"That turned you on," he says, voice strained. "Watching me beat the shit out of him."
I don't answer, and he pulls my head back slightly. "Answer me."
"Yes," I moan.
"You liked it when I hurt people." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"Fuck, you're perfect." He pulls me down for a kiss, brutal and claiming. "Mine. You're fucking mine."
"Yours," I agree, because in this moment, it's true. I am his.
"Now, come," he demands, his thumb pressing on my clit.
I do just that. I clench around him, crying out his name as I spasm and fall into the abyss. He follows seconds later, spilling inside me with a groan.
We collapse together, both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine. His hand has left my hair, and he's caressing my back as he cradles me to him. I melt. This is nice. It's the tenderness I need post sex.
We don't speak. Not for a while anyway.
Finally, he chuckles. The deep rumble of it rocks me slightly.
"What exactly are you laughing at?" I ask, pretending to be irritated.
"That dress," he says eventually, "was a good choice."
I laugh, breathless. "Told you."
"Don't get cocky."
"Why not? You like it."
He does. I can see it in his eyes. The way he looks at me now is different than before. There's desire in his eyes. Want.
Things have changed.
I want to stay like this. Connected and cradled, but Saint has other ideas. He lifts me off of him, disconnecting himself with a groan.
"It's late. We should get home."
I nod, fixing my panties, as Saint tucks himself back into his pants and starts the car.
We drive home in comfortable silence, his hand on my thigh the whole way.
When we reach the compound, he walks me to the bedroom door.
"Get some sleep," he says. "We have work tomorrow."
"Work?"
"Planning the next strike."
He nods, releasing my hand. "You aren't coming to bed?" I ask.
He shakes his head. "I have some work to take care of."
I must pout because he leans in, pulling my bottom lip between his teeth. "Be a good girl and rest," he tells me. My blood heats at his words, and I lick my lips. He groans.
