15. Hendrix #2
My conscience, like Manhattan, usually comes more alive at night. As for me, I ignore her no matter the time of day.
A couple guys are catcalling as I turn into an alley, finding nobody but a homeless woman around as their footsteps approach. Flipping my backpack to front carry, I reach inside it for my stun gun.
Well, look at that.
Putting up with Saint’s bullshit actually comes in handy.
I’ve got the gun tight in my grasp as they close in from behind, and I’m seconds from whipping around to mini Thor hammer when a commotion erupts.
I turn, finding someone far more menacing standing between them…still dressed in the same jersey and fitted, flashing his pearly whites my way.
I look down at the mess—there lies one creep, literally on the ground, and the other one wedged between Saint’s hand and a concrete wall.
“Seriously?” I whine, sliding the gun into my bag. “How the hell did you find me?”
“Really, Jimi? That’s your opener? After I saved your life?”
“Don’t be dramatic, Letterman. I had it under control.”
“With what? Your cheap little toy gun?”
“My cheap little toy gun shoots up to two-hundred-thousand volts.”
Groggy guy on the ground tries to move, so Saint stops him by pressing a sneaker into his chest, acting as if there’s not a care in the world as our only onlooker looks from mere feet away.
“There’s so much more than voltage to consider with a stun gun.” He holds up a thumb. “Take amperage for example…”
“Save me the lesson on weapons, asshole. Why are you here?”
“Isn’t it obvious? To bring you home.”
Both creeps start pleading, which has Saint rolling his eyes and allowing the one standing to run off.
“Bring me home? Are you drunk?”
“More like…naturally intoxicated.”
I am so not in the mood for his crazy.
Even if his crazy stems from the same request by our parents.
My Spidey senses fly again…but crash land when he puts his full weight on the guy, balancing like he’s on a damn tightrope.
“You must be if you think I’m going anywhere with you.” I spin and bolt, making it a few steps before Saint barks out my name.
I turn to find the guy on the ground being upgraded to the guy pinned to Saint’s chest.
“We could do this the easy way, or the hard way, Jimi.” He lifts the knuckles sheathed by Halo to the guy’s temple. “What’s it gonna be?”
“ No way…how about that?”
“Not an option.”
“You literally told me to stay away from you. Now you want me to stay with you?”
“Call it a change of heart.”
“That would imply you actually have one.”
“Ouch.” He winces. “You’re feisty without your credit cards.”
It takes all the energy inside me not to rip the smug grin off Saint’s face, because I wouldn’t be surprised if he was behind taking them away. Just like I’m not surprised he’d forego his demand for distance and take our parents up on the offer to torture me.
“Do what you want with the creep, I’m not coming home with you.”
About facing, I take several steps before he switches to singing my name.
“What?!” I scream with my back to him.
“Please…don’t let him hurt me,” I hear someone beg, and my heart drops to my stomach when I find Saint holding the homeless woman hostage.
“Saint…” I warn, my blood pressure rising to a painful degree.
“Consider this the hard way, Jimi.” He presses Halo to her cheek. “Tick tock on the clock.”
This version of Saint is a diabolical D word, but to hurt an innocent woman just to make a point?
He wouldn’t. I know he wouldn't.
But that doesn’t mean Vicious won’t do it for him.
I take several strides closer, hands out like I’m dealing with a feral animal. “Just let her go,” I say as the woman thrashes in his arms. “We can talk like two adults.”
“We’re past talking, Jimi.”
As if he knows how to shut the fuck up.
“Let. Her. Go.”
Saint brings Halo to her lips, prying them open. “Do you know what a stun to the mouth can do? Think about all that saliva…”
Saint hums a tune, then reduces the woman to cries when he begins swaying back and forth. The two of them go full circle dancing by the time I reach them.
Saint’s a maniac. A full-fledged maniac.
And I’m an even bigger one for what I’m about to say.
“Ugh. Fine!” I groan. “I’ll come home with you.”
Saint continues dancing. “What was that? Can’t hear you?”
“I said fine . I’ll come home with you!”
“Well, shit.” He pushes the scared woman into me. “That was easier than I thought.”
I get her steady, and, as low as I can, tell her to run.
The woman doesn’t hesitate—or slow down—until reaching the other end of the alleyway.
Shoving him in the chest, I scream, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”
In seconds I’m being flung around, wedged face first into a wall. “You need to stop hitting me, Jimi,” Saint demands through a barely restrained growl.
“Stop being a complete dick, and I will.”
I feel Saint’s groin press into my ass, along with the bulge of his cock.
It’s hard. Long. And still growing.
My breath hitches when he rubs it between my cheeks, then again when he grits out, “I prefer to use my complete dick.”
Something is seriously wrong with me…because the more I feel the size of Saint’s cock, the more I want to see the size of his cock.
Break the barriers between us.
It’s sick and twisted given what I just had to stop him from doing. Along with everything else he’s done up until now.
But fuck, this guy’s as electric as his damn knuckles.
Saint’s hand trails up my leg, then behind my shorts, heightening my senses until they nearly combust.
I call out his name, with a sound so erotic it has me arching my back and shuddering as his fingers toy with my panties.
Every inch of me is hot, trembling, as Saint runs a thumb behind the seam, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from moaning.
Judas. You’re a fucking Judas.
I can try, but scolding my traitorous body isn’t enough to stop it from bending to his will.
“We have to stop meeting like this, Jimi,” Saint buzzes in my ear. “Ending up like this too.”
“Get out of my panties.”
“Are you sure you want me to?” His thumb travels to my wet center, gliding it along my slit. “You’re drenched, and seemed to enjoy the last time I was here.”
A throb pulses in my clit when he rubs his finger against it.
“No I—”
“In fact,” he cuts me off, “I think you’re liking what I’m doing right now.”
An embarrassingly large part of my sanity is telling me to just get it over with. Fuck the madman until he’s out of my system. Get my fill, let him get his, and then the both of us can move on and live our happy, separate, step-lives.
Maybe sexual tension is tense enough to spark hatred.
And giving into temptation is what it takes to snuff it out.
“So whaddya say, Jimi? Should I finger fuck you again? Ravish your sweet as fuck wet pussy?”
Saint calls my pussy sweet.
Now my heart is tumbling because of it.
What alternate timeline am I living in?
“No.” I clench my jaw so hard it hurts. “You should not .”
“I could just take it if I wanted to.” He blows cool breath into my ear, then flicks his tongue against it. “You know that, right?”
For all intents and purposes, Saint absolutely can take what he wants from me. His strength, size, and position would make it an easy feat.
But I will never submit to someone like him, no matter how bad I may want the amount of debauchery he’s capable of.
“Try it, I dare you.”
Too many painful seconds pass before he responds with, “Nah, too easy. I prefer to make you beg.”
“I’d send you to Hell faster than I’d ever beg for anything.”
My words fall to silence as Saint closes his lips around his thumb, sucking the finger clean of my arousal.
It’s a filthy, possessive gesture that has my insides coiling with a mix of disgust and arousal. That sends my erotic thoughts back inside the closet with a madman. Calling out for him to give me more before I’m forced back to reality.
A reality in which I can never have him again.
“Fuck. I almost forgot how good you taste.”
Saint doesn’t elaborate as he lets me go, and when I turn I find him tasting his finger again and reaching into the back pocket of his jeans.
I’m too busy forcing my eyes away to realize what he pulls out and tosses at me until it’s fumbling in my hands.
“What the…?” I gawk at my cell phone. “How’d you find this?”
“You’re as predictable as you are a brat, Jimi.” He pauses, lifting a shoulder. “Although…not to the useless Italian I found wandering around Bleeker.”
“Where’s Carlo?”
“Let’s just say…the Italian was called off duty for the night.”
I narrow my gaze. “You better not have hurt him.”
“I mean…Halo isn’t exactly a match for a Smith & Wesson.”
“Who called him off then? My mother? Your dad?”
Saint rolls his eyes, grumbling something inaudible under his breath. “Need to know basis.”
“What trouble is your family in?”
“No trouble at all.”
My lip twitches. “Do you take me for an idiot?”
With a sharp look past me, Saint grips me by the shoulder of my hoodie. “Question time’s over.” He shoves me along. “Time to go home.”