Page 101 of My Fallen Saint

“Oh, baby. Hell, no. Besides,” he adds with a devious grin, “how many times have I told you how I feel about anticipation?”

More tears slip from my eyes, but I’m smiling. Not only because he’s just told me there will be a next time, but because he’s still calling me El, even after I denied him.

“Devlin, please.” I don’t have to say another word. He flashes a devilish grin at me, then slowly—so wickedly slowly—kisses his way down my body until he reaches my panties. He eases them down, but I’m too eager, and kick to move the process along.

He laughs, then holds my legs steady as he settles between them again. He blows gently on my clit, which feels incredible, then he teases me with his tongue before very deliberately rubbing his beard along my inner thigh. I laugh and squirm. Not only from the tickling sensation, but because he’s so obviously teasing me with exactly what I’d said I wanted.

My laughter soon turns to gasps, though, as Devlin turns his considerable skills to my clit, his fingers thrusting inside me as his mouth works an absolutely perfect magic on me until I’m so close that I’m squirming and arching and trying to reach the stars.

I remember the first time we did this. He’d told me to tug at my nipples, and I do that now, and oh, yes, oh, God, yes, that’s the final key to this wonderful puzzle of pleasure. My whole body tightens, then breaks apart, and as it does, I reach down, twining my fingers in his hair and holding him in place as I buck against him, harder and faster until the storm finally, thankfully ebbs.

When reason returns, I pull him up, then kiss him, wanting more still. Wanting a kiss that feels like fucking. Wanting him to explode inside me. “Now,” I whisper. “Please, please, tell me you brought a condom.”

“Your wish…” he says, then leaves the bed long enough to take care of sheathing himself.

“Hurry,” I beg, though that turns out to be an unnecessary request. He’s hard and ready and he pushes my knees up as he slides into me, then presses his hands into the mattress on either side of my head, his eyes on mine as he thrusts deep inside of me, hitting that sensitive spot deep, deep inside so that I build again with him.

This time when he takes me over it’s even more powerful than before. I cry out as my core tightens, drawing him in, milking him, wanting him deeper and harder. Wanting this connection to never be broken.

“Devlin,” I whisper, when I can finally speak again. He’s collapsed onto me, the weight of his body sweetly comforting.

He shifts, then pushes up again so that he’s balanced over me, breathing hard, his face flushed from the intensity of his orgasm. I watch as his eyes open, then see the moment when he slides back into reality and his eyes find mine. “Oh, baby,” he says. “That was incredible.”

We share a smile, and it ignites a whole new spark, sending a new wave of desire coursing through me, though I don’t think I’d survive another orgasm like the one that’s still tingling over every inch of me.

But that heat—oh, God, what I see in his eyes. It’s longing and passion and need. It’s hot and primal, and I want more. So much more. Not just tonight, but forever.

Except I can’t say that. Hell, I’m afraid of even letting him see it in my face. This horrible, guilty secret that I can’t stand the thought that this will end.

Because now that I’ve found Alex again—now that Devlin Saint is in my life—I don’t think that I can survive losing him all over again.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake up, it’s dark and I’m alone. There’s also a draft, and I sit up, holding the sheet to my breasts to ward off the desert chill.

I tug it off the bed, wrap it around me, then hit the light switch, but there’s no sign of Devlin in the RV. I find him right outside the door, sitting on the rough wooden step that leads up to the doorway.

“Catch the light,” he says without turning around. I do, and the world fades into darkness, coming back into focus as my eyes adjust, the sand glowing under the light of a crescent moon.

“Slide over,” I say, then settle in beside him, my hip pressed tight against his.

Immediately, he slides his arm around my waist, and I lean against him. “Want some of my sheet?”

He shakes his head. He’s wearing only his boxer briefs, and though I’d be freezing without the sheet, Devlin is a man who burns hot.

“I’m not good for you,” he says after we’ve sat in silence, listening to the night and getting drunk on moonlight.

I tense, wondering how much of my earlier thoughts he’d picked up on. Wondering, too, how much he’d been thinking along the same lines. Finally, I say, “You are.”

“You know who my father is. You know some of the things I’ve done.”

I reach for his hand. “I do. I also know you. And I trust you.”

I can’t see his face, but I hear him draw in a breath, long and deep.

“What’s going on? Today was perfect. Did you get a call? A text?”

He turns his head to face me, then kisses me so gently it feels as if I’ll float away. “It’s not that you trust me,” he says. “It’s that you trust yourself. When you take control of a plane. When you drive a car faster than it should go. When you fuck a dangerous man.”

He pulls his hand free, then cups the back of his neck, his head turned just enough so that I can see his eyes, sandy tonight since he’s not wearing his contacts. “You think you’re living dangerously, and you are. But there’s a cap to it. You trust yourself. You trust your own judgment. But you don’t go further. That’s why you wouldn’t let—”