Chapter 23
Islam my door so hard the window rattles.
She does the same—always has to match me, beat for fucking beat.
My hands are still shaking. Adrenaline’s jacked too high, won’t drain.
Too many bodies, too much blood, too fucking soon after the last fight.
We can’t even make it to noon without someone in a mask trying to carve us open.
I shove the gearshift, throw my arm over her headrest, and reverse hard enough the tires scream. Don’t care who hears it. Let the whole city know we’re pissed.
Saint’s not saying a word, just breathing heavy, eyes wild. Her hair’s stuck to her cheek—someone else’s blood in the strands. I barely check the street before I cut left; an oncoming car honks, skids, nearly clips the bumper. I don’t even blink.
She finally cracks, voice edged and sharp: “Next time, don’t bother missing. Could use more fucking obstacles.”
It gets under my skin—everything does right now. The fucking clown. The idiots who thought they had a chance. The fact that it doesn’t matter what we burn, what we hide, who we kill—they always find us. Rage doesn’t bleed off; it just boils, looking for something to break.
My knuckles ache from clenching the wheel. I can smell her—sex, sweat, adrenaline, a hint of copper that shouldn’t turn me on but does. She glances at my mouth. My dick’s already half hard and all I want is to pin her down until neither of us is thinking about the last hour.
She looks at me like she’d let me. Maybe wants it as much as I do. I almost miss the turn.
Fuck.
“How were we found so fast?” The question is an itch I can’t scratch, another wound that won’t heal.
She doesn’t even look at me. “Don’t ask me. I’m new to this exile shit… you’re the veteran.”
She’ll never let it fucking drop. I grit my teeth. “I told you—I was framed. Just like you. Unless the Washington Post started hiring psychics and sent one to the future to catch you gutting that politician two days from now.”
She fires back instantly, “Like you’ve been honest.” She tries to make it sound bored, but she wants it to land like a blade.
“And you have?” I snap. “Why does the Grim Reaper jump when you say? You whisper and the little asshole comes running.”
Her jaw tightens. “I don’t owe you a fucking thing. Not to a coward who walks away and disappears for two years like a scared dog.”
That’s the one that cracks something in me. Not the accusation. The tone. Like she’s daring me to do something about it.
That’s when I whip the wheel, hard enough the tires scream.
I cut a savage U-turn, car sliding, bumper nearly catching the curb. Another horn, another missed collision I almost wished happened. I’ve not had enough spilled blood today.
I whip the car down an alley, slam it into reverse, and pin it until we nearly hit the back wall. The car jerks. Her seatbelt snatches her hard. Her hands go to the dash, and then she shoots me a look that could curdle paint.
“That little stunt supposed to scare me or just make your dick feel bigger?”
Her mouth always gets her in trouble. “I’m fucking tired of hearing you.”
I unbuckle, the click of the belt lost in the sound of her doing the same.
She’s climbing into my lap the second the metal’s free, hands in my hair, mouth crashing into mine.
It’s not a kiss, it’s a collision. All tongue and teeth, her nails raking my jaw, her hips grinding down on me like she wants to ride me through the goddamn seat.
I bite her lip until she hisses, and she just bites back. I grab her ass, hard enough to leave a mark. Her breath is hot against my ear.
“Fucking brat,” I growl, squeezing harder.
She just laughs, low and cruel. “Like you’re going to fucking do something about it.”
She’s all over me before I can even think, mouth on mine, biting, sucking, her hands in my hair and yanking like she wants to rip something out.
I meet her, kiss for kiss, teeth clashing, tongues fighting for dominance.
Every sound is a dare. I can feel the sweat on her skin, the scent of her mixed with leather and blood.
I want to mark her. I want to leave something she’ll still feel tomorrow.
My hand slides under her shirt, under her bra—she gasps when my fingers find her nipple, rolling it, pinching just enough to make her jolt. She moans, grinding harder against my cock, her whole body vibrating with need.
“Harder,” she demands, voice raw.
I pinch and tug, pulling her head back with my other hand, mouth closing on her neck, sucking until I feel her pulse jump under my tongue. She grinds down, rocking against me with a little noise that goes straight to my dick.
“Yeah, I know how you fucking like it,” I growl, grinding up to meet her, hips moving rough and insistent.
“You pretend you want control,” I say, squeezing her breast until she hisses, “but I know what you want, Saint.”
She glares at me, eyes flashing. “You don’t know anything about me anymore.”
Before I can answer, she kisses me again, bruising and desperate, riding me like she’s chasing a high she refuses to ask for. She’s soaking me through her pants, rubbing harder and harder.
“You haven’t changed,” I mutter against her mouth, voice breaking from want. “You want to be fucked the same way you want everything else. Hard. Fast. You want to win, even when you’re losing.”
She digs her nails into my shoulder, scraping across the bullet wound from yesterday, and I grunt, pain and pleasure tangled. “But don’t act like I don’t know you. You’re only lying to yourself. You want to fight, and you want to fuck, so let’s do it.”
I pinch her nipple again, vicious, and she cries out—half pain, half pleasure—her hips stuttering against mine. Her nails rake me again, and our pace goes wild, grinding against each other until she’s trembling.
“Come on, Saint. I know you’re close. You always are after a fight. Fucking admit it—this is what you want. You want me to ruin you, right here in this fucking alley, where anyone could see. Take it. Come for me, right now.”
She whimpers, legs shaking, breath ragged. I press harder, rolling her nipple and grinding up until she finally breaks—body locked, eyes rolling back as she comes, soaking me through both our clothes.
I let her ride it out, then shove her back with one hand, breath still ragged. “Get in the back seat.”
She’s gone, scrambling over the console, already tugging at her pants. I pull off her boots. Watch her working her pants down those long legs. I grab the ankles and pull them off the rest of the way and toss them into the passenger seat, voice low and sharp:
“Put your feet up on the seats, Saint.”
She does, nothing left on her but a shirt, panties, and socks. She’s panting, thighs shining. The wet patch on her panties nearly makes me lose it.
“Fucking soaked,” I mutter, unbuckling my belt.
I twist around in the front seat, can’t take my eyes off her—shirt riding up, panties clinging to everything, legs spread across the cracked leather. She’s breathless, flushed, wild. Looking like something I want to own.
“Pull your panties to the side,” I order, voice guttural.
She doesn’t hesitate. Hooks a finger in the damp fabric and drags it aside, exposing her cunt—glistening, lips swollen from grinding on me, begging for more. I lick my lips, grip my cock through my jeans just to keep from losing it.
“Let me see you,” I rasp. “Wider.”
She opens her legs further, feet still on the headrests. I can see everything—the way she’s still trembling, the slick on her thighs, the way her pussy clenches at nothing.
“Touch your clit, Saint. Nice and slow.”
She obeys, fingers finding her clit and circling, hips twitching as she lets out a moan. I watch, mesmerized. My hand drops, unzips, takes out my cock—already leaking. I stroke myself, slow and rough, eyes never leaving her.
“Yeah, that’s it,” I breathe. “Look at me while you do it.”
Her gaze meets mine, pupils blown. She’s biting her lip, fighting a moan, dragging her fingers over her clit just the way she likes it. Her hips lift off the seat, greedy for it.
“Open wider,” I snap. “I want to see you throb when you come.”
She groans, fingers moving faster, and my hand matches her pace. The car smells like sex and sweat and her.
“Fucking perfect,” I tell her, voice a low growl. “Show me how filthy you are. I want you coming on your own fingers before I touch you.”
She gasps, legs shaking, her body all tension and hunger, wet and exposed for me and no one else.
“Now, Saint. Come for me again. Let me fucking watch you.” She’s so fucking close. I know it.
She spasms, hips bucking, fingers slick and glistening, her pussy pulsing and desperate. I squeeze my cock, biting back a curse as I watch her orgasm.
She slumps back, panting, hips twitching every time she circles her clit, trying to drag herself down from that edge. I shove open the driver’s door, zipper already down, cock hanging heavy, thick with need. I want her taste in my mouth, want to ruin her completely.
“Don’t stop yet, Pícarita.”
The door slams behind me. I’m at the back door in a heartbeat, reaching in, grabbing her ankle and dragging her to me. My dick jumps just seeing her—wet and pink, a clear drip of slick running down her slit. I groan, low and rough, because that’s mine.
“Let me taste,” I growl—not a request. I grip her thighs and yank her closer, bury my face between her legs. My tongue slides up her cunt, licking up that drip, moaning into her because fuck, she tastes like everything I want and nothing I deserve. “Now turn around.”
I climb in after her, shut the door, stroking my cock—so fucking hard it hurts—watching her get on her knees, hands on the door, looking over her shoulder at me, ass pushed out, ready.
“Look at you,” I sneer, stroking myself. “So desperate for it you’d let me fuck you in a filthy alley, like the cock-hungry little slut you are.”
I palm her cheeks, kissing one, then the other before I peel her panties down and get a view of her gorgeous pussy. ‘Beautiful.” I say, tilting my head and watching her.
She arches her back more, spreading for me. She wants this as much as I do.
“You just going to look all day or fuck me?”
She’s drunk on sex and thirsty for more.
“Don’t worry baby, you know what I’m going to give you.”
I don’t make her wait. I can’t. I line myself up, stroke the head of my cock up and down her slit, spreading her wetness, dragging it over her clit just to hear her whine, just to make her want it that much more.
Then I push in, one long, brutal stroke, bottoming out, my hand tight on her shoulder, dragging her back onto me.
Fucking heaven.
Her pussy grips me, pulsing in waves that drag another broken groan out of my chest. I grab her hips, driving her back onto me with each thrust—hard, relentless, everything inside me focused on the next slick, brutal slide.
The car rocks. The glass fogs. Her ass slaps against my hips, every smack echoing in the tight space.
I catch her hair, fingers tangling in her curls, dragging her head back so she can’t miss the way I watch her come apart.
She claws at the seat, breathless and wild, her moans growing louder—too loud.
I spot a cop car across the street. The bastard makes a U-turn, coasting past the mouth of the alley, slowing. Creeping past and I can’t tell if he’s scouting us out or not. Saint sees him too.
But I don’t fucking care. I’m not stopping. Not for him, not for anyone.
“Let him try,” I growl, dragging her hair back until she’s arching, still taking every inch. “He comes over here and I’ll put a bullet in his head while my cock stays buried in you, baby.”
She laughs, breathless and raw, her hand working between her thighs. I tell her to rub her clit—watch her obey, fingers fast and needy. Her cunt tightens. My hips stutter. The sound she makes is enough to finish me off.
“That’s it, Saint.”
We come together, hard enough I see stars, her body clenching around me as I empty inside her, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. “So fucking good.”
I don’t move. I rub my hands along her back, kneading her hips, riding out the last aftershocks until my cock stops pulsing. Only then do I lean in, press two quick, hungry kisses to her spine. “Fuck, Saint.”
I pull out, slow, watching as my cock slides free—soaked.
No shame in it. She sits up and turns to me as I grab the half-used roll of paper towels from the back, tear off a wad, and slide my hand between her legs.
The touch is gentler now. She shivers, but meets my eyes with a smirk that promises I’m not done with her, not by a long shot.
“Well, that was cathartic,” I say, cleaning us up with clinical efficiency.
She snorts. “You may not be good for much, but you can fuck.”
I let my other hand wander down the curve of her ass, squeezing, my nose brushing hers. “Are you flirting with me, Saint James?” I catch her mouth in a soft, claiming kiss before she can answer.
When I pull away, I murmur, “Because I’ll happily fuck you again if you’ve not had enough.”
She slides her panties on—deliberately slow, letting me watch. “I doubt you’d be able to get it up again,” she says coolly, but her eyes flick down. She knows exactly how long I can go.
Her pants come next. “Besides, I want to get back to Dr. Creepy’s and see what’s on that laptop.”
I finish wiping off, toss the used paper towels behind me, and watch her lace up her boots. We climb out, the cold air biting at our skin.
I tuck my cock back into my pants as she rounds the SUV, her eyes on me the whole time.
“But I’m driving this time.”