My Fallen Saint Page 17

  “Here’s how I know it, too,” he says, then grazes his teeth over my breast. “Your puckered nipple. This hard little pebble.” He takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks, a tremor runs through me with the force of an orgasm.

  “Tell me you liked that,” he says, as one of his hands slides down my ribs, over the curve of my waist, and then over the jersey material of my shorts. He teases the tip of his finger along the hem of the shorts that grazes my inner thigh. I’m not wearing underwear, and the shorts weren’t designed for modesty. And the gentle brush of his skin in such a sensitive area is firing every sense in my body.

  “I bet your pussy is throbbing right now, and you’re biting your tongue to keep from begging me. You want to beg me to touch you, to slide my fingers deep inside you. But you’re fighting it. Not wanting to give me the satisfaction.”

  He tugs on my earlobe with his teeth. “I’ll tell you a secret, baby. I’m already satisfied just knowing how wet you are for me.” He moves his finger as he speaks, sliding it back and forth along my slit, but never penetrating. I don’t want him to know how much he’s making me burn, but I can’t help myself. I move my hips, gyrating in demand, and then I actually whimper.

  “Christ, Ellie, do you know how sexy that sounds? How hard you’re making me?”

  His voice is raw, and I can imagine the lines of his face. The heat in his eyes. I can’t actually see him, but that’s okay. I like this. Being on display for him. Being a plaything for him. Letting him take control and knowing that I’m reaping the benefit.

  His hand slides down the outside of my thigh until he’s cupping me behind the knee. “Should I lift your leg like this and hook it around my waist? Pull your shorts aside so I can see that sweet pussy?”

  He draws up my leg as if in demonstration, and I hear him groan. I draw in a breath, realizing that, with my loose shorts, he must have seen every intimate inch of me.

  He bends my leg and settles the inside of my knee against his hip. “Stay like that,” he says, using his now-free hand to trace a path from my knee down the crevice where my thigh hits my torso. Behind my shirt, I close my eyes, biting my lower lip as I anticipate his next move. His finger under my shorts, then thrusting deep inside of me.

  But it doesn’t happen.

  “Anticipation, baby,” he murmurs, his breath teasing my ear as his finger traces back and forth along the crevice as I shift my hips, silently begging for a deeper touch. “But not just for this,” he says as his fingers finally—finally—graze my pussy, barely stroking my folds. “You want it deeper. Harder. Tell me, baby.”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice raw with need. “Yes, please.”

  His fingers slip inside me, but barely. Not even up to the first knuckle. Just enough to entice and make my body start to clench. Just enough to get his fingers wet so I feel it when he withdraws, then traces his way up over my mound, around my navel, and then up to my right breast.

  His fingers are still slick as he rolls my nipple between his digits, his mouth closing over my breast and sucking hard as he tugs on my other nipple in time with the intensity of his suckling. All the while I’m losing my mind, my back arched, my hips thrusting forward as I press my body against him, shamelessly rubbing my pussy against the bulge in his jeans because oh, God, I have nothing to lose now.

  “You want this,” he repeats, pulling back enough so that when he speaks, his breath is cool on my wet nipple. “Right now, you’re mine, and that makes you hot.”

  I’m still blind from the shirt over my eyes, pinned in place by the strength in his arms, and utterly exposed. My breath is ragged, my breasts tingling, my inner thighs aching.

  I’m totally vulnerable.

  “Tell me,” he says.

  “Yes.” The word is barely breath. Like the air I’m floating on.

  “I like it too,” he says. “Right now, I fucking own you.”

  A shiver cuts through me. He’s right. I like this. I like it way too much. I don’t know what upset him tonight, but I’m glad it did. It shifted him. Released him. And, yes, he’s finally giving me my closure.

  He releases my arms, telling me not to move, then pulls the tank up over my head and tosses it aside. Then he cups his hands over mine and slowly—so deliciously, temptingly slowly—runs his palms down over my arms, my torso, my waist, then my hips.

  Gently, he lowers my leg, which is starting to cramp a bit tucked up around him. Then he traces his fingertip over the waistband of my baggy shorts and very gently tugs them over my hips before letting them fall to my feet.

  His eyes stay on mine the entire time, and I realize with a start that they’re sandy brown. My mind is in a muddle, so I don’t think much of it, but somewhere in the fuzz, I wonder if he took his contacts out when he was banging around with such anger and frustration.

  That question evaporates from my thoughts as he sinks to his knees, kissing his way down from my cleavage to my pussy, until I can’t keep my arms above me any longer, and I bend over and claw at his shoulders as his mouth closes over me, his tongue taking me right to the edge, until I’m bucking against him, so close, so close, so close—

  And then he pulls away, looking up at me with a wicked grin as I’m gasping and trying to get my bearings.

  He takes a step back, and I make a whimper of protest. He chuckles. “Oh, no, baby. We aren’t even close to done.”

  He peels his shirt off and tosses it behind him onto the floor.

  He unbuttons his jeans next, then unzips the fly. I stare, bold and brazen as he strips down, first taking out his wallet and tossing it onto the mattress, then taking his briefs with him as he peels off his jeans until he’s left wearing absolutely nothing, his cock hard and perfect and so damn tempting.

  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen it. All those years ago, I’d been too inexperienced—hell, too shy—to really look. Now, as the storm inside me builds, I can’t believe I missed out on ten solid years of amazing fantasy material.

  I swallow, already imagining the way he’ll feel inside me, then look up at him, only to find him looking right back at me. There’d been a fire in him earlier. Something fueled by anger. Frustration. I’m not even sure. A need to grab whatever had gone wrong in the world and make it right, even if the only way to do that was to use me as a proxy.

  Now, though, that heat has shifted. It’s no longer about anger or control or whatever dark emotion had grabbed him. Now, all I see is desire.

  “Why?” I ask, because right then, it’s the only word that can break out past the electrical hum in my head. “Why tonight when you’ve been pushing me away?”

  He steps closer, and I instinctively move back so that I can once again feel the wall behind me. “Does it matter?” he asks as he puts his hands on the wall on either side of my head, then bends close. “Do you really need to know? Or do you just need my hands on you? My mouth claiming yours, my cock deep inside you. Is it going to matter at all why I fuck you tonight when you’re losing your mind because I won’t let you come until you call out my name? Tell me, Ellie. Tell me if you really need to know.”

  He cups my chin with one hand, then holds me steady as he kisses me hard, his body so close to mine, his rock hard cock presses enticingly against my belly. I groan and open to him, spreading my legs as I open my mouth, then gasping when his teeth graze my tongue as his hands move to my ass. He picks me up, and I think he’s going to fuck me right then. Instead, he carries me toward the bed, then puts me down, my body sliding off of his in a way that makes my knees go weak.

  I meet his eyes, and he lifts his brow as he sits on the foot of the bed, leaving me standing in front of him. “What was it you wanted to do on the plane?”

  I hear the tremor in my voice as I ask, “Is that what you want?”

  “Oh, baby, I want that and so much more.” His words are soft and heavy with promise. “I want you on your knees sucking my cock. I want you tied to the bed. I want to take every bit of power and control away from you. I want you spread
wide open for me, mine to pleasure or to hurt. To give to or take from. I want to push your limits, and then I want to watch you come. Right now, though, I just want to fuck you.”

  I swallow, his words melting me. I join him on the bed, my legs straddling his. “Condom?”

  The corner of his mouth twitches and he reaches for the wallet he’d tossed onto the bed. He meets my eyes, and I wonder if he’s remembering that night so many years ago. I don’t ask. I don’t want to do anything that might break the spell. Because right now, I’m pretty sure I’ll collapse and die if he doesn’t fuck me.

  He sheathes himself, and though he’s definitely been running this show, I don’t want to wait any longer. I rise up and whisper, “Now, dammit. Do not make me beg.”

  To his credit, he doesn’t, and I lower myself onto him, and I’m so wet and so ready that even though he’s huge, I take him in, relishing the feel of him. The tightness, the friction despite how slippery I am. I rise up, my hands on his shoulders as my thighs work so that I can piston against him, and right then I’ve never been more thankful that I go regularly to the gym.

  I arch back, and as I do, his fingers tease my clit, another connection between us, and while I want so badly to draw this out, there is just no way. I’m too close, and I can feel him, too. His cock tightening inside me, his body tensing, his breath coming shallow. And those delicious murmurs of “yes, baby, oh God, yes” as I ride him like my life depended on it. Like I’m heading toward the promised land. And, you know, I think I truly am.

  And then—oh God oh God oh God—my whole body tightens and I clench around him, and he cries out, “Fuck, yes,” and I lean forward, my body humming as my head rests against his as the tremors cut through both of us until, finally, I’m no longer seeing stars. Instead, I’m looking down at our joined bodies, trying to figure out if this is reality.

  Did I really just fuck the boy I used to love?

  Or was tonight just one more fast fuck with a stranger I’ll never really know?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I’m alone when I wake up, and I roll over to check the clock. Three-fifteen.

  I sit up, groggy, and look around the room expecting to see a sliver of light coming from beneath the bathroom door, but it’s dark. We’d moved off the couch, and I’d collapsed, boneless and sated into his bed last night. And though he hadn’t held me like a lover, he’d slipped under the covers beside me.

  I’d fallen asleep knowing that he was there. And liking the feeling far more than I should.

  “Devlin?” I wait, but there’s no answer, and with a frown, I slide out of bed then pad through the suite in search of the man, only to find the suite empty. Frustrated, I turn in a circle, wondering where on earth he could possibly be in the middle of the night.

  Then again, this is Vegas. If you have insomnia, there’s probably no place better.

  I head out to the living area, expecting but not finding a note. I frown, realizing that I’m irritated he hasn’t kept me in the loop. Which, of course, makes no sense. We’re not Ellie and Alex anymore. And while the sex was even more mind numbingly great than I’d expected, that’s all it was. Sex.

  Closure.

  And that’s all I want it to be. Anything else is an unnecessary, messy complication. And who needs that?

  So, no. I can’t complain that he isn’t keeping me informed of his every movement. Except that you’d think he’d at least do me the courtesy of leaving me a note. After all, he took the trouble to write me a note all those years ago when he left for good. Presumably a quick scrawl with Be back soon wouldn’t be too much for him.

  At the risk of seeming needy, I dial his phone—only to have it ring on his side of the bed.

  So much for that plan.

  I debate for a moment, then call down to the front desk.

  “How may I help you, Ms. Holmes?”

  “You just did,” I tell him. “Since you knew it was me, I’m assuming you already know that Mr. Saint isn’t in the room. Does that mean you know where he is?”

  “He’s in the lobby bar. Shall I take him the phone?”

  “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.” I end the call, then consider going back to bed. I’m sure he probably couldn’t sleep. But the truth is, I’m not sure that I can either, and if he’s having a drink, I want one too. After all, isn’t that the benefit of being in Vegas? Alcohol whenever you want?

  I also wonder why he didn’t just move to the living room. This suite is about four times the size of my apartment in Manhattan. It’s not as if he was going to disturb me if he turned on a light.

  Since I’m still in my tank and shorts, I go to his dresser to look for a T-shirt. Stupidly, I’d only packed work or evening clothes. I know he won’t mind. I’d been talking to him as he unpacked, and when I told him about my wardrobe fail, he’d said I could help myself.

  Except I’ve pulled out the wrong drawer. Instead of T-shirts, I find two pairs of sweatpants. I’m about to close the drawer when I notice the merest gleam of the ambient light hitting something black and familiar.

  My stomach twists. My father was a cop. I was a cop. So I’m not surprised at all when I fold back the clothing to reveal a gunmetal black Glock.

  I stand there, frozen, my mind going a million miles an hour. What the hell is he doing with a gun?

  I turn quickly, covering my six, as if someone is going to jump me for having seen this weapon. And then, just as quickly, I tell myself I’m being silly. The man’s a billionaire. He travels frequently. He’s ex-military. And I’m sure he has enemies. It makes sense that he has a gun.

  I pick it up, then pull back the slide enough to check the chamber. Loaded. I frown, then eject the clip. Full.

  Why would he take the trouble to chamber a round, eject the magazine, then add back that one last bullet?

  And why didn’t he tell me there was a gun in the room? After all, I’m a cop, or a former one, and it’s not as if I’m unfamiliar with weapons.

  Then again, maybe that’s why. Maybe he thinks that I’m still so indebted to law enforcement that I wouldn’t approve.

  I have no answers, but since I’m about to go find him, I’ll just ask him these questions instead of speculating wildly.

  I open the proper drawer, grab a faded blue Tee with the DSF logo, then go to my room for the leggings I’d brought to pair with a thigh-length jacket and black Jimmy Choos. Tonight, I forgo the Choos for my favorite ballet flats.

  I see Devlin as soon as I reach the lobby, sitting at a small cocktail table in the lobby bar that abuts the casino entry. He’s not alone, however, and as I get closer, I see that he’s talking to Ronan Thorne, who I didn’t even realize had come to Vegas, too.

  Thorne sees me before Devlin does, but instead of acknowledging me directly, he nods to Devlin, then jerks his head as if in signal. Devlin turns, and I see a tiny flicker of something that might be annoyance before he smiles and waves me over. “Sorry to abandon you,” he says. ”I thought you were down for the count.”

  “That’s okay,” I tell him, my Spidey sense tingling. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting.”

  “No. It’s fine.” He gestures to the empty chair, and as I settle onto it, some of the concern that’s been lingering around me like a dark cloud begins to dissipate.

  Thorne looks at me, his expression unreadable. “I think I should go,” he tells Devlin. “We’re good?”

  “I suppose we’ll find out, won’t we? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  Thorne nods to both of us, then walks towards the exit. I wait until he’s passed through the doors and is out of the building before saying, “I didn’t know Ronan was here.”

  He pulls the tie out of his hair, then runs his fingers through his mane as he says, “Yeah. He came in earlier.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Just business.”

  “Business? It’s after three in the morning.” I hear the accusation in my tone and wish I could call it back.

&n
bsp; “Interestingly, it’s a quite reasonable hour in other parts of the world. Is there a problem?”

  I sag in my seat shaking my head. “No. I’m sorry. The problem is me. I woke up and you weren’t there.” I meet his eyes. “And that really shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “No,” he says, his voice firm. “It shouldn’t be.”

  I ignore the unpleasant twisting in my stomach. What happened in the room—the way he took me higher than I’ve ever been—was supposed to be closure, after all. The final blow that toppled a lingering, raging need.

  “Well, don’t worry,” I say, feeling prickly. “I didn’t drag myself all the way down here because I missed your cock.”

  He lifts a brow. “No?”

  I point to his shirt. “I borrowed.”

  “Well, it looks a lot better on you than it does on me.”

  “I’m not sure about that.” I can picture him, tall and dark and lean, the soft material clinging to his chest and abs. Definitely better.

  “And that sent you rushing downstairs why? Did you think I would mind?” he asks. “After all, I said that you could.”

  “I thought you might mind that I found your gun.”

  One eyebrow quirks up, but otherwise his face doesn’t change at all. In fact, for the briefest instant, it seems to be frozen in time. Then he slowly shakes his head. “Unless you’re planning on going on a shooting spree, I don’t mind at all. Why did you think I would?”

  I shrug. “I was surprised you had it, that’s all. Self-defense, I suppose? I’m assuming you get threats?”

  He signals for the waiter, pointing at his drink and raising two fingers. “I keep it on me when I’m in a crowd or giving a speech. It seems prudent.”

  “You’re trained? Of course you are. The military.”

  Now he leans back, looking interested. “I meant to ask you earlier. What do you know about my time in the service?”

  “Not much,” I admit. “It came up when I researched you—well, when I researched Devlin. According to the Army, you served and were honorably discharged. They weren’t exactly forthcoming with the info.” Then again, I didn’t dig too far. I’d assumed at the time that I’d learn about Devlin Saint from the man himself. After all, I’d had no way of knowing he was a ghost returned from my past.