Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Belle

“Slumming it?”

His voice is low and deep, that edge of slow, hot sex.

I pretend I didn’t notice him the moment he walked in the door. I pretend that, in my head, the music didn’t stop, and every single atom of awareness in the bar turned to him, like some kind of screwed-up western/biker mash-up movie.

Like Sharknado but better.

“Oh!” I turn, looking up, blinking in pseudo-shock. “Saint. Imagine seeing you here.”

He steps up to me, and I’m immediately both toasty warm and too hot, the kind of hot that needs fewer clothes and no audience except for him.

Saint bends close. “Liar, Belle. You saw me.”

“No, I was talking.”

“And you saw me.”

“Did not.”

“Yeah,” he says, “you did. Right before you upped it all about ten notches and laughed like you were at a comedy show.”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you.”

“Yours might.”

“Ego.”

“The ego check was full of coats.” Then he takes me in, and the black and white check dress I’m wearing is both over the top and stupid. Like a kid playing teacher. Staid and boring and trying to turn that into sexy.

I’m a mess.

“Your face is all bright red, pretty one.” He reaches over and takes my wine, and has a mouthful. “That’s disgusting.” He orders a beer from Havana.

“What kind?” she asks.

He shrugs. “Cheap.”

“Is this your way of letting me know I got out of a bad deal last night?” Oh, damn. I promised myself I wouldn’t say a word about it, just pretend it didn’t happen.

He turns to say something to Gravel, and I breathe a sigh of relief, letting the Buzzcocks sing about God saving the Queen wash over me.

Saint might’ve turned from me, let me off the hook, but he’s still close. His big hand resting on the bar’s edge right in my personal space zone. I press my thighs together as a thrill passes through me.

“OMG,” Mellie says as she leans in, sipping her soda.

I look at her. “OMG?”

“It’s what the cool kids say. According to Pepper.”

“She’s seven.”

“She’s got her finger on the pulse.”

I can’t argue with that.

But Mellie isn’t finished, and I’m stunned at the change that’s come over her after one day here. Gravel and Frederick Jones picked Pepper and me up after school today, and the kids still there were all agog at the teacher and the child getting on big, bad bikes—which is, according to Oliver, what the motorcycles are.

It didn’t matter Pepper rode in a sidecar on Gravel’s bike, and from his pink ears, something told me it wasn’t his regular ride.

But when we got here, Mellie glowed.

Like someone waved a magic wand and let her flower.

She told me she didn’t think Andrew would be a problem now, and I agree. Nothing like a bunch of bikers having a tiny woman’s back to scare off her abusive, cowardly ex.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” she says, “but what’s the deal with your biker?”

“There’s no deal.”

She shakes her head. “There is. You both light up when you see each other.”

“You’re in need of an eye test. Possibly a frontal lobotomy,” I say.

Pepper’s watching us, and I look at Nomad for help, but he just head-butts the little girl. I got him cat salmon and also some cat duck and goose. Those gourmet, high-end cans of cat food are wasted on him.

He swivels his head to give me a sharp look, like he can hear my thoughts. Then the black cat turns back to the girl to hiss at a man who comes too close.

Maybe, I think, he can have the salmon.

“It’s obvious,” Mellie says.

“What is?” I almost jump a mile at the deep tone of Saint’s voice.

“That—”

“Your cat makes a good guard cat,” I say, tromping all over Mellie’s words.

The low light in the bar hits his shaved head, accentuating the perfect shape of his skull, and shadows his cheeks, showing off his high cheekbones. My heart dances, and my pussy throbs.

And I don’t know what to do.

“I don’t have a cat, I keep saying.”

“He is a cutie,” Mellie says.

Pepper pipes up as she grabs Nomad and squeezes. The cat gives a long-suffering look, and I suspect it would scratch me up if I tried that, but this is Pepper, a kid, so . . . long-suffering it is.

“Can we keep him, Mommy?”

“No, he’s Mr. Saint’s cat.” Then she scrambles off her barstool. “I need to be back here tomorrow. You wouldn’t babysit, Belle? I know you must be over kids on the weekend?—”

“I’d love to.” Then I go to get up too but Saint’s hand comes down on my shoulder, keeping me there. It’s not a firm hold, but it’s enough to stop me from moving at least without a scene.

Or maybe the scene’s in my head.

Because I really, really want to be with him.

Just for a night.

To taste.

Feel.

See.

I want that wild walk where I’ve never been, far away from Lance or the other two nice guys I’ve had sex with. I want . . .

I want my world torn apart and my mind blown.

I think Saint can do that.

“Can I get a lift, Mel?”

She goes to answer, but Saint leans in. “Coward, Red. Pretty little coward.”

“I-if you want?” But she looks at him as she says it, and it comes out as a question to him.

He meets my eye, and I’m caught. Willingly.

I want whatever might happen.

It’s probably nothing. After all, he made that clear last night. Or I made things screwy. But he did kiss me in the first place. Then he kissed me again. So maybe . . .

I want this.

Whatever this is.

Just once, I want to let go.

“Actually, Mellie, Saint’s going to give me a ride home.” Then I smile at him. “Nomad too.”

“This fucking cat,” Saint mutters, unzipping his jacket and letting Nomad jump free.

I smile, ignoring the rapid and irregular beat of my heart. The cat winds around my ankles, rubbing up against me, and all I can feel is the tingle in my body where I touched Saint on the ride home.

My hands are full of tiny sparks of static electricity, the heat of him, of where my hands were, low on his hips, clasped just above his dick. And I’m not just throbbing, I’m aching. The rumble of the engine is still vibrating in me, and I know I’m wet. And pressed so tight against him . . .

He pulled me that close. He placed my hands on him.

The low whistle of Gravel when we left still burns in my ears and senses. But it pales to the sear of the look Saint gave me when he asked if I wanted to go.

“Belle?”

I swallow. “Saint?”

He goes to say something, but he grabs my throat and backs me into the wall, in the pool of darkness from the overhead light that burned out, just before his apartment.

His hand isn’t tight. It’s warm. Firm. I think my pussy jumps with delight when he does it.

I can’t feel my feet. I’m on clouds or air.

He stares down into my eyes like he’s looking into my soul, and the hazel of his eyes is bright like burnished gold, a touch of wild green and browns. I could, as the poets say, lose myself in his eyes.

This man just might be dangerous.

In all the delicious ways.

He feathers his lips over mine, a gentle exploration. A taste, a tease. He slides one thigh between mine, pressing light against my clit and pussy. I moan, mouth parting of its own accord, and his tongue slips in. The slight tickle of his beard entices. What would it be like between my thighs, on my clit?

It’s been years since anyone went down on me.

A small whimper escapes, and he raises his head. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. I . . .” No way am I telling him Lance never went down on me, that he didn’t like it. “You said this was a bad idea.”

“It is. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it. Doesn’t mean I don’t get off on bad ideas. Shit. I’m sorry it got fucking messy in the most stupid ass way the other night. I just didn’t expect you. And you to be so . . . you.”

My heart lurches at that as a wild warmth spreads through me. “I could pretend to take that in the wrong way.”

“Don’t, Red. I haven’t got my knitting needles sharpened yet.”

I groan, laughing. “Little do you know, I’ve a secret weapon in your cat.”

“He’s not—” He stops. “That fucking cat does what it wants. He brought me a mouse earlier.”

“Adorable.”

“A dead mouse.”

“What kind of cat would he be if it was alive?”

He kisses my throat. “It was missing a head.”

“He’s a good cat.” My words are breathy and the world swims. He could be saying anything, hell, I could be saying anything. It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that I want more.

Saint strokes my hair from my face and tilts it up. “What do you want to do, Red?”

“I . . .”

There are visions in my head. Visions of him taking me and doing to me what he wants. Of him being some kind of man from another world, another life, one who knows what he wants and takes it, one who doesn’t ask he tells, who wouldn’t take no for an answer if a woman dared to say it.

That’s all fantasy. I’m aware of that. But I want him to take control.

“The hallways not gonna do it, Belle. I think you want me as much as I want you. Got a feeling those nipples are hard for me, and if I put my hand between your thighs to touch that hot furnace on my thigh, it’d be wet and waiting, but . . . I meant your place or mine.”

I look at him. “That wasn’t a get-out-of-jail card?”

“Fuck no.” He looks so fierce that when his mouth twists up, and he adds, “Maybe.” I giggle.

“Not the response I hoped for, Red.”

“Not the answer I thought you’d give, Saint.” I cock my head. Answer? Statement? I’m?—”

He silences me with a fierce kiss. “I’m not a fucking caveman.”

“Damn.”

“I can be.”

“Yay.”

His eyes narrow but there’s amusement there as he goes and unlocks his door, pulling me in. “You’re as bad as that cat.”

“Are you?—”

“Sure?” I nod. “I’m going to fuck you now because that kiss is haunting the shit out of me. I know you taste sweet, and now, I want to see how the rest of you is.”

I reach for his belt, but he spins me and unzips my dress, kissing my shoulders and my nape as he does so. It doesn’t take much work for him to flick open the back clasp of my bra, and I suddenly wish I’d put on some sexy, lacy lingerie.

Actually, I wish I had sexy, lacy lingerie.

He pushes the dress from me, pulling it down so it pools at my feet, and his fingers roam over my breasts, tweaking my nipples. “I knew they were bigger than they look, all buttoned up.”

His hand shifts down over my ribs and my stomach making it flutter. Then Saint dips into my panties, and I gasp as he slides over my clit, along my slit that’s wet. He rubs, making a small contraction race through me, right before he pulls his hand out.

Saint turns me and kisses both breasts, sucking my nipples into his mouth. His beard is a tickling, arousing thing against me as he swirls his tongue over each nipple until I’m digging my fingers into his arms.

I don’t even know when he shirked his jacket, but it’s on the floor with my dress.

Kicking off my shoes, I’m unsure what to do as he raises his head. Am I meant to drop to my knees and blow him? I start to lower myself, but he picks me up, and I have to hang on to him by wrapping my legs around his waist and my hands around his neck.

“Fuck no. Not tonight. This is about you. And if you put my cock in your sweet mouth, this is going to be over way too quickly.”

“I might be bad at it.”

He laughs as he walks us into his bedroom. “Sweet Red, I don’t think so. Your lips wrapped around me is going to be perfection, even if that’s all you do.”

Heat rushes me, and he puts me on the bed, then he goes to his knees, pulling off my panties.

A shiver runs through me, and he comes up over me, body pressing into me, belt buckle, the hard thickness of his erection that’s like hot steel.

He kisses me soft and sweet and romantic like a garden in spring. It’s a kiss of beauty and hope and life. Light like gossamer and a thing I could put on repeat forever.

Saint lifts his head. “Are you cold, Belle? You shivered?”

“N-no.” I take a breath, arching up into him like I have no control over my body.

“Good, because I fixed the heat in here.”

With that remarkably unsexy statement that comes across with innuendo I’m pretty sure I’m lacing it with, he kisses his way down my body, and then he licks me.

It’s like someone just shot me full of drugs.

A full-on adrenaline rush that makes me gasp and cry out soft.

Then he continues, he licks his way around, sucking and exploring me, my outer lips, inner ones, he uses his chin to rub into my opening as he tongue-fucks me. And oh, dear Lord, his mustache scratches against my clit in precisely the right way that I’m on the edge of orgasm in seconds flat.

And then . . . then he adds two fingers and starts to stroke into me, his mouth moving up to my clit to suck, kiss, and taunt it with his tongue.

I’m lost.

Flung about in a world of heat and wild electrical storms that hit me over and over again, and he rubs something deep inside me. Something that makes me burn hotter, the storms get wilder, and then it all sings. Everything explodes, throbs, and contracts as euphoria floods me.

He’s just made me come, and he isn’t stopping.

Saint keeps it up, the same attack on my clit and inside me, pushing through it all. What changes is the pressure. His mouth is lighter, fingers deeper, working harder, and I want to get away because it’s too much. I jump and twist in a wind in my head, but he doesn’t let me go, lets me dangle in the elements. Lets them lash me and strip me down to the bone.

“Please, please, it’s too much . . .”

My words start to peter out as something strange happens. He adds a finger to my asshole and massages, working just the tip in, and it’s another explosion. One that takes my attention from what he’s doing to my pussy and my clit, and it changes. There’s a pressure in me, and from deep inside, the same pulsations start. Deeper. Stronger.

It’s not just in my pussy, my clit, my ass.

It’s everywhere.

The world implodes, and I start to come, hard. It’s mind bending, life changing. It’s a religious moment. The face of a god I need.

I cry out again as I clench so hard on him it’s a wonder I don’t break his fingers.

I’m lost. Found. Everything in between.

The orgasm plateaus and then explodes again and the world wavers.

There’s only him and me and this.

Slowly, I come down, but still rocking.

I think . . . this is what the fuss is about.

This.