a furrowed brow. “What is it?” he asks, his voice hard.

  Holding his gaze, I push myself closer to him until my ass is right on the mattress’ edge. I reach out and hook my fingers through the belt loops of his pants, then tug him closer. Realization lights up his eyes, and his expression turns savage and hungry.

  Wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock, I gaze up at him and stick my tongue out to lap at the head. His jaw tightens and his hands fist at his sides, but he doesn’t touch me and lets me tease him at my own pace. I lick him from base to tip, then wrap my lips around the top to suck gently. He groans, and I grin. It’s an intoxicating feeling, having Saint Angelle at my mercy for once. I drop my head and take him as far into my mouth as I’m able.

  He groans, and his hands cup my head as if he can’t help himself. He doesn’t push me further down on him or try to move me at all, but just hangs on to me as though he needs something to anchor him to the ground. I hum in delight, and he shudders above me.

  “Fuck, Ellis…”

  I begin to bob my head up and down, faster and faster. I’m desperate to see him lose control. To fall apart and crumble because of me. I know I can get him there. I can push him over the edge as easily as he pushes me. Closer and closer. His thighs clench. His groans turn to snarls.