Both aimlessly wandering around in the gorge betweenus.
His eyes search mine, and a knowing smile tilts the corners of my lips.
“I’m ready, Saint.”
One minute, we’re standing at the foot of my bed, the next he’s dropping his hands to my thighs, my legs intertwining behind his waist. My back slams against the bedroom door, the towel lying on the floor, serving as a reminder of where I once stood.
Our lips collide.
Our worlds crash into each other violently.
Our kiss is a mixture of longing, need and desperation.
It’s got the room tipping on its axis; hell, the whole fucking universe feels like it’s lost control.
The motion makes me lightheaded, and I wrap my arms around his neck, one hand clawing up through the strands of his hair, tugging him to me, making sure this is real.
He steals every ounce of oxygen in me, drowning me in everything that is Saint Blackwood.
I tremble as he strokes his tongue against mine, causing heat to spike in my core. My entire body feels like it’s soared to a dangerous temperature.
My moans are captured by him, and firm, callused hands grip behind my thighs as he pushes us flush against the door, the lock rattling against the hinges.
I grind against his solid length, causing me to gasp into the kiss when it brushes over that spot. He then loosens his grip on me; my skin is so fired up from our connection that when he lets me glide to the floor, the cold wood sends a spark from the pads of my feet.
We’re breathless, his forehead resting against mine as his eyes stay closed.
“I can’t lose control with you.” His words fight between his heavy breathing, and my hands reach up to cup his neck, feeling the conflict pull his nerve endings tight.
“I know you’d never hurt me.”
Delicate circles are traced against my ribs by his thumbs. “I’ve changed, Indie. More than you can imagine.”
“And you don’t think I have?” I add, knowing he’ll have glimpsed the small amounts in our time together.
He laughs, pressing his lips against my cheek. “Oh, I’m very fucking aware. My once angelic little darling has developed a thirst for hunting down members of a hidden society.”
I’m too caught up in the wordmy; he’s still referring to me as his.
Maybe there is something still there, just buried deep as we try to navigate this new version of us, like learning to live in our own post-apocalyptic worlds.
“Exactly. I’m not as fragile as you think I am. You don’t experience what I have and not get a little darker yourself.”
I’m the last person you’d think about taking someone’s life, never mind multiple. Not a lot of people know what happened to Regina and me, even though we tried to tell someone.
We upped and left the city, people thinking we just moved on with our lives as normal after university.
It was so far from the fucking truth that it’s laughable.
“I know,” he breathes, his lips ready to move again, but forming wordlessly.
Saint and I’s relationship was intense, wild, possessive. We’d fought against it for so long that when we eventually gave in, we exploded.
He took me into a part of his world, corrupting the good girl I was brought up to be.
He showed me a whole other meaning to those two words.
“The Indie you knew is gone. She died a long time ago, Saint. I’m not that shattered girl who pushed you away on the swings. I came back stronger.”
