45. Hendrix
Hendrix
“ A re you sure you wanna do this, Jimi?” Saint questions from the bed behind me, where he’s been sitting and pouting for over a half hour. “Fuck what our parents said. There’s no rush for you to come back to Riverside.”
Securing the final button on my blazer, I tell him, “I’m not doing this for them, Saint. I’m doing this for me. Staying on track for BU is exactly what Carlo would’ve wanted.”
“BU is yours with or without returning to Riverside. You know that.”
I spin around to face Saint, who’s got the same downcast look he had the entire ride to the dorms. “Did I ever tell you why Carlo agreed to stop at the grocery store?”
He shrugs. “I assumed it was ’cause he was happy for you.”
“It was because he was proud of me, Saint. Proud. Not happy. There’s a very big difference.”
Something looking a lot like remorse washes over his face. “You’re right.” He pauses, cursing. “Fuck, you’re right, baby. I’m sorry.” Saint reaches for my arm, pulling me to stand between his legs, then with his hands on my hips he looks up at me. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Can’t fault the guy for thinking exactly how I’ve been for so long. The only difference with Saint’s thoughts is when and where the worry in them seems to be coming from.
When—three days ago.
Where—my room…the second after announcing I wanted to come back to Riverside.
But even outside our talks about returning to the Royal Heathens’ kingdom, Saint’s defense has been moving on autopilot.
About me inviting my friends over, who I barely wanted at the mansion, and how a crowd may be too overwhelming for me.
Vic’s Sunday dinner being too hostile of an environment.
Saint didn’t even want me showing Archer and Bex my art studio. I mean, yeah, he was fine with it once we got there, but I could still feel the trepidation in his response to Bex’s gushing.
To be honest, if it was up to him, I think we’d remain cooped up in my bedroom until I leave for college.
For two months we’ve remained glued at the hip, yet somehow, every second Saint walks around almost as if afraid he’s about to drop me. It’s absurd in an adorable, nurturing, slightly contradicting sort of way.
To my surprise, the only aspect of my return to school Saint didn’t question was Carlo’s gun, which is already safely stored under my bed in the safe he bought me.
“Hey.” I cup both hands around his cheeks. “Why’re you trippin’ so much lately?”
“I don’t know, Jimi.” His shoulders deflate. “As fucked up as it sounds, I guess I just got used to having you all to myself. Taking care of you. Being in our own little world.”
“A little dark, morbid, and emotionally dependent world.”
“Yeah…but it was still ours.”
I don’t know what’s sadder, the shitty circumstances behind this new bond we share, or the fact Saint is willing to accept living such a depressing life with me in spite of it.
With a deep swallow, I attempt to push the melancholy down my throat. “I love you, Saint. So much. But I want more for us than dark, morbid, and emotionally dependent. I want a real future in the real world together, and having that doesn’t mean we have to give up our quiet moments.”
“Fuck.” He blinks widely. “I didn’t realize how selfish that makes me sound until hearing it out loud.”
“Let me stop you right there, Letterman.” I tilt his chin. “In the past year and a half, the last thing you’ve proven yourself to be is selfish.”
“Then you clearly haven’t been paying attention.”
“Stop. We’ve come way too far to dwell on the past. I’ve already offered you a clean slate.”
Heavy silence thickens the air, and it needs lightening stat. I need to prove to Saint that if we can overcome the shit the universe has thrown at us already, there’s not much left the bitch can throw that we can’t face together.
“I have an idea.”
This piques his interest. “What is it?”
“We return to school but continue spending our nights in the mansion for a bit. Remain in our little world long enough to make it a better one.”
Saint looks away, seeming to mull over his words before he says, “I don’t want you doing anything just for me.”
“I want our little world as much as you do, trust me.” With a wicked grin tilting my lips, I straddle Saint, lowering my center onto his with a flip of my hair. “And twenty minutes before homeroom sounds like a pretty good time to prove it. Don’t you think?”
Saint couldn’t help the growing erection behind his pants even if he tried, not only because of how long it’s been since we’ve had sex, but because I’ve been going commando since I got dressed. Something his little head would’ve realized if his big head wasn’t so preoccupied.
“What are you doing, Jimi?”
“Now, now, Letterman,” I tease, rocking my hips. “Are you so out of practice you need a crash course in Sex 101?”
Immediately, Saint’s got a hand fisting the roots of my hair, breaths uneven as he jerks my face to his. “Fuck. Don’t do this,” he mumbles through a strong, hypocritical kiss. “It’s been too long and I’m not in the right head to trust myself with you.”
Saint’s lack of self-esteem is like a Bic to a fuse. Igniting me. Taking the lead as I rub myself against his cock.
I need him inside me—not only because I miss the closeness, but so I can be his anchor too.
“I trust you. Now take me...”
“I can’t. You’re hurting.”
“But still yours no matter what.”
Saint turns his head, so I turn it back with my hand. Determined, I tell him, “Let me cater to you for once.” When silence becomes the enemy between us, I whisper, “ Please .”
A few fleeting moments later, all of Saint’s restraint gets thrown out the window, and my lips are crushed to his in another bruising kiss. We breathe each other in for what feels like forever, then my mouth parts in a ceremony to welcome him home.
Saint’s tongue is devouring mine as his hands move between clawing my hair and caressing my cheeks. Getting reacquainted with every part of my face as if he’s afraid it’ll disappear.
I’m no less eager in my attempt to savor him.
It’s a mess of kisses and limbs at first—me ripping off Saint’s Letterman as he tries for my blazer.
Same goes for his tie and blazer, then our oxfords together.
Pants, skirt, briefs, bra follows—all torn off in a series of chaos that ends in a hilarious forehead collision.
We take a couple seconds to laugh about it, but no more than that before he’s adjusting himself between my legs.
Then, through fallen strands of Saint’s hair, his blue eyes hold me hostage.
So intense. Full of life. Crystal enough to see my reflection in.
There’s color, then there’s the light they aspire to be.
Saint is that light.
Even through his darkness it shines.
A truth undeniable when Saint cradles the side of my face, brushing a thumb across my cheek bone. He kisses me again, with passion so radiant it mimics the sun.
The awe of it has a small cry escaping my lips, which turns to a moan as Saint pushes his cock inside me, freezing when he’s fully sheathed.
“Fuck, baby.” He grunts but keeps his commentary at that before filling me again.
I don’t mean with just his cock.
Because as Saint’s thrusts fall into rhythm, his hands and mouth make damn sure to stay busy.
Scratching my thighs.
Biting my lip.
Caressing my nipples.
Every touch is methodical to ensure all of me gets his attention.
Every thrust is timed and angled perfectly to have me brimming with stimulation.
My body jerks, moans echoing the air as Saint continues on his quest to conquer every surface of me—and if one position doesn’t allow for his reach, I’m being flipped, folded, thrown like a doll into another one.
On my back, face down, sideways.
Each position escalating into what I suspected.
Something darker, more depraved.
A place where Saint’s nails are scratching harder, his bites are drawing blood, and his caresses are turning to complete domination.
The worst of it now, on all fours, where Saint has turned full on madman slamming into me, the hand he’s got laced around my throat being the only thing standing between me and a trip through the headboard.
“I can’t…fucking…stop.” He grunts, mostly to himself, but I don’t bother responding with anything other than needy, breathless sounds.
Because at this point I’m not sure he’s aware I’m still here.
The sex we’re having is no longer about pleasure for Saint.
It’s merely a score he’s settling against time.
Not that it matters, like I said, I was never doing this for me.
It’s to give Saint the chance to unleash all his rage. His pain. His darkness onto me.
So, I do what I came here for, and eat all of it.
Allowing my body to reap the benefits is just an added bonus.
When Saint talks to himself again, it’s with his free hand sliding up my wet center then between my ass cheeks.
He presses against the tight hole, and for the first time since he’s fucked me there, I can actually taste the terror on my tongue.
But, if terror is what he needs, I refuse to allow it to stop him.
Although my head expects what’s coming, I yelp in surprise when two of Saint’s fingers break through the barrier, the sharp pain from his invasion dizzying me.
I’m granted no mercy as he starts pumping them in tandem with his cock, the intensity increasing alongside his hold on my neck. My eyes roll, and my insides erupt in tiny explosions of pain and pleasure as he continues fucking me this way.
“You’re mine,” he hisses. “Fucking mine.”
Then, just when I think the intoxication has hit its peak, the tip of his cock skates the edge of my g-spot, triggering a desperate cry to fall from my lips.
“Please!” I beg anyone who can hear, because the stimulation may actually kill me.
With no choice but to fend for myself, I decide to chase the feeling, meeting Saint push for push until the first zap of an impending orgasm shoots through me like lightning.
With relentless fury comes the second.
By the third Saint already has my back to his chest, using short upward thrusts to chase his orgasm too.