write now that he’s here. And even though I absolutely do not want to repeat what happened earlier, I’m starting to appreciate that it happened. I feel like anything I write in the book will be absolutely accurate thanks to Saint.
I can see the heat behind his eyes when he looks at me, but I like that he’s not pushing things. I’m sure he’s leaving whatever happens next up to me.
I lift a hand and drag my thumb over his bottom lip, then I lean forward and kiss him. Even his kiss is hesitant. He lets me decide what direction I want this kiss to take, so I slip my tongue into his mouth.
He’s standing between my legs now, and his towel leaves very little barrier between us, so I feel him harden almost instantly.
I wrap my legs around him and that’s when he takes my control of the kiss away from me. He cradles my head with his hand and deepens the kiss, pulling me to the edge of the counter so that I’m mostly being held up by him.
I let my head fall back as he drags his mouth down my throat. I close my eyes, dizzy beneath his touch. I feel his fingers on the hem of my robe.
“Can I?” he whispers.
I lift my head and look at him, then nod quietly.
His eyes fall to my chest, and I then he unties my robe. I lift up a little as removes it and pulls it away. He tosses it over his shoulder, sucking in a small gasp of air as he looks at me, then runs his fingers down the center of my chest.
I can’t help but stare at his wedding ring as his hand moves to cup my breast.
Are my breasts prettier than his wife’s?
Am I prettier than his wife?
He takes my nipple in his mouth and I fist my hand into his hair, pressing his lips against me even harder. He sucks at my breast without a trace of the gentleness he’s been displaying since I got out of the shower.
The hungry side of him has taken over, and his mouth is suddenly all over me—on both breasts, then my neck, then back to my mouth. I can barely keep up with the parts of me he’s focused so intently on before he moves on to another part of me.
He lifts me off the counter and holds me against him, one hand wrapped around my lower back and the other cupping my ass while his tongue is deep in my mouth.
I’m glad he’s carrying me right now because I think I’m too dizzy to walk.
He drops me on the sofa, rips his towel away, and then lowers himself on top of me. It happens so fast, I don’t get a good enough look at him to determine whether or not this is going to hurt.
I’ve never had that before—the kind of sex women have in the books I write. Every man I’ve ever been with has been of average size, so I’ve always had to imagine what it would be like to be fucked by a man who is so big, it actually hurts.
As soon as I wrap my legs around him, it’s clear that I won’t have to imagine it any longer. I can feel the intimidating length of him rubbing against my thigh.
When he repositions himself so that he can start to slide into me, I wince.
“Relax,” he whispers, his mouth feathering mine. “You’ll forget about the pain soon. I promise.” The gentleness in his voice coupled with the reassuring look in his eyes makes me putty beneath him.
He begins to push the rest of himself into me, and I close my eyes, savoring every second of this. I pay attention to the pain, to the pleasure, to the noises we’re both making. I imagine how I’m going to describe this when I write it all down.
Painful, yet satiating.
Sensual, yet animalistic.
We find our rhythm almost instantly, and I stop thinking about how I’ll describe this. All I can think about is how good this feels. Those thoughts are occasionally mixed with worry about the current state of my morals, but that worry is easy to pack away when Saint kisses me.
I could get used to this.
So used to this.
That thought terrifies me.
SIX
SAINT LEFT THE cabin at four in the morning.
Before he left, he fucked me again, on my bed.
I don’t know where he told his wife he was last night—possibly working a night