He jerks his chin toward my panties.
What the—! I don't need to remove them to try on the dress.
He glares at me and I shiver.
He tilts his head, I dip my fingers into the waistband of my panties, watch as his shoulders tense.
I lower the scrap of fabric down my thighs, to my ankles.
The blue in his eyes deepens until it seems black. Color flushes his skin. "Stay there."
I freeze, watch him in the mirror as he rises to his feet, approaches me. He pauses behind me. His gaze holds mine in the mirror. His big body dwarfs mine—me bent over, fingers entangled in my panties.
"Hold your ankles."
I swallow and my breathing deepens. He hasn’t touched me, but he peruses my position—open, bare, my most intimate parts on display.
One side of his lips curls, "You do not want to challenge me, not now." Damn the man, and his ability to reduce me to a quivering mess.
"Do it, Gigi."
His voice slips into my skin, warms my blood, coils in those deepest, most secret places of mine, where I’ve never allowed anyone else. Not him either. Never. I steel my spine, curve my fingers around my ankles.
He drags a knuckle down my spine and I shudder. My knees almost give way. I must have moaned or made some incoherent cry, for he stills.
"Shh." He grips my hip to steady me. "You’re doing so well, don’t spoil it."
A fire lights somewhere inside of me. He praised me and insulted me in the same breath. Only Saint could do that. Simultaneous push-me and pull-me, irritate me and pleasure me.
I tip up my chin, open my mouth to speak. He dips a finger in my pussy.
I gasp. What the—? "You could have warned me, you—"
He slides his finger inside my channel. I huff. He adds two more digits. Too much, too full, he has to stop, he can’t do this, he…he twists his fingers, hitting that spot deep inside. My toes curl; my scalp tingles. My entire body seems to lengthen, my hips arching up, enveloping even more of his wicked fingers.
He pulls out, only to stuff his fingers back in. A groan bubbles up my throat. I lower my head, my hair falls around my face, and I tighten my grip around my ankles. I cannot give in, cannot. He rubs his thumb on my clit and a trembling zips up my legs.
"Please…" I mumble. What am I begging for? Why am I asking him for more? Keep quiet, don’t show him how much this is affecting you. How could he have found his way right through to the secret core of me? "Saint, please."
"How many?" His voice shoves through the noise in my head.
"What?"
"How many men have you had?"
I crack open my heavy eyelids, try to peer through the heavy blanket of my hair.
"Tell me, Victoria. How many have fucked you here?"
Anger flares inside, then crashes with the desire. "What’s it to you?"
His muscles stiffen, tension shimmers off of his frame. "Everything about you is my business. Tell me, or so help me, I am going to pull out my fingers and—leave you aching and wanting."
I hesitate.
His fingers leave me.
My pussy spasms, needing, hurting. Empty, so empty. I cry out. "Three…you bastard. Three. Is that enough?"
"Including your husband?"
Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Fucking Saint. He had to ask that question, didn’t he?
"Answer me."
"What do you think?
"I think Adam Rhodes didn’t give a bloody fuck about you," he growls.
A chuckle trembles from my lips.
"So, I’m right?" he asks.
I nod.
His gaze intensifies, "But he fucked you?"
"He…did his husbandly duties, if that’s what you’re asking."
His fingers tighten on my waist.
"Did you love him?" His voice is impersonal as if he’s interrogating a business prospect. Cut. Dry.
Everything is so fucking black and white for him. If he only knew the choices I’d had to face.
"Did you?"
"No."
I hear him release a breath. Why should it matter to him if I’d wanted someone before him? Not that I want him either. Of course, not.
"Thank you for sharing that."
What the—? Is be being polite?
"I gave you what you wanted." The words tumble from my lips. "Are you satisfied?"
"Not yet." He brushes his knuckles past my slit.
Pinpricks of pleasure dart up my spine.
Damn him and his touch. Why is my body so damned responsive to him? Why did it have to be him who could elicit this reaction from me when no one else can?
He teases his finger into my back hole and everything inside of me tenses.
No.
No.
"Yes," he growls. "Here… How many have had you here, my impudent little wannabe sub?"
"Ah!" I stutter.
"Tell me, or I swear I’m leaving." The heat from his body recedes again.
I gasp. "Stop. I’ll tell you." I sense him still.
Wait.
Wait.
I swallow. My fingers spasm. My thigh muscles bunch. If I do this, I am giving away one more part of myself. Another secret that will no longer belong to me.
Another thing he can hold over me.
Another weapon he can use against me.
"Now, Victoria."
I gulp, then squeeze my eyes shut. "No one," I whisper. "You… You’ll be the first."
15
Saint
The first. The only? The fuck am I thinking? Why does it mean so much to me to mark her in a way that no one has before? I’ve had my share of women, certainly never expected any one of my partners to come to me untouched… So why am I asking something of her that seems so out of character? It’s her. She is shattering my control. I told her that I would break her down; I hadn’t counted on the impact she’d have on me. I have to get back in the lead, have to wrest back my hard-earned self-restraint. Only one way to do it.
I drop to my knees.
