by Bella J
All I could do was scrape together the tiniest bit of courage I had left in my veins so I could stand tall in front of the devil.
“I’d run,” I lied, and the smile on his face told me he saw right through it.
“You tried that once. You didn’t get far, remember?”
“I do. But next time, I’ll never stop running.”
With two strides, he closed the distance between us faster than I could retreat, and he leveled me with a stare that could crack through granite. “You’ll never stop running, and I’ll never stop hunting.”
He brushed the back of his hand down the side of my cheek, a gentle touch that contradicted the hard look in his eyes. Crystal irises drowning in sin captivated me, leaving me stranded and unable to move.
With a single finger, he dragged his touch down my neck, dipping between my breasts, setting my skin on fire. “Do not make me ask again, Mila.”
For the last few weeks, a game had started between us. A game where he demanded and I defied. But every player knew if you wanted to be the best, you had to have the insight to know when to fight, when to surrender. Never fight a battle you know you couldn’t win, and right now this was a battle, I’d lose if I didn’t submit.
Our eyes remained locked as I took a simple step back and reached for the zipper that stretched down between my breasts, no bra in sight. While slowly easing it down, I didn’t even blink, my heart racing at a thousand beats a minute. With a finger, I slipped the fabric off one shoulder and then the other, all the while never taking my eyes off his. Every breath I took had air settling deep within my lungs, my insides taut with tension. Saint’s expression remained stone as he watched me shimmy out of the jumpsuit. For the first time, he broke eye contact as the fabric pooled around my feet. He glanced down, eyes hooded as his leering stare moved up my legs. For a second, he paused at the apex of my thighs, leaning his head to the side as he regarded my black satin panty. His gaze cut up to mine with silent warning, his irises burning with lust and conviction—a mixture that could prove lethal for a woman like me.
I narrowed my eyes, but there was no denying the desire that simmered in my core as I slipped my fingers down my hips, deliberately taking my time with slow and measured movements until it joined the clothes around my feet.
I straightened with newfound confidence that cloaked my nakedness, and Saint’s burning stare settled between my legs.
“I love that you shaved for me.”
“Just doing what I’m told.”
His mouth curved into a devilish grin. “It feels good to fuck you while your bare pussy lips stroke my cock.”
Heat radiated from my cheeks as he explored my naked body with eyes that held promises of pleasure, drinking me in with irises that turned darker with every passing second as his appetite for the forbidden grew stronger. If lust could be personified, Saint would be it. The warning of his threatening intemperance reflected in his sapphire eyes, its tentacles reaching out to me, seducing me with promises of depraved desires. It amazed me how one man could elicit so many contradicting emotions from me.
Fear.
Hate
Desire.
Lust.
Four things that were complete opposites, yet with us it came hand-in-hand. I couldn’t have one without the other.
Saint nodded toward the swimming pool, silently demanding my next move in our little game of debauchery. Heat coated my skin, and it had nothing to do with the slightly humid temperature of the room.
Reluctance weighed down in the soles of my feet as I turned from Saint to face the pool. I could still feel his eyes on me, caressing me, touching me. His presence enveloped me and was impossible to ignore. I felt it coat my skin, causing my pulse to race as anticipation simmered in my core.
As I inhaled deeply, eyes closed, I lifted my hands and exhaled before taking another breath. With a last attempt to gather my nerves, I pushed myself up on my toes and dived into the pool. The warm water welcomed me as I cleaved my way through it with eased strokes. For those few moments, I defied the constant drag of gravity, my body weightless and the water like satin against my skin. Each stroke took me farther away from reality. Something about the motion became natural after a while, and I wanted to stay underwater where it felt like I was untouchable…until the burn in my lungs reminded me I needed air more than an escape.
Water cascaded down my face as I broke through the surface and wiped droplets from my eyes and down my hair. My eyes opened and found Saint as if there was a magnetic pull between us, as if he was my North and I’d always find my way to him.
He had taken a seat on one of the white couches, leisurely leaning back with his arms outstretched beside him. Majestic, a dark, sovereign prince, Saint sat on his throne watching me, admiring his queen indulging in the luxuries of his thriving kingdom.
Royal. Regal. Powerful. The slayer of demons in a hell where he ruled—where he made the rules of the game. A game I was slowly regaining power over.
The fire in his eyes burned as the fire raged inside me, lighting the courage I needed to turn this game of cat and mouse into a fiery game of temptation and seduction.
The tension around us intensified as our eyes remained locked. The feeling of complete weightlessness carried me, and I leaned back, my naked body breaking through to the surface as I eased through the water—drifting and floating with slow strokes of my arms and gentle kicks of my feet. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the scene in front of him as he watched me, the water softly lapping against my skin. Lust was all around it. I could feel it. Smell it. Fucking taste it. It controlled and moved us both. It gave me courage to grab on to the darkness I craved. The same darkness Saint had me addicted to.
I continued my sensual display by bending backward, slipping my head underwater, and twisted until the pool swallowed all of me. A few long strokes allowed me to move through the water without going to the surface for a breath. It was when I felt the steps against my hands that I stopped and breached the water’s edge, inhaling deep.
I glanced halfway over my shoulder and brushed a hand down my naked arm—my skin hyperaware of his heated gaze and sensitive to the feel of the water.
“Look at me, Mila.” His words were liquid seduction, the tenor echoing between my thighs.
The water rippled around me as I turned, and I sucked in a breath when I saw him, his hand slipped inside his pants. The thought of him touching himself intensified the need that throbbed inside my sex.
“Lean back against those steps,” he ordered with a baritone voice that reverberated against my spine, my entire body set aflame with his simple yet demanding words. “Lean back and spread those legs.”
The water swished as I did as he demanded, leaning back against the hard steps, spreading my weightless legs in the water as I pushed my hips up to the surface.
“Good. Now show me how you touch yourself, how you make yourself come when you’re alone.”
The air around us was laden with red-hot sexual tension that had me brazenly reach down to touch myself, to brush my fingertips along my sensitive folds while I watched Saint’s hand move beneath his pants. I bit my lip, desire blooming in my core as I caught glimpses of the head of his cock with every stroke of his hand along his length.
My pussy was already swollen and needy, my hips riding as my own touch brought me closer to the edge, teetering at the apex of release.
“Don’t come, Mila.” His voice boomed through the room, slamming against the concrete pillars. “Do not come. I am the only one who has the privilege of allowing you pleasure.”
“Saint,” I moaned and leaned my head back, my hair floating in the water. “I can’t stop.”
“You don’t have to. Just don’t come. It’s easy.”
“How the fuck…” A sudden tremor wracked through my body as I pressed the pad of my finger against my clit. My back arched, water splashing against the side of my face and into my ears. It was pure sexual instinct as I widened my legs, spreading
them farther apart and feeling the velvet water caress every inch of my slit.
“Look at me, Mila. Look at me!” His voice was a thundering clap of demand, and I lifted my head to look at him across from me. The length of his cock was squeezed in his palm, his pants lowered so I could see all of him. Every stroke of his hand had me moving my fingers faster, pressing harder against the sensitive bud that would ultimately push me over the edge.
“Do you like watching me? Do you like seeing me fuck my palm?”
I moaned, pressure building up my spine, threatening to erupt between my legs.
“Answer me!”
“Yes,” I cried out. “Yes, I do.”
“Then watch me come. Watch me squirt my seed everywhere but inside you. And while you finger yourself, know that the next time I come, it will be to cream that sweet pussy of yours.”
“Jesus, Saint.” I slipped a finger inside me, reaching as deep as I could, my legs trembling with looming pleasure. “I’m going to come.”
“Come, and I swear to God I will make you regret it. I will fuck you within an inch of your life without letting you come once.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I can. Because you need to be taught a lesson that defiance always comes with a price. No matter how big or how small. And this is your penance, Mila. Denying yourself the orgasm your body is demanding right now.”
“Please.”
“Tell me,” his voice was low, a rumbling echo of the lust that clawed at my core, “tell me to come. Tell me how you want me to come all over my expensive fucking suit.”
His strokes became faster. Vigorous. Desperate. “Tell me, Mila!”
“I want you to come.” I clenched my thighs, my orgasm threatening to erupt. “I want to see you come.”
“Fuck,” he cursed and craned his neck as he leaned his head back, hips flexing, and hand pumping until white ribbons escaped his cock and onto his white dress shirt.
“God.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to fucking come, but his warning stopped me from tipping over. It went against everything my body wanted, against my own fucking human nature to find pleasure. Denying me an orgasm had my every muscle pulled taut and aching for release.
“That’s a good girl.”
It sounded like he mocked me. As if he took pleasure in my agony.
Tears burned my eyes, anger intensifying my aching need.
“Now, close those legs and get out of the pool.” He stood and tore the dirty shirt from his body, tossing it to the ground. “Dinner is waiting.”
14
Saint
The blossom of pink on her cheeks and the fiery red in her eyes had her looking like a goddess. Naked, needy, and flushed, Milana Katerina Russo was fucking radiant. I was addicted to the color of rage in her irises, how it turned her from a simple woman to a strong and worthy opponent. I’d say sparring with her had become my favorite pastime. It spiked a surge of adrenaline in my veins and made me want her more than I’d ever wanted any woman. In fact, her presence in my life had blinded me to the appeal of all other women.
When I watched her undress, revealing every inch of her naked body, my thoughts were possessed with nothing but her. I wanted to watch her swim for hours. Watch how the water made love to her body as she effortlessly cleaved through the surface. But she played this game far too well, embracing her role as seductress and making me lose control—something I didn’t take kindly to. And now we were at my favorite part of the game between us, the part where I showed her there was no tempting the beast. No stirring the devil’s blood without drowning in it.
I glanced up from my plate and noticed she hadn’t touched her food. “Not hungry?”
“No.”
I swallowed the food in my mouth and sat back. “You look—how do Americans put it? Pissed.”
Her top lip curled. “Being denied orgasm does that to a girl.”
I smiled. “And the fact that you’re sitting at the dining table naked has nothing to do with it?”
Her brows lifted, and she leaned back, crossing her arms below her naked tits, those pretty, rosy nipples begging to be sucked and nibbled. “You’ve already stolen my dignity from me more than once.” She shrugged. “Being naked around you is becoming the new norm for me.”
I pulled my lips in a straight line, admiring her spunk but unappreciative of the disrespect that rang in her tone of voice. “Eat your food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s considered ill manners when someone buys you food and you refuse to eat it.”
Mila leaned forward, her loose curls falling over her shoulders. “It’s also considered rude when a husband doesn’t pleasure his wife.”
“Unless she’s been acting like a brat and he’s trying to teach her a lesson.”
“Or prove a point is more like it.” She sat back, her full lips pouted and eyes glaring.
I grabbed the napkin from my lap and tossed it on the table. “And what point is that?”
“That you’re in control. That you dictate every fucking aspect of my life right down to the second you decide whether I can get off or not. I get it, Saint. I got the message loud and clear when you shot Brad right in front of me.”
“Yet not even that was a lesson enough for you to know when to keep your goddamn mouth shut.”
Mila pursed her lips, and I wanted to reach out and squeeze her cheeks while I forced my mouth over hers.
“Why?” She crossed her legs under the table.
“Why what?”
“Why are you so hellbent on mindfucking me all the time?”
I frowned. “Is that your question for today?”
“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate.
My mind scurried as I tapped my finger lightly on the table.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Our eyes remained pinned on one another, mine determined to intimidate, hers demanding an answer. Truth was, I didn’t have an answer to her question. There was no rhyme or reason for my actions when it came to her. One moment I was floored by this woman, feeling things I’d never felt before. But then I’d think back to the day she ran from me, the sense of helplessness I felt while I waited for James to track her. She had become my one and only weakness, and I had no idea how to deal with it, besides being an asshole. Being cruel. It made me do things that put the power and control back in my hands.
“You promised no lies, Saint. The truth.”
I shifted upright in my seat. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. The truth is I’m not mindfucking you, Mila. You’re mindfucking yourself. I’m still the same man who killed your friend. The same man who forced you to marry him. And the same man responsible for all your tears.” I stood, the words of my misplaced anger burning the tip of my tongue. “You are the one who has been trying to find redeemable qualities in me. Fuck knows why. Maybe because you’re getting a taste of the good life I have to offer, and you think if I become your fucking dream man, you’ll be able to have it beyond our six-month agreement.” I slammed my hands down on the table, and Mila yelped as the cutlery clattered. “Here’s the thing, Mila. I don’t have any redeemable qualities. I will never be an affectionate husband who showers his wife with love and rainbows, and all that other romantic fucking bullshit.” I leaned over the table, wanting her to see the fire of hell burn in my irises. “You will never be anything more to me than you are right now—”
“A signature?” she interrupted. “Nothing but a means to get what you want? I remember you saying those exact words to me once before, yet everything that’s happened since then suggests otherwise.”
I scoffed. “Do not fool yourself.”
“No!” She shot up. “You can stand there and spit out all the hurtful words at me that you want, but you and I both know I’m not the one fooling myself here. You are.”
There it was. The motherfucker of all challenges. The one that threatened to rob me of the control I was hellbe
nt on keeping. I had come too far and too close to ruining my father’s life like he had ruined mine.
I bit my lip, desperate to get a grip on the rage that threatened to dictate what I would do next.
Mila didn’t break eye contact and didn’t show any sign that she would back the fuck down. Instead, she stepped away from her seat, straightening her naked body which had been partially hidden beneath the table until now. Confidence painted her every curve as she sashayed toward me, moving like a siren. A seductress with a flushed pink blush on her cheeks and the shimmering of emeralds in her eyes.
“Last night, I saw a different side to you.” Her voice was melodic, her words calculated. “You spent the night holding me in your arms under the stars.”
“Don’t romanticize it.”
“I’m not.” She stilled before me, so close I could still smell her lingering arousal. “I’m just saying it as it is. Something you seem to have a problem doing.”
A snarl erupted from my lips as I grabbed her throat, squeezing it between my fingers and lifting her face as I leaned mine down. “Do not play this game with me, Mila. You will lose, and you will break.”
“I don’t care.” She reached between us, and I suppressed a moan when her hand brushed against my crotch, her fingers boldly unbuttoning my pants. “Break me. Use me. Mindfuck me.”
She slipped her hand inside my pants, fingertips brushing against the head of my dick as she boldly wrapped her hand around my girth. The powerful surge of desire caused me to tighten my hold on her throat with a snarl.
She sucked in a breath. “Do whatever you want to do to me, Saint. I don’t fucking care.” Her lips glistened with a temptation that aggravated my thirst for her taste. “But do not pretend you feel nothing. Do not pretend I’m just like every other pussy you’ve fucked. That you’re not addicted to how it feels to be inside me.” She reached deeper, stroked down my shaft until her fingers cupped my balls and gripped it tight. A violent urge to ram my cock into her needy little cunt slammed against my spine. “Because I’m addicted to it, Saint. Addicted to the feeling of having you inside me, stretching me, filling me to a point where I’m sure you’re going to break me in half.”