3. Avery
AVERY
Saint spent the day pretending the kiss hadn’t cracked him open.
He did it badly. At breakfast, his hand settled on the back of my chair whenever a brother walked behind me. In the office, he stood close enough that the leather edge of his cut brushed my shoulder. He didn’t leave me once.
That had been Rook’s intention, but it was also going to be Saint’s undoing. Near midnight, the compound finally quieted. Music stopped in the main room. Doors shut along the officers’ corridor. Saint took up his post outside my room with his back against the opposite wall.
I waited twenty minutes, then opened the door. He looked at my sweatpants and long-sleeved shirt. “Better.”
“Come inside.”
His expression hardened. “Go to sleep, Av.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Ask me then.”
“No, inside first.”
“No.”
I caught the front of his cut and pulled him in anyway. He could have resisted without effort. He came anyway. I closed the door and turned the lock. Saint watched my fingers. “Unlock it.”
“Why did you stop?”
“We covered this.”
“You gave me a warning designed to make me curious and then walked out. That isn’t covering anything.”
“You were attacked. You were still nervous. I wasn’t going to take advantage of that.”
“I was attracted to you long before two assholes broke my door down.”
His jaw tightened.
“Tell me the real reason.”
“Avery.”
“Is it the age difference?”
“No.”
“The club?”
“Partly.”
“Rook?”
Silence. There it was.
I folded my arms. “What did he do?”
Saint glanced at the door as if my brother might hear through solid wood.
“He saw me looking at you.”
“When?”
“Five years ago.”
I had been twenty-two. Newly free of college, making terrible money, dating a man with carefully styled hair and no discernible personality. Saint had spent an entire barbecue ignoring me until that boyfriend put his hand too low on my waist. Then Saint had removed it, like I was some kid.
“Rook cornered me after everybody left,” Saint continued. “Said you deserved a life outside this club. Said I’d already given everything to the Wraiths and had no right pulling you into it.”
“So he made you promise not to go near me?”
Saint’s stare gave me the answer. Anger arrived so hot it pushed everything else aside.
“You let my brother decide who I could sleep with?”
“He didn’t decide anything for you. I gave my word about my own conduct.”
“Your conduct involved me.”
“It involved me keeping my hands off my best friend’s sister.”
“Don’t.” I stepped into him. “Don’t use that phrase like I’m a role instead of a person.”
His nostrils flared.
“Did you want me then?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“I’m not answering,” he said, staring straight ahead as if looking at me would open him up.
“Because you didn’t?”
And that’s when his control slipped. I watched it go in real time.
“Because I wanted you so fucking badly it hurt.”
My anger tangled with desire. “The summer party?”
“I left before I dragged you into the bathroom.”
“Christmas?”
“I spent half the night with my hands in my pockets so I wouldn’t touch your ass in that green dress.”
“My date at the run?”
“I followed him home.”
I blinked. “You what?”
“Made sure he got there alone.”
“That’s insane.”
“Well, you asked.”
A startled laugh escaped me. Saint’s mouth almost softened, but guilt dragged it hard again.
“I gave Rook my word,” he said.
“Then tell me you don’t want me.”
He looked at my mouth.
“Say it.”
“I won’t lie to you.”
“Good.” With that, I pulled my shirt over my head. His eyes dropped to my breasts. I wore a plain black bra, nothing chosen for seduction. The hunger on his face made it feel like silk.
“Avery.”
“I’m choosing this. You can choose it or walk out.”
I reached behind me and unlocked the door.
Saint stared at it. Then he crossed the room and locked it again. He turned, and the man who faced me had stopped pretending he could be careful.
His mouth crashed into mine.
Saint lifted me against the door, one hand beneath my ass, the other protecting the back of my head. I wrapped my legs around him and felt the thick length of him through our clothes.
He ground once. Pleasure shot low and sharp.
“You feel that?” he murmured against my mouth. “That’s what I’ve been hiding every time you thought I didn’t notice you.”
“You hid it too well.”
“I’m done hiding it from you.” He carried me to the bed but didn’t lay me down. He sat on the edge with me straddling his lap, my knees bracketing his hips. His fingers found the clasp of my bra and paused for a second before removing it.
For all his urgency, he looked at me slowly. The attention was intimate enough to make my throat tighten. “Perfect,” he said, like the word pissed him off. Then his mouth closed over my nipple.
I arched into him. His palm covered my other breast, thumb circling until both nipples were tight and aching. His stubble scraped tender skin as he changed sides. He sucked harder.
My reply broke apart.
His hand slid my sweatpants down and off. Two fingers traced the soaked fabric of my underwear between my legs. “All this from a kiss?”
His eyes lifted to mine as he pushed my underwear aside. The first stroke over my clit made my hips jerk.
“That what you imagined?”
“Usually you talked less in my fantasy.”
His grin was brief and wicked. “Your imagination has no fucking ambition.” He circled me with maddening control. When I tried to grind against his hand, he caught my hip.
His fingers slid inside me. My head fell back and I stopped questioning any of it.
He curled them, finding the place that made my thighs tighten around his.
His thumb kept a steady rhythm over my clit while his mouth moved across my chest. I tried to stay quiet.
The compound suddenly seemed built to amplify every breath.
“Come for me,” he said.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want you inside me.” His fingers stopped and the blunt honesty changed the air. He stood me between his knees and pushed my underwear down. I stepped free while he opened his jeans.
The first sight of him made my mouth dry. Thick. Hard. A bead of moisture glistened at the broad head.
He caught me staring. “Problem?”
“No problems here,” I said.
“Come here.”
I climbed back onto his lap. His hands guided my hips, but he let me set the angle and pace. The head of his cock pressed against me. Years of glances and unfinished moments balanced on that single point of contact.
I lowered myself onto him. He filled me slowly despite the tension shaking through his arms. The stretch burned, then softened into dense pressure. I took another inch.
“Fuck, Avery.”
His forehead dropped to my shoulder.
I sank all the way down, and for one suspended moment, neither of us moved.
Then Saint’s hands tightened on my hips.
“Ride me.”
I lifted and came down hard enough to make his breath catch. He watched my body take him. The hunger in his expression stripped away the last of my uncertainty. I set a quicker rhythm, using his shoulders for leverage. The bedframe tapped the wall.
Saint caught it with one hand.
“Quiet,” he reminded me.
“Tell the bed that.”
He stood with me wrapped around him and turned. My back met the wall.
“Better?”
“Much.”
He thrust.
I bit his shoulder to stop a cry.
His control finally vanished. Each drive pushed me higher against the wall, my legs locked around his waist. I could feel every flex of his body, the cut still covering his shoulders, his jeans shoved low.
Footsteps entered the corridor.
Saint froze inside me.
My pulse roared. The footsteps slowed near the door.
I tightened around him without meaning to.
His eyes closed.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed.
I smiled, breathless. “Quiet.”
He covered my mouth with his palm. The question was in his gaze before the pressure settled.
I nodded.
Someone passed, boots heavy on the concrete floor. A door opened farther down. Closed.
Saint waited.
Then he rolled his hips against me, deep and deliberate.
My moan disappeared into his hand.
His mouth found my ear. “You like knowing your brother could walk past?”
I shook my head.
“Liar.”
He thrust again. The angle dragged against the spot that made thought impossible.
“You like knowing I broke my word because I couldn’t keep my hands off you.”
I bit gently at the base of his thumb.
He removed his hand long enough for me to whisper, “I like that I chose which promise mattered more.”
Something changed in his face. Then he kissed me and drove into me until the pleasure broke.
I came with my mouth against his, shaking around him.
Saint held me through it, one arm beneath my ass, the other braced against the wall.
His thrusts lost rhythm. He buried his face against my neck and followed with a rough exhale he couldn’t fully silence.
For a long time, he kept me pinned there. Our breathing slowed together.
Finally, he carried me to the bed.
“Regret it?” I asked.
His head came up sharply. “No.”
“Rook?”
“I regret lying to him. I don’t regret you.”
He checked the corridor before leaving. At the threshold, he looked back at me, naked beneath the sheet.
“Lock it after me.”
“You’ll be outside, though.”
“Lock it anyway.”
I did.
Through the door, I heard him settle in the corridor and resume his post.
My guard, my brother’s most trusted friend.
The man who had just broken a five-year promise with his hand over my mouth while I came.
The reality should have frightened me. Instead, I kept replaying the details that had nothing to do with sex. I had spent years wanting evidence that the attraction was real. Now I had too much of it to fit inside one night.
Beyond the door, his chair scraped the concrete floor.
“Saint?”
He answered immediately. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Silence.
“Then sleep.”
“I wanted to know if you were there.”
Another pause. Softer this time.
“I’m here.”
I rolled onto my side, facing the door.
“Tell me something.”
“It’s late.”
“That isn’t something.”
He exhaled loudly enough for me to hear through the wood. “When you were twenty-three, you painted Rook’s kitchen yellow while he was on a run.”
“He said it looked like mustard.”
“It did.”
“You defended me.”
“I told him prison cafeterias have worse walls.”
“That was support.”
“It was accurate.”
I smiled into the pillow. “Your turn. Tell me something I don’t know.”
The corridor stayed quiet so long I thought he would refuse.
“I kept a piece of the old wallpaper.”
I sat up. “What?”
“Small strip behind the fridge. You got paint on your nose and laughed when Rook started swearing. I found it after he made us repaint.”
“You kept yellow wallpaper because I touched it?”
“Go to sleep, Avery.”
“Where is it?”
“Safe.”
My chest ached in a place desire couldn’t explain.
Five years of love had probably been hiding in a man’s wallet: a tiny strip of ugly yellow wallpaper.
“Good night, Saint.”
His reply came low through the door.
“Night.”
I lay awake smiling into the dark.