Chapter 35
Indie
say it - ne-yo
I walk up the stairs of the Pit with Dawson; they feel easier to tackle than the first time I stepped up them. I’m unsure if that’s the strength I’ve gained, or the weight on my shoulders that’s slowly getting lighter with each Montgomery that meets their demise.
“How can they still be missing?” I groan, stopping in the middle of the hallway, running a hand through my hair. It’s been three days since the Judge and George were taken care of. The same day Malcolm had the manor engulfed in flames, and Ultio hunting down anyone who might pose a threat to us.
I thought I would feel on top of the world knowing we were so close, that the threat of the Omnia no longer hangs above our heads. They’re nowhere near as strong as they were when we first started.
Their leader is dead; one half of the heir is dead.
One remains.
And we can’t find him, or my sister.
“He’s backed into a corner. He’ll be losing his fucking mind right about now. This is when they’re the most volatile,” Dawson mutters, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring down towards Regina’s room.
She was quiet the entire journey back, and whilst Saint was passed out in my lap from blood loss, I made sure to keep talking to her, keeping her grounded. It’s the shock; it takes you in its grip and threatens to never let go.
It’s not easy killing someone; most of us around her are now immune to it. The only reason she isn’t as altered as a normal person would be is because her abuser is no longer alive.
She dealt with it by her own hand. She’s got what I’m craving.
“How is she holding up?” I ask him, glancing down the staircase to see Rex walking past with Jenna.
He sighs. “She said she’s fine, but I can see it’s playing on her mind.”
“Just be patient with her; she’ll open up eventually. Gina…She’s never been in a relationship before. It’s been a lot of firsts recently.”
It takes Regina a lot of effort on a normal day to open up, whereas she gets nothing past me, and she’s forced to spill what’s bothering her.
She usually hits the Uno reverse on me, so it’s only fair I return the favour.
“One thing that might take her mind off it, is taking advantage of it snowing outside.” My head tilts to the window.
It’s not heavy, but that doesn’t matter to her.
He nods. “Thanks, Indie.” He pats my shoulder, walking downwards towards her room.
I make my way towards Saint’s. He’s been checked out and under strict orders he needs to rest, and has he listened?
No.
That man doesn’t do well taking orders from other people. Except me.
I push open the door, and my eyes roll, contradicting my thoughts. The bed is empty, sheets lying crumpled up, but when I feel the heat of devious eyes on me, my gaze slowly makes its way towards the source.
My heart is smiling in my chest, and it’s fighting its way up towards my lips. But I’m standing strong on this. I’ll drag it out for a couple more days of course, because honestly? It’s tiring. He needs to know how mad I am at him for what he did.
That is until my traitorous libido decides she has other plans, and my gaze wanders on its own.
He’s just out of the shower, fresh bandages on his torso, hair sticking up and standing in nothing but his boxers as he brushes his teeth. The way his abs and biceps flex with each movement has my mouth watering.
That’s the thing about the devil: you know he’s bad for you.
You hear the whispered stories of all types of evil he brings to the world.
What they don’t tell you is the feeling you get screaming out his name, and you’ll willingly let that man corrupt you, as long as he promises to deal you the high forever.
“Enjoying yourself?” he says, my eyes snapping upwards to meet him.
A smirk teases his lips, giving his back to me as he heads further into the bathroom. I dare myself to walk to the threshold, and suddenly it’s too damn hot, and it’s got nothing to do with the steam slinking through the door.
I catch his gaze in the mirror as he spits into the sink. The sight has my cheeks flaring when he keeps his gaze locked on mine.
Jesus Christ, Indie. Get a damn grip. You’re not twenty-one anymore; you can handle this animal.
My mind is waging an internal battle, one half screaming I’m a pushover, that it knew I wouldn’t stay mad at him for long. The other half’s calling me an idiot, asking why the hell I’m not climbing this man like a tree.
One roll of his devilish gaze down my body has rationality becoming extinct.
I went six years without him. Eight days have left me feral.
I don’t even realise Saint’s stalked towards me, until the faint glow from the bathroom has gone, and his forbidden frame creates an eclipse.
The tips of my fingers burn, an invisible force tugging them towards his chest, but I fist them by my side instead. He wets his bottom lip, and his rough, midnight voice raises my blood pressure. “You still mad at me, darling?”
I’ve kept this stance for almost a whole seventy-two hours, mostly because he’s been on painkillers, but this is the first time he’s been lucid enough to work me up.
I work down a swallow, the lust coating my throat, making my tone unintentionally match his. “Extremely.”
His laugh rumbles off my chest when he steps into me. The smell of his aftershave almost knocks me sideways. “Good.”
Before I can even voice a protest, his large hand cups my jaw, pulling me forward to meet his lips. His kiss is drugging, the euphoria rippling through my body at lightning speed, obliterating every last excuse I had left standing.
I open up for him, and if I said unwillingly, I’d have to brand myself an outright liar.
I let his tongue slowly stroke against mine. Each kiss is sensual, passionate, infused with a hint of possessiveness.
One hand grips around the curve of my ass, pulling me flush as the other ghosts under my hoodie and along my spine. His hard cock presses against me, causing my unrestrained moan to sound itself. I feel his smile against my lips as he whispers, “Lie on the bed.”
Protest, Indie.
I don’t.
Again.
My shaky limbs guide me over to the bed, and when I go to turn, his hands stop me, pulling my hair to the side to expose my neck. He rests one on my hip as he kisses and licks that sensitive spot between my shoulder, my head rolling against his chest.
And that’s all he had to do to completely disarm me.
He helps me out of each layer of material, turning me as my heavy eyes stare up at him.
Fuck, he’s beautiful.
Why does the devil have to be so God damn beautiful?
I don’t know if this novelty will ever wear off; I hope it doesn’t. Those steel eyes have the ability to silence any room I’m in, capturing me and holding me prisoner. I never want to break free from his chains, and it seems as though I’m incapable of being angry either.
God dammit.
I’m supposed to be an independent woman.
My sigh is so deep, my ancestors could hear it.
He raises his brows, eyeing the bed, silently commanding, and I willingly obey. I shift my ass further up the bed, nipples tightening when his full frame drops to his knees on the mattress.
The sight alone has my thighs fighting to press together, but he’s already lifting my pelvis, guiding one leg over his shoulder, the top of my back pressing into the bed.
Saint never takes his hooded eyes off mine, peppering soft kisses from my inner thigh, until he does the same with the other.
The room fills with my heavy breaths; I can’t get them under control. Watching him is having my lungs fighting for oxygen. I’ll allow myself to suffocate before I break our stare.
I’m holding all my weight on my shoulders, and I feel so vulnerable. He’s never had me in this position before, but when his arm bands along my waist, clutching me to his front, warm breaths fan my pussy, and I succumb to the pleasure.
His hot tongue sizzles against my clit, swirling, stroking and flicking until the weight in my lids is too much to fight against anymore. “That feel good, baby?” he whispers, moving his other arm to grip my thigh against his shoulder.
My hands fist the sheet. “Fuck…don’t stop, Saint.”
My neck is craned forward and making my voice so much rougher. All I want to do is throw my head back at the feverish strokes he’s outlining.
Pressing a kiss against my slit, he lazily licks his flat tongue along it, and the butterflies erupt in my chest. “Still mad?”
“Fucking furious,” I moan through the untruth.
Just when I feel the pressure building, I yelp as he nips my clit, sliding both my legs off his shoulders to drop by his sides.
Okay, yeah, I’m mad.
He settles between my thighs, pushing into me in one long thrust. Inked arms cage me in at either side as he rolls into me.
Both of us are hypnotised as we watch where we connect, and he fucks me agonizingly slow. My toes curl at the fullness. Saint drops to his elbows, never losing his pace as he marks my neck each time the sensitive skin meets between his teeth.
“You’re not mad at me, baby,” he breathes against the shell of my ear, and I let my eyes flutter shut when he latches onto my pulse.
“I am,” I gasp, but it pitches when he pushes in deeper, mixing with my whimper. It feels like forever since he fucked me this slow, gentle, and without sinful words being whispered in my ear.
He pants a laugh, tingling my sensitive skin, then pushes up to his hands to stare down at me, slowing his hips even more. It’s unbearable, to the point my pussy is clenching around his cock.
Immortal eyes hold me in place as he watches me, waiting for me to come undone in more ways than one. His throat bobs with the swallow, his voice tight and strangled. “You know how I know?”
My hand reaches behind me, pressing against the headboard to add resistance. “How?”
That soul-shattering flicker of lips makes an appearance. “Because you love me.”
“I do love you.” My eyes threaten to roll back when his thumbs circle my clit, voice husky on my next words. “And I can still be pissed at you.”