Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Belle

The sweet goodness of being with him and Nomad drains from me.

All the wicked thoughts, the things I still want to do, have done, they all fade to the background. Along with that bouncy little adrenaline spike at the audacity I had when I blew him, the fact I could make him go to his knees—the realization I loved every moment.

All that stuff?

Background noise.

I stare at the sign. It’s a real estate sign. What is it doing her? Why is it here?

Hastings Corp.

LC Hastings.

Lance Hastings.

I know he’s bad in so many ways. But this?

“He wants to build a resort,” I whisper. I’m not stupid and I’m sure without he’d tear this place down.

Probably build something exclusive, a getaway with a rich little city in spitting distance is the very thing that’ll appeal to his set, to the well-heeled.

It makes more sense now that he wants Secret Gardens empty. I’m betting he’ll turn that into either luxury apartments or build a Super Hanks.

“The Sweetwood facelift, I’ve heard him say that before,” I say. “And I think I’m beginning to understand it.”

“What do you mean?” Saint asks.

I take a breath, still staring at the sign. “He wanted the city library gone, reimagined as something very much not the library. He’s talked of cleaning up crime, emptying out and redoing the poorer areas, a mega Hanks where it’s a mecca of fine food, wine, and little eateries.”

“Fuck.”

“This isn’t a place most people come. It’s pretty, a little jewel that overlooks the city, and if he puts something in here . . .”

“Rich fucks will feel both like they’re away from it all while close to it?”

I nod. “But where my little home is—yours too—” I close my eyes “—temporarilyit’s in the way. It takes up land. He could put the mega Hanks there, and some small luxury apartments where people could either stay or live and have it all at their fingertips.”

“Maybe he just?—”

“Are you defending him?” I ask.

Nomad meows sharply.

Saint holds up his hands, fierce in the light of his headlights. “Now, hold on. I think he’s a cunt. No offense.” He drops his hands and comes and pulls me to him, into his warmth, the beat of his heart. His strength. “I don’t like the fucker, and you being engaged to him is what I’m calling a moment of insanity, but where will people go?”

“The other side? He can’t get rid of all the poor neighborhoods, but if he can maneuver people into one area, it’ll be easier for him to sell the place on luxury and riches and whatever else is in his materialistic soul.”

He sighs and drops his mouth to my neck, just above the shoulder, and sucks lightly. “This shit happens.”

“It shouldn’t.” My heart’s throbbing, and I’m wound tight inside, hot and cold warring it out. I’m restless. I want to take action. I hurt. I want to burrow into this man and have him pretend to soothe away the problems of the world.

He kisses a path up along my throat to my skin, and I shudder from the sweetness of it.

It’s unexpected.

Saint’s unexpected.

I’m glad.

“I thought . . . no . . . knew he was greedy, but this is heartless. And Lance, I didn’t think he was heartless. Not at the start, not for all the time we were together.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, but he also doesn’t let me go.

“Why Lance?” Saint strokes a hand on my back, and I slide mine inside his jacket, against that hard, hot flesh. “I can see it, as in outside looking in. But fuck, Belle. You’re world’s better than him. For a start, you care.”

“It wasn’t the money. Actually, I said no longer than I might have because of the money. My parents have money, and I don’t like the way it comes with hidden clauses and traps, the way those who have it try and control those who don’t. But I guess he wore me down. Or I was an idiot. I made a mistake.”

“Everyone makes fucking mistakes. That’s how the world turns, stays interesting.”

I laugh, but he’s right. Just . . . I don’t want to be the one making the mistakes.

“It’s fucking cold, Red. Let’s get pizza and steal Sin’s whiskey. Talk. See where that takes us.”

Even though I don’t want a drink, I nod. “Deal.”

“Don’t mind me,” Sin says when we walk in, a knowing little smile on her face. “I’m going out. Jealous?”

The word hits me hard, as does the sight of the woman in front of me.

She’s sex with sharp nails, beauty with teeth.

I honestly don’t think I’ve seen someone look so good.

The leather outfit is tight and hot, and she flips her hair.

“Not fucking likely,” Saint mutters, pressing send on his phone. We discussed the pizza on the way from his bike to the door, and in the end, he ordered two. Something about no fucking mushrooms on his. “Have fun, and do not have sex in my bed. Or apartment.”

“I’d have thought that would be a little cramped. Unless your librarian’s into threesomes. Or foursomes.” Sin turns to me, but the light in her gaze is friendly. “And something says she isn’t. Are you?”

“No, she fucking isn’t, Sin.”

She winks at me. “Thought not.” She slides him a look over her shoulder as Nomad meows from his space biker capsule. “I’m betting you aren’t these days, either.”

“Fucking shut up, Sin.”

“Make me. Don’t wait up.”

“Yeah, right.” Then he pats his pockets. “Shit. I want to tip.”

He goes searching for change or his wallet, and I’m left with Sin.

“You know,” she says, “you just might be what he needs, much as I hate saying that.”

“D-do you still?—”

Sin laughs. “Want him? No, I just don’t like losing. You’re so not him, you just might be. But . . .” That laughter fades. “Be careful. Don’t let him break your heart. You have one, I don’t.”

“Everyone has a heart,” I say, wishing this conversation was over.

“Romantic heart. Saint won’t mean to. And he’s a stand-up guy, but he’s a loner, a nomad, and they break hearts. Smash them.”

I take a step to her. “Is that why you broke up?”

“No. It was time, that’s all. I do want a place to call mine, he doesn’t.” Then she squeezes my arm and calls out, “Don’t miss me too much, Saint.”

She walks out the door, and a few minutes later, her engine roars and takes off into the night.

Saint rubs a hand over his face. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think that might have been her way of giving a blessing?” I regret the words the moment they’re out of my mouth.

“That’s the kind of fucked up thing she’d do.”

Then he grabs the whiskey, the cat, and gestures to the door.

“It’s coming to your place. I figured just in case she comes back, she won’t disturb us.”

From somewhere, a big smile blooms warm in me. “You think you’re getting some?”

“No fucking idea about some, but I’ve got dessert in mind, the X-rated type.” He leans right in and steals a slow kiss. “And I’ve got a voracious appetite.”

Nomad’s in heaven because someone’s feeding him bacon and cheese, making sure there’s no tomato sauce on any of the bits the cat gets.

He’s purring loudly, and I’m soft inside, the whiskey doing its job. Saint’s talking to the cat, telling him he’s a good cat for vermin and it makes my heart squeeze and dance.

For a big bad biker who insists on repeating the cat isn’t his, Nomad’s burrowed in to Saint’s heart.

Anyone can see it.

Even if Saint doesn’t.

Or, rather, denies it.

His care for the cat, the fact he adapted one of those popular hard-shell pet backpacks so the animal can ride with him means something.

He won’t abandon Nomad.

“Fuck. You’re wearing this look, like you’re going to solve all the problems of the world.” He tilts his head. “Or just me. Don’t try and solve me. It won’t work.”

“You’re not as bad as you think.” I pause, refusing to let his words get to me. Refusing to let Sin’s. I know the score. This is a now thing, and I can worry about the future or enjoy it, and I want the latter. “By bad, I mean badass.”

“Ouch. Well, since we’re being all fucking honest. . .” He slides a hand around my shoulders, and Nomad jumps up, putting his paws on Saint’s thigh. “You’re not as sweet and innocent, either.”

“I am.”

He grins. “And what was that in my garage?”

Heat shoots through me.

I pick up the whiskey glass and take a swallow. “Oh, you mean when I asked about Nomad’s carry case?”

“Oh, that, and the fucking blowjob.” He leans in, kissing me. “You taste even sweeter when it’s tinged with embarrassed pride.”

I swallow. “Pride?”

“Pride.”

I let that settle. Does that mean . . . I look at him, and he’s so close, I note the couple of gray hairs in his beard. Why didn’t I notice them before? I?—

“You liked it?”

“Didn’t I tell you that out of the top ten best experiences, that comes into the top five.”

“Oh.”

“Wanna know what they are, Red?”

Thing is I want to kiss him, anything to not hear the list and yes, because I want to. Or maybe I do want to hear it. He ties me up in the kind of knots I’m not sure how to get out of. “I don’t know.”

“Sure, you do. In no particular order, except for number one, there’s that, eating you out, fucking you, swapping Serial Killers R Us shopping tips, and in first place? Kissing you for the first time.”

I spill the whiskey. He eases it from my hand.

“That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said.”

“No,” he says, “that’s the fucking truth. I’m not a romantic guy. Shit.”

Then he pulls me into him, sending Nomad scrambling off with a hiss and a yowl of annoyance. Saint kisses me.

Deep, meandering, the kind of kiss that makes breath meaningless. I tumble into it, turning, climbing on his lap on the sofa so I can take his face and kiss him hard.

It’s like it isn’t me, this fever, this urge. His mouth is the perfect amount of wetand heat, The firmness of his lips, the tease of his tongue, and the tickle of his beard all swirl to form something more than the parts.

Like orgasm.

Like sex.

It consumes, becomes a fever and there’s only him, his mouth, the hardness of his body, his erection that I rock against. His hands on me pull me into him, grind me into him and I want to laugh with sheer sweet emotion as he kisses a trail down my throat and then back to my mouth.

I lick his bottom lip, suck on his tongue, and I grip his head, as his hand comes up to tangle in my hair.

Saint grips it, pulling my head back, breaking the kiss. “I want you to sit on my fucking face, Red.”

Panic shoots through me. We’re on my sofa. I don’t know what to do. I stare at him.

“Jesus, Red, please don’t tell me the men, all of whom I wanna fucking kill, that you’ve fucked haven’t spent their time trying to go down on you as much as humanly possible in a day? Because, you need to know, I’d happily spend a good portion of my life between your thighs. And I’m not fussy.”

He starts stripping me even though I’m still on him, the dress is unzipped and pulled down, bra off.

“I’ll eat you on the floor, against the wall, here on the sofa, you spread out like a banquet, you straddling my face, riding my tongue. Anyhow, anytime, anywhere.”

He pushes me off him and pulls off my shoes, tights, and panties. Saint barely looks at the cotton.

“I . . .”

“You don’t even know how fucking special you are.”

Those words make me slip further into him, into my feelings, that sea of emotion that’s falling in love. And I can’t stop it. He’s not staying, this is just for now. However, my stupid heart doesn’t care.

It just wants. I want.

I look up, and his gaze burns down into me as he pushes me onto my back and parts my knees, edging my legs up.

I’m exposed, there, and the heat from my pussy throbs and spreads as the expression on his face is pure want and desire.

“Fuck, Red.”

He goes to his knees, fingers sliding, a rough ride up my inner thigh, and to my pussy. Saint doesn’t penetrate, instead, he slips along my slit, then back, and using two fingers, he pinches together my pussy lips, and I almost jump.

Our gazes clash again, sending sparks through me.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, lowering his head to suck on my clit.

I almost whimper as his velvet rough tongue moves over it. Then he looks up, scissoring those fingers.

“What the actual fuck? I thought, Red, you were a woman with taste, brains, and yet why do I get the feeling you chose men who don’t know the delights of a woman’s body, the pleasure that’s there for the taking? The fucking fact there’s pleasure in giving pleasure too?”

He drops down, this time he opens his fingers, and his tongue beats against the bottom of my clit, his fingers moving down and then into me.

An orgasm throws me high into the air. He doesn’t stop as the pleasure, the bliss, the high notes that burn hot in me, notes he released buffet me.

Saint looks up, but doesn’t lift his head. “Your mistakes are my gain. I’m going to fucking ruin you. Stamp you as mine.”

This time he pushes a finger into my as,s and he sucks, licks, and kisses, Little nips of his teeth send me shooting up into the stratosphere, and that orgasm? It rocks me again. Hard.

He flips me so my ass is facing him. Before I can scramble into a dignified position, the sound of a zip hisses, and then his big cock is there, pushing at my entrance.

Oh hell. A wave of anticipation licks my insides and I grip the back of the sofa and one of his big hands grips my hip. The other . . .

The head of his cock splits me and pushes slowly in. His fingers of his other hand brush me as he clearly guides himself. I spasm on him, and he hisses in a deep breath. “Hold on, Belle.”

What else am I going to do? I’m ready, not ready, but I want him in me more than anything. He stretches me, his cock pushing in, taking up space, all the way in until his hand isn’t there, but his hips are, and he’s in me. So deep I can barely stand it.

He brushes my hair back and leans over me. Drops a kiss on my upper back and then nudges my ear. “Ready for the ride?”

“Yes.”

Hands now on my hips he straightens, pulls out and then slams back in, a shard of dull discomfort spreading through me, along with a wave of pleasure. He does it again. Then again, building a deep, deep hard and fast rhythm.

The discomfort fades and soon I’m in his fever pitch, my hips moving back, wanting more. He gives it.

This is unlike any sex I’ve had. It’s hard, fast, filthy. Deep and rough. It’s everything I never knew I wanted.

I comes so damn hard, I sob.

He doesn’t stop. He slams into me over and over, through the orgasm and I come again. This time, it’s so big that I’m not sure it stops, and as he takes me, I’m pushing into him. It’s synergistic filth. It’s something I’ll dream of forever.

When he comes, he calls out one name.

Mine.