Page 79 of Savage Saint

I watched her shop. Ran the beach while she lay beneath the sun.

And when club business kept me away, I made sure a prospect watched her building instead.

For seven days, I’ve been patient, but that ends right now.

I need her close.

My hands clench at my sides, and my nostrils flare as I take in every inch of her standing in the doorway, looking like every filthy thought I’ve had since meeting her. Especially these last seven days.

I’ve seen her in a tiny bikini.

Watched her casually walk through stores in summer dresses.

Remember her in a bloody pair of scrubs, exhausted, but still powerfully beautiful.

But this…

Fuck, this is different.

The deep plum color of her bra top and tiny shorts stretch across her curves, the thin fabric accentuating the tanned skin I intend to become familiar with. Her stomach is bare, smooth, and golden, while the shorts sit high on her waist, barely covering enough of her thighs to qualify as clothing.

I’ve seen club cueros walk around topless.

Been in the room while club brothers bend over a willing woman and fuck her.

Yet this is indecent. Leaves little to the imagination.

Especially when she turns around.

“Motherfuck,” I mutter low, exhaling roughly when I catch the way the seam running down the center does filthy fucking things to an ass I’ve spent the last week watching from afar. Made sure she got home safe every night.

She did this on purpose.

My gaze travels back up slowly, following the curve of her hip and then her small waist before memorizing the swell of her breasts. The delicate neckline rests against her chest, the fabric stretched tight across the perky, bigger-than-a-handful tits, and my hands aren’t small.

She’d spill over in mine.

Higher; I take in her bare face and glossy lips before noticing the curls piled up high in a messy updo that, on her, looks sexy. A few stray pieces frame her cheeks.

I step in closer and my mouth waters.

Mangos. Creamy. She shivers.

My jaw ticks and Genesis shifts, fingers tightening around the strap of the bag hanging at her side. She doesn’t cover herself, but does take a small step back, and I follow. Move closer.

“Hi,” she says, tone breathy. A small shiver runs through her, those warm brown eyes a little hooded, but I don’t respond. Instead, I step forward—following every automatic one she takes back until we’re inside her apartment and the door closes behind us.

I crowd her against the nearest wall, her chest to my stomach.

She’s so small. Cute.

Her warmth seeps into me, that perfect combination of mangoes and cream making me hard. Everything about her does.

That smart mouth. Her curves. The way she leans into me, completely unafraid.

A small smile curls at my lips, and she watches—licks hers. Genesis Romero is dangerous.

And yet, I can't stay away from her fire. Want her bite.