Saint (Angelview Academy #1) - E.M. Snow Page 0,65
words die in my throat when he cups the back of my head and slams his lips down onto mine in a searing, angry kiss.
20
I’d forgotten how good he tastes. Even flavored with booze and pot, his lips are delicious, and I’m helpless to do anything but melt for him. He’s like a drug. I know that he’s so, so bad for me, but it just feels so, so good to indulge.
To escape.
His fingers tangled in my hair aren’t gentle as he angles my head so he can force his tongue deeper into my mouth. My back hits the door, and his body presses flush to mine. I can feel his hardening cock against my belly between the barrier of my t-shirt and his jeans. He didn’t let me see it last time.
I’m desperate to rectify that now.
This is wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. A mistake I’ll probably regret in the morning, but I can’t stop my hands from sliding down his hard torso. I reach his jeans and yank on the button the same time I pull down his zipper. He doesn’t stop me this time, which I take as permission to keep going. Slipping my hand inside, I push past his boxer-briefs and wrap my fingers around his length.
He’s big and hot, and so very hard.
He snarls into my mouth as I begin to stroke him.
His free hand cups my breast over my shirt. I’m not wearing a bra, and that fact appears to please him as he kneads my flesh and pinches at my nipple until it’s stiff and poking at the material covering it. I want my clothes off so I can feel his hands on my bare skin.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I’ve never reacted to a guy like this. I’ve never been so needy and frantic before. Something about Saint brings out my darkest instincts and throws my inhibitions to the wind. Is it because I hate him as much as I want him?
Do I hate him? Really?
Yes, of course I fucking do. He’s made my life miserable, which only makes what we’re doing that much more insane. I should be pushing him off and screaming in his face, not jacking his dick while he palms my tits.
But I think the both of us are just too fucked up to know the difference between right and wrong. We just know what feels good, and what doesn’t.
And this feels amazing.
He’s thrusting into my hand and I tighten my grip. He grunts, bites my lip, then grabs my wrist to yank my hand away from him. I try to say something in protest, but he doesn’t stop kissing me, even as his hands grip my ass and he lifts me off my feet. He carries me across my room toward the bed. Breaking our kiss, he tosses me onto the mattress like I weigh nothing. I bounce and let out a squeak of surprise as I sprawl out on my back.
Saint stands at the edge of the bed. He holds my gaze as, without a word, he reaches up and grabs hold of my pajama shorts and panties. Yanking them down my legs, he tosses both articles of clothing over his shoulder to land somewhere on the floor behind him. My pussy tingles as he pulls his t-shirt up and over his head, revealing every beautiful inch of his chiseled torso. As he stands before me shirtless, with his hard cock protruding from the opening of his jeans, I just want to run my tongue along the ridges of his abs, but before I can make a move toward him, he grabs my ankles and pushes my legs up and apart.
I’m so open and exposed, I feel the first tingling of embarrassment heat my cheeks.
“Saint…” I murmur, but he ignores me. His eyes are locked on my vulnerable flesh, like a starving man set before a banquet.
He lets go of one of my ankles so he can run a finger through my folds.
“You’ve got one of the prettiest pussies I’ve ever seen, Mal,” he rumbles, turning me to putty with the way he growls my name. I’m so distracted by his words and the heat in his voice, the slap takes me by complete surprise. It isn’t hard, and it doesn’t hurt, but no one’s ever done that to me before. He does it again, and again, light pats against my clit that make me squirm. I’m getting so wet from this, it stuns me.