Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Saint

Oh, holy fucking night. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life had something as sweet as Belle. I don’t mean sugary shit, I mean perfection.

I want her again.

Fuck.

I want to spend hours a day eating her out.

Discovering all the ways to get her off. Not just the exploration of uncharted territory like that was, but finding the short cut, the scenic route. The ways in which I can torture the living fuck out of her by keeping her on that edge until I shove her into orgasm.

I already know where my nights here are going to be spent. Between her thighs, talking with her, making jokes, laughing, taking her on my bike and letting her really experience the open road.

But first . . .

I’m so fucking hard, it’s painful, and her plump pussy is now red and glistening. The pulsations of her second orgasm are still visible between her open thighs as she lies there, moaning, gasping for breath, it entices. I need to bury my cock to my hard, tight balls. I need to do that now.

I strip off fast and spread her wider, hand around my dick as I gaze at her. I rub over the fat head, pulling myself and then I place her legs on my shoulders and rub myself along that wet slit.

Fuck. I could almost come just from this.

But I’m not wasting this. I slowly push into her, splitting her pussy lips, stretching them wide.

Belle gasps. “Oh, my God . . . you’re . . . oh . . .”

I take it slow, letting her get used to me, perversely enjoying the torture of it all, because I don’t want to go slow. I want to pound hard and deep into her. I want to ruin her sweet little pussy. I want to fuck her so she’s mine.

Mine.

I stop, shuddering, my cock all the way in her. Belle looks at me and I kiss her, a deep fuck of a kiss as I let her get used to my size. I rock gently, trying not to fucking give in to the urge to claim her in all the ways, to immerse without thought into the soft lushness that’s surrounding my cock.

Her heat. The ripple of contractions that make the tight fit tighter. Her little gasps and moans.

Instead, I concentrate on the tension, the way her body reacts, both wanting me and the slight resistance at my girth. My reach.

She’s so unbelievably fucking divine I want to pull out and slam all the way back in. I want to bring her the pleasure dipped in darkness, the bite with the light, and just claim what’s mine.

But she came so fast when I licked her that I’m trying not to fucking think about the how and why.

I’m good. I pay attention. I love to feast on pussy. I love to fucking pound it. I love the stretch and divinity of an ass.

I’m not that good.

No one is.

She came like it was unexpected. She came in little ripples like the drought had been broken. And she’s coming now.

Tiny little beats that test the perimeters of my reason. Of my control.

I suck on a spot on her throat, pushing everything from me but the feel of her, the tale her body’s telling me.

Belle starts to soften, her sounds richer, more needing, and the slight resistance ebbs. She’s still tight, but I can move. She whispers, “Yes.”

Fuck, I love that word.

Her hips shift, move up, and I start to thrust in very slow, long strokes.

Belle moans and I pick up speed. I go harder. She’s a wet, soft furnace around me. The glide and push are almost too much, even as she opens like a flower to take me as deep as I get.

She arches into me, her cunt suddenly spasming on me as her thighs shake. Fuck. She’s coming, and she makes me a believer in something because I manage to hold on, to ride it through, that extra tightness, the ripples of her against my shaft, that’s something I know I’ll never tire of. I know it’s going to haunt my dreams.

I piston into her, harder, faster, pushing through her orgasm, taking her mouth and kissing her deep, swallowing down her cries of pleasure. I hold her hips, that soft warm flesh as I ride her.

She fucking comes again, and I pull out. This time there’s no god or entity that can grant me grace in not coming myself if I stay inside her.

Belle whimpers, her eyes unfocused a little, those gorgeous tits splotched with her blush, whisker burn, and arousal.

She’s wet too, and the fucking carpet is red like her head. She’s had the lips waxed, and she’s left a nice patch of neatly trimmed hair. I go down and lick her, sucking up her juices, stroking my tongue over one plump lip and then the other.

Then, because I can, I plunge my tongue back into her, right into her hole I’ve opened. I thrust and I swear she contracts on my tongue, small ones, mini ripples that let me know she’s far from done. Let me know she doesn’t use toys. Let me know the fucker ex is shit in bed.

She’s responsive, yes, but this is a starved woman.

I’m bringing her the feast.

“Oh. Oh my God. Oh my God. Saint!”

Shit. Another small spasm. Like she’s on an orgasmic plane, one that’s not even the pinnacle. It’s like she’s learning what pleasure actually is. Real time.

I go up, suckle on her clit, and the tiny throbs are things that prick my skin, harden my cock, and turn my blood lava hot. Then I lick my way down to her asshole, rimming it, and her whole body goes wild as I push my tongue into her hole. Her shriek is my reward.

What I want is to flip her, take her hard, doggy style. Make her bounce on my cock in reverse cowgirl. Fuck, I want to invent some positions with her. Break out the fucking Kama Sutra.

But as I dive back into her cunt for another taste, I start to finger her and raise my head. The bliss on her face is something so vulnerable I don’t think I can turn her and take her like that.

I’m not given to second-guessing sex.

I don’t fuck about with sweet touches and gentleness, but Belle feels both fragile and formidable, and I want . . .

I keep fingering her, curling my fingers, using my thumb on her clit. I haven’t lost even a little of the steel of my hard-on. But the need to come, that insane moment from before, has backed off a little, and the urge to bury myself in her is there and overwhelming.

So, I look down at her, playing with her glorious nipples, the fat, pale areolae erotic beyond belief, her flesh so plump and soft I’m addicted to them. I say, “Belle, I’m going to fuck you hard. Fuck you through whatever orgasms you have and make you reach the big one.”

“I . . . oh God . . . I don’t think this has happened to me before. Do you do this to all the women?”

“No. I think it’s you.”

Grabbing her hand, I wrap it around my cock, and she starts to pull.

“Oh, fuck, yes, Red. Fuck.”

She starts to rise, but I push her back down.

“Saint, I want?—”

“This is about you. And that’s selfish,” I say, pulling out of her to tug her legs to the edge of the bed, keeping her thighs spread, the view divine. “Because I’m going to get everything I want and more. You. I’m getting you and this gorgeous pussy.”

I run my fingers over the petal softness of her cunt, and she shudders.

Slowly, looking down at her, I position myself between those thighs. I take my cock from her hand and line it up, pushing into her. Plump lips split, stretch, and take the head of my cock, my shaft.

When I’m buried, I start to withdraw and push back in.

I like the build up to hammering into her, and when she starts to moan and thrash, I do just that. Hammer deep, pushing in, and though she’s tight as fuck, she’s easy to slide into because of how wet she is.

Her cunt around me is like nothing on this planet. Like nothing I’ve experienced. That thought comes at me over and over each time I re-enter her.

I push a hand down on her throat, holding her in place and her hip with the other so she’s exactly where I need her.

“You’re so big, Saint. So deep. I can feel you everywhere.” Belle’s hair’s a mess and her lips so red and swollen I go down and kiss her hard. Then I throw everything I am into bringing her off.

I find a tempo that seems to make her want to thrash and grind, and I stick with that, pulling out halfway to sink back in, hard. Again and again, her ripples start. Her thighs shake, and she moans.

When that orgasm passes, I grit my teeth, my balls so tight and high I’m in danger of coming, but I want her to really come, full fucking body, so I push through her mini comes, and then she starts to moan. There are words caught in the slur of her moaning, but they’re nonsensical, and I keep the pace, ignoring her attempts at trying to get more. Her thighs are tense, and she wants to grind, but I don’t let her.

Another time she can do what the fuck she wants.

This time?

I’m in control.

I’m going to ruin her.

She starts to vibrate, moaning louder, and her cunt pulsates everywhere. Then she spasms. Those contractions are like clamps slamming on me. I don’t know if I can make it.

The high-pitched noise she makes is perfection, and I move my hand on her hip to stroke her clit.

It’s beyond electric. Freed, her hips rise, and she squirts, the liquid giving me even more lubrication to go so deep I can’t control myself. The buzz of fire from my balls shoots up my cock in a wild ride of ecstasy that I come hard in her. My jizz pulsates with my cock as I double over, letting go of her throat and slamming into her so fucking deep that I almost pass out.

When it’s over, she’s boneless, and I’m not far from that state. I’m still in Belle, and I’m on her, our mouths so close that I have to kiss her. She winds around me and kisses me back, clinging and rocking on me.

“Saint . . . should . . . should I go?”

There’s a growl, and I laugh and roll us, taking the covers with me so she’s on top, thighs spread either side of my hips.

“That’s rude,” I say to her, smoothing her sweat-damp hair. “A lady stays the fucking night.”

Nomad chirps a meow.

“And you,” I say to him, “need to stop being a pervy, voyeuristic cat and get the fuck out.”

In response, he meows loudly and jumps up on the bed, staring at us both.

I turn us on our sides, trapping her thigh under me. “Do you think we should start a murder club, starting with a certain cat?”

She laughs as Nomad hits me in the face with his tail.

It’s going to be a good night.

Because once isn’t going to be enough.

Not even close.

I cook Belle breakfast Saturday morning, and then she takes off—reluctantly—to mark schoolwork and prep for the following week.

The thing is, I’m reluctant too. I like having her around. The sex is phenomenal, and though we agreed to keep it on a low burn, I had her against the wall in her apartment Saturday night.

It’s a stupid thing, fucking her. Stupidest and the smartest thing I’ve ever done. It’s going nowhere, it can’t because when the job’s done at the end of the month, I’m gone, out of here, back on the road like I planned.

“You’re a fucking liar,” I mutter as I fix a bike in my new space. Nomad insisted on following me—again, so in the corner, I have a bunch of packages I picked up last night. Taking a cat around in my jacket isn’t smart.

I try to tell myself it’s not a done thing for a biker, but I’ve never cared about doing the done thing. I am what I fucking am. An anomaly, someone who can move like a ghost through all the different clubs and factions with ease.

But if the cat’s going to fucking cat, I guess I should make it safe.

My phone pings, and I get up and check it.

Lance. I don’t answer.

When I’m done with the bike, I head back home to meet Belle.

There are more missed calls from the fuckwit ex of hers, but they can stay missed.

What I want is to lie to myself a little more about how she doesn’t mean anything to me and how I never expected us to get to this point and then forget all that when I lay eyes on her.

Because I might not be staying, but if another man even thinks of looking at her, I’ll break all his bones. I’ll turn into the badass biker Lance wants me to be

Just like I know, this point was more than inevitable from the moment I stopped those thuglings from doing anything to her.

Belle storms out the front door, but the happy bubble is gone, and instead, it’s dark and volatile. She waves a piece of paper. “Look.”

I let Nomad jump down, and I stay on my bike, motor off as I pluck the sheet from her.

“Son of a . . .”

Fucking Hastings has gone and jacked up the fees.

“He claims what he told everyone was wrong, and it’s more.” The quiver in her voice breaks me.

This, I know, is my fault.

I didn’t get rid of Farnham.

I helped him.

I put him in contact with Snake Eyes, who wanted an accountant. I don’t know how good the man is at it, but I’m betting the stuff Snake Eyes wants done is all above board and simple. Any other shit he’s into will be dealt with in other ways. Not on paper ways.

We set up a schedule, and I made sure he got a bonus for helping on short notice—a bonus from me—that he promptly sent off to Hastings as the payment he owed.

The guy’s looking after his mother, paying her medical bills, and his accounting job for some boring ass company is only now part-time, and done from home when he can. The biker business will bulk it out, and I know those guys will help ensure Mother Farnham’s bills are taken care of.

They’ll bring the books to him, or receipts from jars and pockets.

“Wait here.”

She opens her mouth, but I gun the engine and roar off to see Hastings.

I don’t even wait to be announced by his receptionist.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I demand.

He stumbles back, scrambling behind his desk. There, he puffs out his chest. I slap down the notice.

“I’ve been calling about that. Handing out the updated letters.”

“You’re stating since they’re not paying much in rent, they have to understand the real-world costs more and more and they need to pay for it. You redid the calculations, and they’re still coming out on top?” I ask. “Were you born a piece of shit, or did you just learn it?”

“Careful, asshole, you work for me, remember?”

“Then I can just not work for you. Find somewhere else or pay the rent for the month. But I’m not doing this.”

“So, now, you don’t want to do your job?”

“Not if you’re giving the fucking devil a run for his money.”

Lance pinches his nose, and he’s a little purple in the face. “I need you.”

“The job, as stated, is clear. I’ll do that or walk.”

“Fine.”

I turn and stalk off.

When I get home, I knock on Belle’s door. She rips it open, her jacket half on. “I’m going to kill Lance.”

“Hey . . .”

I take her face and kiss her.

“Don’t try and placate me with deliciousness,” she says. “Death to Lance.”

“Your bloodthirsty ways turn me on.”

But maybe, I think, maybe I should tell her the truth.

“Belle, look, I just saw him, and?—”

“You did that,” she whispers, eyes wide, “for me?”

Oh, fuck. She thinks . . .

I swallow.

“Belle, I?—”

“Saint.” She throws herself at me, kissing me hard and deep. I lose myself in it, head spinning, dick fucking hard.

I ease her back. I have to tell her the truth. I have to let her know I work for him. It isn’t that bad, but if I leave it . . .

“Belle.”

There’s a faint buzzing sound. She pulls out her phone, frowning. “I have to run like Cinderella,” she says. “Can we continue this? I’m needed at the school.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“There’s a special art thing we do for Christmas, and the art teacher needs to go home as she’s got food poisoning. Can we continue this later?”

“Sure.”

I know, as she dashes off, that it’s not going to come up again.