"I'm fine," I manage, feeling breathless.
He steps closer, studies my face. "You sure? Because you look?—"
"I'm fine," I repeat. Then, quieter: "That was..."
"What?"
I meet his eyes. See the violence still simmering there. The possessiveness. The pure, unfiltered need to protect what's his.
And I realize something.
Saint is a monster. A killer. A psychopath who just hospitalized a stranger for touching me.
But maybe—maybe that's exactly what I need.
A monster who's mine.
"Let's go home," I whimper. I'm flushed, and the booze has gone to my head. I don't want to be here anymore. I want to be somewhere private.
"I thought you wanted to dance."
I roll my eyes, grab Saint's jacket, and pull him closer to me. My lips brush his ear as I whisper. "If you don't fuck me in the next ten minutes, I'm going to lose my mind."
He doesn't need to be told twice.
We're out of the club and in the car in as much time as it takes me to do a slow blink.
We don't make it home.
Saint pulls over in some dark parking lot, and I'm climbing over the center console before the engine's even off. I need him.
Now.
"Gemma—"
I straddle him. "I need you inside of me, right now."
He groans, hands finding my thighs, pushing the dress up. "Fuck, baby. You are so hot." His words stroke the fire inside of me even higher. I've never been this desperate for a man before, but it's like the alcohol has turned off my brain, and my body is in control.
"You made me this way," I say, panting into his mouth as I rock my core against the bulge in his jeans.
"Yeah," he agrees, reaching between us to free himself. "I did."
He pulls my underwear aside, and I sink down onto him in one smooth motion. We both gasp.
"Fuck," he breathes. "You're soaked."
I shiver as he wraps one hand in my hair and presses the other hard around my thigh. "Did I do this to you, baby?"
I whimper.
"Did watching me beat the shit out of that guy make you hot? The blood? The destruction?" His teeth press into the smooth column of my neck, and I gasp.
I'm riding him hard and fast.
No finesse. Just need. My movements are sloppy, but I don't care. I'm lost in the sensation of him inside of me, and the dirty words he whispers into my ear.
The car rocks with our movements. Saint's hands grip my hips, guiding me, helping me take him deeper.
