“I won’t.”
“Sure about that?”
He slid inside me again, gentler than I’d been with myself, and it hit different. Somehow, his dick felt bigger, but easier to take.
I relaxed and latched on to the openness taking over his face. The desire overcoming whatever the fuck had held him back all these years.
He dropped a hand either side of my head, his arms rippling, his tattoos bright as the sun shining through the open van doors.
His dick pulsed inside me. “I didn’t know.”
He didn’t need to explain. He’d never imagined that I was versatile because I’d never fucking told him. Had never dared, in case it had lit a fire in me I couldn’t contain. And I’d been right. As Saint bent my leg and drew it to his body, it was over. I was gone.
And you know what?
I didn’t ever want to be found.
Saint fucked me as I’d always known he would. He took me apart, beat by slow fucking beat, and every ounce of arrogance I’d brought into this got left by the wayside.
He owned me. I was a sweaty, gasping mess for him, and he was barely fucking moving. In and out. Slow and steady. Fuck.Fuck. “Saint.”
“What?” He pressed my leg to my chest and drove inside me a tiny bit harder. “This is what you wanted, right?”
I’d never heard him speak during sex.
Never. I sucked in a shaky breath and made a clumsy grab for his face. “I wanted you. Always you.”
Don’t forget.
But I was out of words. He was too good at this, and I was happily gonna drown in the pleasure shivering through every inch of my body.
Saint smirked, but it was faint, overpowered by an emotion I was too far gone to decipher. Wildness blazed in his emerald eyes. His dick surged inside me and I couldn’t take it. I flailed, rolling over and taking him with me, my face smashing into his forest-scented bed, my dick seeking friction while the rest of me pushed back, needing more than the mind-blowing ride he was already giving me.
I was a mess for him and, fuck, I hoped he knew it.
Whatever he knew, Saint heard the plea behind the frantic disaster I’d become beneath him. He covered me with his body, his chest to my back, and fucked me harder. Not faster. Just harder, digging his cock inside me, gutting me with it, gentle but savage.
No mercy.
A mess of sounds escaped me.
His tortured groan—the one I heard in my dirtiest dreams—answered, and something inside me detonated. “Saint. Fuck. I’m gonna—”
My body obliterated my brain. Fire ripped through me, and I came, clamping down on Saint, my dick erupting as sensation flooded my nerves, wiping my brain of anything but how he felt buried inside me. His shudder and moan as he finally let go, blunt nails scraping my back, his fingers twisting in my hair.
“Cam.”
He said nothing else. Didn’t need to. Every word he couldn’t find was in his rough hands holding me down, work-hardened palms that felt like fucking silk to my sweaty skin. His lips at my throat, his teeth.
His cock throbbing as he released and wet heat burned me alive.
I couldn’t stop moving, the greedy bastard in me chasing every scrap of ecstasy, oblivious to the fact that my lungs were in bits, my shoulder screaming for peace.
Saint stilled me, gripping my hips as he pressed a kiss to my spine, pulling out of me so slowly that my crazy body tried to stop him.
He kissed me again. “Shh.”
A whisper. I didn’t know what it meant, but I obeyed, because I wasn’t his president. Like this, we were just men. I was his, and perhaps he was mine.