My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,21
with two codes. One assigned to the security desk and the other set by the tenant. “Why?”
“I gave it to him years ago,” Devlin says. “Ronan spends more time in Manhattan than I do, and I wanted him to be able to get to you if you were ever in trouble.”
“I—oh.” I shake my head, letting my thoughts settle. Not long ago, that revelation would have annoyed me. Today, I’m not surprised at all. On the contrary, I like knowing how much effort he spent to watch and protect me in the time we were apart.
Not that I’m going to say so right away. Instead, I cross to him and give him a half-hearted smack on the chest, which is, I note, deliciously bare. “I wasn’t in trouble last night,” I say. “Captive, maybe. But not in trouble.”
“Captive? I like that.” As if in demonstration, his hand closes around my wrist as he pulls me closer, then twists my arm behind me as I melt against him. I’m wearing nothing but the silky robe, and I can feel how hard he is beneath the loose flannel PJs. My pulse immediately kicks up, as if I’m nothing more than a windup toy, and Devlin Saint is the key.
But I’m still curious about why Ronan was here, so I pull away, intending to step back and ask. He doesn’t let me. If anything, my struggle has made him harder.
I squirm against him, my breath shallow, and I decide that I don’t really care about Ronan at all. “Didn’t you get your fill last night?”
“Never,” he says. There’s a new wildness to his voice. A heat and a hardness I haven’t heard before.
“Devlin…”
He yanks me closer, and I gasp as desire thrums through me, spurred by the knife-edge of his passion. “I don’t like having things I want pulled out of my grasp. His free hand—the one not holding my arm tight behind my back, slips between my thighs. I’m already wet, my body on fire for him, and I gasp as his fingers thrust inside of me. “I much prefer to take what I want.”
He tightens his grip, my shoulder aching from the pressure.
I bite my lip, then force out the words. “What do you want?”
“Can’t you tell?”
“Then take it,” I say, and, thank God, he does.
We’re insatiable, the both of us. Hands and mouths and fingers. Everything and anything. I’m still sore from yesterday, which had been like a marathon of hard, driving, incredible sex. And yet all I want is more. Devlin, I know, feels the same.
This is more than just the heat that we’ve always generated when we’re together. This is a battle. A war. The world has thrown down the gauntlet against Devlin Saint, and between the two of us we’re generating the kind of nuclear reaction inside him that will wipe those bastards away. Maybe not off the earth, but at least out of his mind.
We’re fucking for strength, to fight and to forget. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t even matter. I can’t remember a moment when I didn’t want Devlin, and as he grips my hair—as his kisses draw blood—as he fucks me hard against the wall until I am held up only by his arms, a limp rag to be used for his pleasure—I know that I will always, always, surrender to his needs no matter how dark.
I need it too, after all.
When we’re finally spent, we slide down the wall, then cling to each other on the hard floor. I’d loved the way the flooring looked when I moved in, but now I’m thinking that carpet or a few well-placed rugs would have been smart.
“I love you,” he says, brushing a lock of hair away from my eye and hooking it behind my ear.
“Do you think I don’t know that?”
He smiles, his sandy brown eyes taking me in. “Maybe I just like saying it.”
“Good,” I say, letting my eyes roam over that incredible body. “I like hearing it.”
After a few minutes, his lazy smile turns into a grin. “You’re staring.”
“You’re very pleasant to look at.” Understatement of the year. Really.
“And?”
I scowl. Seriously, the man has the power to read my mind. “I see you better than anyone, you know.”
“You do.”
I reach out and trail my fingers over his bare skin, tracing the line of his body as he’s stretched out on his side. “I see what Packard and that snake Livingston don’t.”