64. Addy
Chapter sixty-four
Addy
T he moon hangs like a silver pendant in the sky. The air is cool and crisp against my skin as we all shuffle towards the idling limo parked at the curb. My feet ache in these heels, but I can't help feeling a flutter of contentment. Tucking a loose strand of blonde hair behind my ear, I glance at Saint, Dre, and Chess, their silhouettes defined by the streetlights' glow.
"Home stretch, guys," Chess says with a grin, his dark hair and hazel eyes catching the light as he opens the limo door.
"Finally," I sigh, allowing myself to be the first to slide into the leather seats. The soft hum of the engine is comforting—a lullaby promising rest and refuge.
Saint follows, his presence filling up the space next to me. His dark curls are slightly disheveled from the evening's events, and there's a look in his eye that speaks without words. He's a fortress, tall and unyielding, yet somehow, he's become my safe place. They all have.
"You good, Snowflake?" Dre asks, his ice-blue gaze locking onto mine as he settles across from us. His voice is gentle, but I know better than to mistake it for weakness.
"More than good," I reply, smiling at him.
"Let's go home," Chess chimes in, his expression thoughtful as he closes the door behind him and the vehicle starts to move.
I nod, leaning back into the seat. It feels weird calling the Whitman house home. But then I remember it’s not the house—it’s the people. And, these people? They're starting to feel like home to me.
I meet Saint's intense stare, and something warm unfurls inside me. Despite everything, this strange configuration of misfits makes the Whitman's house feel like a home. Maybe for the first time, I have somewhere I belong—with people who understand shadows and scars because they have their own.
"Couldn't agree more," Saint says in his deep voice that reverberates through my bones. He reaches over, taking my hand in his, and I squeeze back, silently acknowledging our unspoken pact of protection and understanding.
The limo door shuts with a soft thud, and in that sealed bubble of leather and tinted windows, the night's energy pulses around us, electric and alive. Saint turns to me, his eyes dark pools of intensity in the dim light, and before I can catch my breath, his lips are on mine. Warm, insistent, they coax away the remnants of the evening’s chaos.
"Fuck, Princess," he breathes out between kisses, "you were incredible tonight." His words feather against my skin, igniting a flame deep within. I had stood up for myself, faced down demons dressed in designer suits, and he had seen it all. Saint's pride wraps around me like a protective shroud, soothing the raw edges left by the world outside.
"Saint," I whisper back, getting lost in the rhythm of our connection. His fingers thread through my hair, anchoring me to the here and now, to this moment where nothing else matters but the two of us. I can feel every line of his body as he pulls me closer, every beat of his heart syncing with mine.
His kiss deepens, and a low murmur vibrates from his chest into mine. "God, Princess, I need to get you out of that dress." The words send a shiver down my spine, laden with promise and desire. But it's Chess's groan that pulls me back to reality, reminding me that we're not alone in this cocoon of darkness.
I peel my gaze away from Saint just long enough to see Dre and Chess tangled in their own heated embrace. Chess, with that impish glint in his hazel eyes, is lost in the moment, completely absorbed by Dre's presence. And Dre—his ice-blue eyes are closed, lashes casting shadows down his cheeks, as completely given over to sensation as Chess is.
Turning back to Saint, I’m met with his smoldering gaze. My mind flickers with images of us, together, away from prying eyes, and a thrill races through me. We are a tangled mess of need and want, and right now, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Saint's hands roam over my body with a possessiveness that sends ripples of heat cascading through me. His touch is deliberate, tracing the contours of my curves until I'm writhing against him, lost in the intoxication of his presence. He pulls me onto his lap, our lips never parting as we continue to kiss with an urgency that tells tales of restrained longing.
"Can't wait to see these pretty lips of yours wrapped around my cock," he breathes against my mouth, his words laden with raw desire.
The world grinds to a halt. A cold shudder replaces the heat coursing through me. "No," I gasp out, the word tearing from my throat more forcefully than I expect. Every muscle in my body tenses, and I'm wide-eyed, a torrent of memories threatening to drown me.
William's voice echoes in my head, taunting me with demands and expectations. Preston's looming figure flashes before my eyes, reminding me of the line I've had to toe, the acts I've had to endure just to keep the peace. My chest constricts, and I can barely breathe under the weight of panic anchoring me down.
In the limo, everything stops. The sound of Chess's pleasure, Dre's low murmurs, all fade into a distance I can't quite place. I shrink into myself, feeling small and exposed, a deer caught in unforgiving headlights.
But then, Saint's hands are on my face, warm and grounding. He locks eyes with mine, the depth of his dark gaze like an anchor in the stormy sea of my fears.
"Look at me. Look at me, Princess." His voice is a commanding whisper, fierce yet gentle. "You are in charge. No one will make you do anything you don't want to. Never fucking again."
His words are a balm, soothing the raw edges of my panic. With every syllable, he reconstructs the walls that had crumbled within me.
"You set the pace. You set the boundaries. No is a full fucking sentence. You hear me?"
I nod, gulping down air as I find solace in his promise. A promise of control I never thought I'd have again. In his gaze, I see not only the ferocity of his protectiveness but also the unspoken vow that he, too, knows the taste of powerlessness.
"Okay," I whisper back, my voice steadier than before, my heart beginning to find its rhythm once more. Saint's understanding, his unwavering support, wraps around me like a shield, and in this haven, I begin to reclaim the pieces of myself long thought lost.
Empowerment surges through me, fierce and wild. Saint's words resonate like a battle cry within my soul, igniting something primal. I refuse to be the haunted girl, cowering in shadows of her past. With a surge of newfound determination, I launch myself at him, our bodies colliding with the force of all the pent-up emotions swirling between us.
He stiffens for a heartbeat, taken aback by the fervor of my response. Then, his arms envelop me, his touch igniting wildfires along my skin. His hand finds the silken strands of my hair, gripping gently but firmly as he tilts my head back. Our kiss deepens, frantic and claiming, a storm of tongue and teeth and sheer desperation. Every brush of his lips against mine reaffirms the promise he made, every clash of our breaths entwines our spirits further.
"Saint," I gasp into the chasm of his mouth, my voice a whisper of both need and trust. I cling to him, encouraging his desire, urging him on without words but with the language of my body that yearns for his touch, his affirmation of my autonomy.
His hands, those instruments of both tenderness and passion, begin their descent, tracing the contours of my body before hiking up the fabric of my skirt. The cool air kisses my thighs, heightening my anticipation until his fingers slip beneath the lace of my panties. A pained groan vibrates from his chest, filling the limo with the raw sound of his yearning.
"So fucking tight, Princess..." His breath is hot against my cheek, his fingers exploring my wet heat with a reverence that sends shocks of pleasure radiating through me. "Can you take another finger? Huh, good girl?"
"Yes," I moan, lost in the sensation, the intimacy of this moment shattering any lingering remnants of my fears.
"Fuck, you take me so good." His praise is a melody that dances upon my senses, coaxing me higher, pushing me closer to the edge of oblivion where only we exist.
"Saint," I whisper again, this time a plea laced with desire, my hands clutching at his shoulders as if he's the lifeline anchoring me in a sea of bliss.
The rhythmic motion of Saint's fingers is relentless, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through my core. My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I cling to him, my nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. As he continues, his other hand gently but firmly turns my head, directing my gaze towards the back of the limo.
"Look what you do to them," Saint murmurs against my ear, his voice low and rough with desire.
I can't help but glance over, and there they are—Dre, with his ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, a fierce intensity burning within. His hands are tangled in Chess's dark hair, guiding him in a rhythm that's both primal and precise. Chess's hazel eyes are closed, lost in the act, his lashes casting shadows on his olive cheeks.
"Fuck, Snowflake," Dre growls, his voice laced with lust. "Seeing you unravel, it's so goddamn hot."
Hearing Dre's voice, seeing them together like this, it fans the flames inside me, stoking the fire that Saint has ignited. A part of me wants to look away, to focus solely on Saint and the magic of his touch, but another part—the darker, more daring side—can't turn away from the erotic tableau before me.
"Saint..." I gasp out his name, my voice barely above a whisper as his fingers work magic inside me.
"Shh, Princess. Just feel," he soothes, his lips tracing the shell of my ear before claiming my neck with a kiss that promises possession.
The limo has become our world, a sacred space where only our pleasure exists, and the outside world fades to nothing. Saint's fingers move faster, harder, coaxing cries of ecstasy from my lips. I'm close, teetering on the brink, and with one final, skillful stroke, he sends me crashing over the edge.
"Saint!" I cry out, my vision whiting out as a powerful orgasm rips through me, shattering my senses.
As the tremors subside, I collapse against Saint's chest, spent and panting. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight, grounding me as aftershocks ripple through my body. The steady beat of his heart against my ear is comforting, a silent promise that in this moment, I am safe, cherished, and adored.