19. Hendrix #2
I’m so taken aback by his size I have to catch my breath.
Long, veiny, thick.
And the crown at the tip? A perfectly proportioned lollipop.
The bitches here aren’t liars, I’ll give ’em that.
Saint’s dick is a work of magic.
His morality on the other hand...
Saint looks down at me, lips parted, dark hair stuck to his forehead as water cascades down his body. “I’d ask the famous question…but the look on your face is pretty obvious.”
Consider his pure arrogance my oxygen.
“Why’d you hurt Stevenson again?”
“He was touching you.”
“So what?”
“So what?” He drills me with a glare, still scrubbing. “You’re a Lavell now. That comes with commoner restrictions.”
The high temp from the shower’s no match for the blood beneath my skin. “First of all, I am not a Lavell. My mother is.”
Saint’s reddening face doesn’t stop him from eyeing the soaked cleavage spilling out of my sports bra. “Consider yourself privileged by association.”
“And Stevenson is not a commoner.”
“Fine. Loser by association.”
I shake him, hard, anger turning to outrage when he doesn’t try to fight back—because every bit of it surging my insides needs him to fight back.
Or else I know I’ll end up doing something stupid.
“Why’d you have to go and be an asshole again?! Huh?”
“You can’t provoke a lion, Jimi, then expect him not to attack.”
Once again, my emotions go haywire, but this time, instead of blinding rage, it’s hurt. Disappointment.
Because for a second I thought, maybe, just maybe, we were getting past these stupid games. Past his lies about hatred and not giving a shit. That Saint would keep showing me why it’s okay to trust him.
Like him, even.
Guess the only stupid one was me.
“Tell me the truth!” I push him against the wall. “Why’d you hurt Stevenson again?”
Easing up on the bravado, he says, “I already told you because he touched you.”
I ease up on nothing .
“He’s allowed to fucking touch me.”
“ Nobody is allowed to fucking touch you.”
“You’ve touched me multiple times!”
He drops the stupid loofa, spinning me around until I’m backed against the wall. “ That’s different .”
I shouldn’t entertain the hypocrisy, but I need to know what psychobabble bullshit he’s got going in his head. “How is that different?”
Saint bares his teeth. “Because when my daddy stuck his cock inside your mommy, he made you mine .”
Before my brain registers the movement, I slap him for the second time in twenty-four hours.
Saint’s face remains to the side as I wait.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I strike him again, desperate for him, or even Vicious , to hit me back. But his fists remain at his sides.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
Why my body and mind woke up so explosive.
All I do know is that I’m seconds away from detonating if this guy doesn’t show up and feed me his wrath.
I shove his chest. “Hit me.”
“I’m not gonna hit you.”
Another shove. “I said fucking hit me!”
Saint punches the wall at the side of my head. “No!”
“Then tell me the real reason you threw that ball at Stevenson!”
The ticking from the bomb slowly fades when Saint presses into me, using his fingers to ring through my wet hair.
“Because, Jimi, his pain would’ve been a lot worse if I didn’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Pain is what I do when I’m mad.”
“I won’t accept these answers.”
“Then stop asking the fucking questions.”
“Are you that scared to show me your bad side?”
“Yes,” he says instantaneously.
“Then, dammit, Saint, keep showing me your good side!”
He thinks quietly to himself but says nothing…so loud I can tell it’s on purpose.
Which is why, after a few more seconds of the proverbial door being left open, I slam it shut. “You’re never gonna control me. Or stop me from having friends.”
His hand slides to the side of my face. “That a challenge, Jimi?”
“No. It’s me letting you know I’m not Theory.”
The steam, along with Saint’s cock, thickens between us, making it impossible to think about anything other than how easy it’d be to touch it.
“No…you’re not.” Saint hums, so close the water spilling from our lips mingle together. “You’re someone else entirely.”
“Good. So you get the picture, then?”
“Mhmm.” He drifts to one corner of my mouth, flicking it with the tip of his tongue.
“What are you—?”
Seconds are minutes on the edge of the earth as Saint bores into me, and those seconds turn to hours when his lips press against mine.
My skin turns electric and my heart flips in my chest, not a thought in my head to be found as he lingers there.
The room, though? It spins with the fury of a thousand tornadoes.
Sending me flying off the edge of the earth until he breaks us apart.
“So, tell me, Jimi. How’d it feel?”
I’m lost in a daze as I respond, “How did what feel?”
“Getting your first royalty high.”
Saint grins and it makes my damn heart flip a hundred times more—a sure sign I need to get away.
Far from Saint’s touch, his lips, his eyes that are demanding my attention. Before it’s too late.
Because the steam, which should appear as condensation, is now appearing as the lines that keep blurring between us.
That I keep allowing to blur between us.
I manage to turn my head, but Saint’s rough fingers squeeze my neck. “Look me in the eyes, Jimi. I dare you.”
Out of all the games we’ve played, this one would definitely be the most dangerous—because Saint’s eyes are not meant to be looked at without falling headfirst into them.
Well, consider me a glutton for punishment.
With straightened shoulders, I glare up at him. “I’m done playing—”
Before I get the chance to finish, Saint’s lips crash against mine, so fast I can hardly catch my breath.
We stay pressed together, but the second Saint pries my lips open, a maddening rage takes over both of us. We bite, pull, nibble, and when our tongues swirl together it’s with an agonizing force.
This kiss is not one for fairy tales or happy endings.
It’s carnal, greedy.
Out for revenge.
I dig my teeth into Saint’s lip, and he releases a groan that forms from the back of his throat.
Saint’s wearing a scowl as he grips the small of my back, pulling me to his wet, muscular chest. “You shouldn’t have come here, Jimi.”
I tune him out, not ready to face the regret I know is waiting.
“No more talking.” I break his hold on me and lift my sports bra over my head, then remove my shorts right after, and when I’m standing completely naked in front of Saint his eyes turn hooded.
“Fuck…your tits are fucking perfect.”
Clearly, this guy is confused.
Because I’m not doing this for him. Or his compliments.
I’m only doing this to settle the rage.
I pull at his hair. “I said no more fucking talking.”
Nostrils flaring, Saint hikes each of my legs around his waist to lift me up. Something Stevenson would never even dare to try and do.
I’m nervous at first, since I’m a lot heavier than the girls I know that he’s used to—but the nerves subside when Saint’s effortless in carrying me across the shower.
He kisses me with an urgency that begs me not to tell him to stop. No worries there, I’m too far down the crazy hole.
He drops me onto the bench and damn, it hurts.
“Asshole.”
Saint winks.
A scowl remains on my face as I lean back on my hands, Saint wasting no time wedging his knees between my legs to kick them open.
He stands over me like a tower, jaw hard as he strokes his cock.
“Nuh-uh-uh, can’t fuck me till you beg, Jimi.”
My eyes turn razor thin. “No? Watch me .”
I reach for his waist, pulling him onto the bench with all the strength I have.
Saint falls onto his ass next to me, and I stand to face him, taking a move out of his playbook when I spread his legs. I step between them, shoving his back to the wall as I lift my leg onto the bench.
His eyelids turn hooded as my fingers dance down the valley of my breasts, stopping to squeeze one in my hands.
Saint shoots out an arm, but I shove it away, sliding my other hand between my thighs.
“Keep those hands to yourself, Letterman.”
A growl escapes him as he watches me play with my pussy. I rub myself, then circle my clit, sucking in a sharp breath when it pulses.
Traces of hunger and violence roll off Saint in waves as I scissor the area, exposing my clit to him, then let my eyes speak for me when they dare him to touch.
He tries, of course, but I slap him away again, grinning as I pull on my nipple, using the hand between my legs to inch closer to the entrance of my pussy. Two fingers slide in with no resistance, and I bite my lip through a moan.
Saint tugs his cock a few times, which may look hot as fuck, but pisses off my need for revenge. So, I do what any girl would do, and piss off his need for control.
“You only get to come if it’s inside me.”
“You don’t give the orders.”
Saint’s pride may be doing the talking, but his hunger, it tells a whole different story.
The beginning—his fight for power.
The middle—his relinquished control.
And the end? Well, let’s just call it a cliffhanger.
I remove the fingers inside me, making a show of tasting them as I straddle Saint.
“Fuck,” he curses, gripping my ass, and my whole body shudders when his cock glides against my pussy.
In my twisted, sick, fucked up head Saint’s cock is a separate entity, and I need it, not him , inside me right the fuck now.
“You’re a little vixen, huh Jimi?”
I shrug. “One that really fucking hates you.”
“Yeah,” he moans. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”
“Good.” I lift myself to kiss him. “Now be a sweet psycho piece of shit and hold your dick up for me.”
Saint’s glare on me is deadly, but I can tell he’s thinking about it.
“I said hold your dick up for me.”
With a flare of his nostrils, he complies.
“Now line it up with my pussy.”
“Fuck you,” Saint sputters, but does as told.
I sink on top of him, and a cry rips from my throat, at first from pain, then from pleasure, then from the insatiable need to feel more of him.
Saint tries to speak again, but I slap a hand over his mouth before his ego gets the chance to ruin anything.
His gaze hardens, and the next thing I feel are teeth digging into my palm so hard I’m sure skin breaks.
I am sick.
I have to be.
Because the second Saint releases my hand, I’m pressing it to his lips again.
He bites down and my insides clench, then throb, which only grows more intense as my hips roll to chase the feeling.
Like a dog ripping meat off a bone, Saint releases my hand and flips me onto the bench. “My turn, Jimi,” he grits out, but before I can say anything his cock drives deeper into me.
The new angle has a sharp burn coursing through me as my insides stretch to accommodate him, making me cry out again, but mostly in pain. Which turns even worse when he withdraws to the tip, then slams into my pussy again.
And again, and again until I see stars in the depths of his blue eyes.
I attempt to turn my head, but Saint captures my lip with his teeth, biting down so hard I’m forced to open for him. I can taste the remnants of my blood as he drives his tongue inside my mouth, fucking me two ways.
“You’re hurting me,” I mumble, clawing desperately at his shoulders to get away. Or bring him closer. It’s difficult to tell. But then, when Saint’s thrusts turn harder, it leaves no room for doubt. That even without the water, I’d still be the wettest I’ve ever been in my life.
“And you like it, don’t you?”
Thrust.
“You want more, don’t you?”
Thrust.
So much fucking more I think I’d die if he didn’t give it to me.
“All of it.”
“Good ’cause I’m done playing nice.” Saint rears his head back, and his smile becomes deranged.
“I’m gonna fuck the life out of your pretty pussy, and revive it with my cum.
Then repeat the process until I become every fucked up part of your DNA.
Until no motherfucker can look at you without seeing me. ”
My breath hitches as Saint pauses, filling me completely.
“This mouth?” His thumb presses down on my teeth, widening my jaw. “Mine.” He snakes the same thumb between my ass cheeks and nudges my entrance. “This tight little hole? Also mine .”
I’m given no warning before Saint’s assault is on me again, driving in and out as he sucks a line down the hollow of my neck.
Marking me for everyone to see.
The idea of being claimed, especially by my stepbrother, is one that I know will embarrass me later, when I’m sober and unblinded by hateful revenge sex.
The sound of ragged exhales and wet skin slapping drowns out every voice inside my head but Saint’s.
“I knew you’d be tight,” he says through a fractured breath. “That you never been fucked how you deserve.”
“Saint…” I whine, not knowing what else I could say or need from him when he’s ripping me to shreds.
“Don’t worry, Jimi. You’ll be filled with my cum real soon.”
He presses his forehead to mine and groans, taking a breath before fucking me like a madman until my pussy swells, beats, and I’m screaming through an orgasm loud enough for the entire locker room to hear.
Saint doesn’t let up the entire time, angling himself so his pelvic bone grinds against my sensitive clit.
He goes on this way for so long, hurting me so good, a second wave of pleasure, even more intense than the first, shoots through me without mercy.
It isn’t until I’m begging him to slow down that his dick twitches inside me, and warm bursts of cum coat the walls of my pussy.
Saint grunts a curse as his fingers lace my hair, and I don’t know why I choose this moment to open my mouth for him, or why I’m coaxing his to do the same. It just feels right as I watch him fall apart.
Saint welcomes me in without hesitation, still grunting, moaning, hips jerking through his orgasm. Our kiss is a mix of sloppy and neat, closed and open. Tongues searching, prodding, curling together in a dark, haunting rhythm.
“You really shouldn’t have come here, Jimi.” Saint’s lacing turns to brushing back my hair. “This is a dangerous line to start crossing.”
It never ceases to amaze me how fast, or effortlessly, Saint navigates between the different versions of himself.
Only seconds ago he was ruthless.
And now he’s mindful of his actions.
I inhale a deep breath, memorizing every soft and gorgeous feature of his face. “You’re right. That’s why it has to end tonight.”