Chapter 24
SAINT
As I squeeze the lemon juice over the salmon filets, I imagine squeezing the life out of Dante for touching what is mine. Fuck, Saint. She’s not yours. You had sex once. That doesn’t make her yours. I was being too protective of Sage, more so than would be normal for our friendship. Everyone knows I am protective of her because she’s Saxon’s little sister, but my protectiveness is fast becoming an obsession at this point. Even Owen has started asking questions about my intentions towards her. I shut that shit down immediately. I can’t have rumors starting, especially rumors that could easily make their way to Saxon.
When I saw Dante’s hand brush against her face, I swear the devil himself entered my body and sparked a rage that only demons could possess. The moment she backed away from him, and I saw her breathing pick up, I knew she was cresting on the start of a panic attack. I know her like the back of my hand, and I’ve been there with her when she’s had these episodes. They’re terrifying and incapacitating for her, but mostly she’s consumed by an overwhelming sadness that’s been forced upon her due to the trauma of the fire. She would never have to experience those attacks if it weren’t for the bastard who planned the fire. That’s why Saxon and I will stop at nothing to figure out who caused the death of her father, and almost Sage herself. Because not only did her father die, a piece of Sage died as well. She will never cope with the loss of her father or the fear that strangles her whenever she sees a fire, a candle lit, or even a match being stuck. The painting of her scars sparked the start of her attack today, and all I wanted to do was eliminate the person who caused it.
Dante.
During my research on his background, it was hard to find any flaws with the guy, which made me despise him even more. He graduated with honors from Berkeley in business with a minor in the arts. He has two siblings, Amelia and Josephine, from their parents, Luis and Marina Macari. Growing up in Miami, his family moved to California when his father took a position in the Silicon Valley, where he became a very well-known entrepreneur dealing with massive public relations companies. His mother, Marina, was a stay-at-home mom due to Josephine having disabilities that kept her from attending public school. Bound to a wheelchair, Marina was her caregiver 24/7. All and all, a pretty normal American family living the dream and working hard, right?
However, when I reached further into his family history, I couldn’t find anything about his grandparents, paternal or maternal. It was as if Luis and Marina magically appeared one day and had kids. Nothing, and I mean nothing, was found about any family member outside his immediate family. Which struck me as odd. It felt odd enough that I decided to go to the exhibit myself. Owen insisted he come with me, and I was so focused on getting to her I didn’t care who the fuck came with me. I just needed to get to wherever Sage was.
As I stand in her kitchen now, I couldn’t be happier that I trusted my gut. Her panic attack happened moments after I let myself into the exhibit against the door man’s wishes. I told Owen to get Ophelia and wait for me outside while I took care of Sage and Dante.
I put the salmon in the oven and grab the tossed salad out of the fridge, along with the vegetables I need to chop up. Before I can even lift the knife to start prepping the rest of our dinner, a deep feeling of anxiety pools in my stomach. I slap my hand down on the counter and drop my head for a long moment, counting my breaths to try and stop the war that’s raging inside.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Why, why now? I can’t pinpoint the exact moment my feelings for Sage changed, but they have, obviously. I’ve always loved her, but always been able to keep myself from going too far with her. I can’t control that aspect of myself anymore. It’s becoming harder and harder not to touch her. The feeling of helplessness as she struggled to breathe, the fear that was clear as day on her face, and the thoughts of her house engulfed in flames as she struggled to escape has my stomach twisting in a way it’s never done before.
I know I started off being friends with Saxon, but I’ve been with Sage for so long I can’t remember a life where she wasn’t a part of it. I can’t fathom a world where she’s not in it. A world without Sage Wilder is no world I want to live in. She’s got my head all fucked up. I want her and need her, but I also don’t want to deal with the emotions she brings out of me. I just want things to go back to what they were. The bickering and constant insults we slung at each other seems like a lifetime ago, but in reality, it was all of two weeks ago. I want things to rewind. At least, I think that’s what I want, right ?
“I know you don’t like vegetables, but damn, you don’t need to cry over them.” Her voice floods my brain, and I turn to see Sage; she’s fresh out of the shower, wearing her pajamas. Her tiny night shorts expose her long, lean legs while her tank top does little to cover her stomach and breasts. She also has her fluffy white robe lazily draped off one of her shoulders. Fuck, I’m really screwed. I give her a weak smile at her comment, but go back to chopping some carrots and tomatoes, tossing them in the lettuce bowl as I go.
The room is quiet for a long moment, only the sound of my Spotify playlist on in the background fills the kitchen. She sits at the island in front of me, wrapping herself in her robe as she watches my hands at work. I can’t help but steal a glimpse of her every now and then, but her face remains lowered, her eyes transfixed on my hands.
“Saint?” Her voice is so low I almost don’t hear her.
“Yeah?”
“Why did you come to the exhibit?” I stop mid-cut into a carrot and put the knife down. Planting my hands on the island, I look into her eyes; silver meets silver as I try to think of an answer.
“Sage, I… I had a weird feeling about this Dante character and felt like I needed to—I don’t know—investigate, I guess.” I sound utterly ridiculous, stumbling over my words, trying not to sound like a total stalker. I hold her gaze, waiting for her counter, but she stays still, not giving any indication she is going to talk.
“That’s it then? You had a weird feeling?” She is fishing for something other than the answer I gave her, and I’m torn between giving her more or staying locked up tight like I always do.
“Yeah, it’s called listening to your gut, and the moment I saw you leave the garage, something didn’t feel right. It’s my job to take care of you while Saxon is away, and I wasn’t going to ignore my gut—it’s usually right.” I went back to chopping the vegetables. The heat of her eyes remain on my skin.
“I see.”
“Lucky, I did come,” I add.
“About that.” She pauses for a moment, and I looked back up to see her examining her hands, the angry thick scars that haunt her daily, still present now and forever. I put down the knife again and walk over to her, taking her hands in mine. She doesn’t look up at me. Her gorgeous face lowers to the ground, unable to look me in the eye.
“Look at me Sage.” She doesn’t.
“Look. At. Me.” I grab her chin with my thumb and tilted her face towards mine.
“Stop that right now. Don’t let your fears win. You give too much power to the demons that haunt you, and it hinders the way you live. You're beautiful, and nothing, and I mean fucking nothing , will take away from the light that you are. I wish for only a second you could see yourself the way I see you. You’re beautiful, painfully so, but you’re also so fucking smart, funny, interesting, and sometimes a pain in my ass, but these scars right here do not control you. I know you hate them, but every time I see them, I’m thankful.” Her eyebrows furrow just enough to be noticeable, but I continue.
“Why am I thankful? Because these scars mean you survived. You escaped that house and chose to live. And I thank God every fucking day he left you on this earth because I wouldn’t want to be here if you weren’t here too.” I lift her hands and kiss her knuckles one by one.
When I’m done, I cup her face with my hand in time to wipe away a single tear from beneath her eye.
“Saint.” Just one word, my name on her lips, and I can’t stop myself. My lips collide with hers, soft, pliable, and painfully delicious. I crave more. No, I need more. I lean against her, her legs opening for me as I step closer. My hands thread through her still wet hair, while her hands drift beneath my shirt. Nails scratch gently up my back, causing my muscles to tense from the sensation. Need quickly turns into desire, and before I know it, my hands grab her ass, lifting her from her stool so I can carry her into my room.
Our lips never part; our tongues are fighting for dominance neither of us want to relinquish. Her hands pull my hair just enough to spark pain, but I love it. Pain means I’m alive, and alive means I’m with her. Walking over to my bed, I set her down gently, pushing her back towards the top. She discards her robe as I remove my shirt in one swift movement. I had changed into sweatpants when she took a shower, thank God. My cock is already pushing against the fabric, and it would have been more painful if I was still in my jeans.
I kneel on the bed between her legs, finding her lips and kissing her again, unable to satiate my hunger for her.
“Saint, are we doing this? Again?” She speaks in a breathy whisper, our lips brushing against each other as she does.
“There’s nothing in the world that could stop me from getting what I want.” I grab the hem of her shorts and pull them down her legs, her panties along with them. As soon as she is free of her shorts, I place my hand on her chest and gently push her down so she’s lying flat.
“Just relax, baby. I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.” I don’t give her time to respond. I grab her thighs and drape them over my shoulders, her arousal already glistening for me.
“So eager for me already, aren’t you, baby?” I can’t wait any longer. I start off with long, lazy licks, finding her clit and circling her most sensitive spot, making her moan in satisfaction. The sweet, sweet sound of her pleasure edges me on, and I dive deeper. I lick and suck up her arousal. The taste of her on my tongue has me in a frenzy. Like a kid in a candy store, I want more. I want it all. I press my thumb against her clit while my tongue continues its fierce assault, dipping in and out of her, making her buck against my face.
“Saint, ugh, fuck. Don’t stop—please.” Her voice is needy as she chases her orgasm with each lash of my tongue. I suck her clit into my mouth before letting it go and repeat this over and over. Her thighs tense around my head, and I know she’s getting close.
“You taste so fucking good.” I don’t even recognize my own voice—a man possessed with need and lust. I never want to stop. Her fingers thread through my hair, pushing my face further into her as I enter my finger, curving it inside her to find her sweet spot. Pumping in and out, her breathing becomes more and more rapid. Two fingers and then three. Her thighs begin trembling against my face.
“Fuck, Saint. Yes, right there!” I continue thrusting my fingers in and out as my tongue flicks over her clit. She holds her breath for a moment, right before she explodes beneath me. Her pussy clenching around my fingers as her arousal coats my lips. Every muscle in her body tenses as she rides out her high. Breath after choppy breath fills the room as she moans her pleasure. It is everything and more.
“That’s my good girl,” I groan out, removing my fingers when her body finally relaxes against me, but I am far from done. This is just the beginning, and by the end of the night, I am going to make sure Sage Wilder knows exactly who she belongs to.