The Saint

“Very good answer.”

He put his hands against the wall on either side of her and brought his mouth down on hers. Eleanor froze as he kissed her. The potency of the kiss soon overpowered her fear and she found herself kissing him back. She’d had a boyfriend in the eighth grade for all of two weeks. They’d done nothing but make out every chance they got at school. Nothing like this. A grown man kissed her now. A man old enough he could have dated her mom without raising anybody’s eyebrows. He slid his hand under her sweater and cupped her breast. He rubbed her nipple with his thumb, and Eleanor nearly climaxed from that touch alone. She melted against his hard, warm body as the kiss deepened further.

With one hand he cupped her bottom while his other hand unhooked her bra in the back. He pinched her right nipple hard enough that she gasped. Unthinkingly, she rubbed her hips into his, seeking something more from him.

“I’m going to beat you until midnight and f**k you until dawn,” he whispered against her lips.

“Beat me?” she asked and his only response was to laugh again.

He took both her br**sts in his hands and squeezed them almost to the point of pain. She closed her eyes tight, loving the pain as much as the pleasure. His thumbs flicked across her ni**les as his erection twitched against her stomach. In her mind she saw him stripping her naked and nailing her to the wall with that thing. Jesus, where had that thought come from?

“You have perfect tits,” he said, pinching and rolling her ni**les. “Perfect size.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” He growled the word into her ear. “And a perfect ass, perfect curves. I like little things like you. Bite-size.”

He punctuated the words by biting hard at her neck, hard enough she knew she’d have a real bruise tomorrow. When he unbuttoned her jeans and eased her zipper down, she inhaled and forgot to exhale.

Stop. That was what she needed to say. Stop. She could do that. One little word.

Stop.

She didn’t say it.

He slipped his hand into her panties and pressed the tip of his finger against her clitoris.

“That’s a good girl,” Lockie breathed in her ear. Good girl? They’d met one minute ago, and she’d let him stick his hand down her pants, and he was calling her a good girl? She liked his definition of good so much better than the dictionary’s. “I want you to come for me. You’ll be nice and relaxed when I flog you then. Can you do that, bite-size?”

“Standing up?”

“I got you.” He spoke in a low voice, his words soft and heated. And he did feel so good to her. She wanted this for so long, being touched this intimately by an older man. It wasn’t the older man she wanted, but she’d take what she could get.

Lockie’s finger gently worked her clitoris, teasing it, massaging it, stroking it until she went limp his arms. But she didn’t fall. He held her safe and secure between the wall and his own muscular body.

“That’s it, bite-size. Almost there …”

He coaxed her with kisses and whispered encouragements. Any second now she would tell him to stop, tell him to let her go. Any second now …

She panted from pleasure, shivered from need. Everything from her toes to her teeth seemed to clench and tighten. All she had to do was say “stop” and this incredibly gorgeous Australian guy would stop. And she wanted him to stop.

“Don’t stop,” she gasped as she felt a hard muscle contraction inside her.

“Never ever.” He laughed against her skin.

His finger made tight circles against her. Tight … tighter … until finally Eleanor went stiff in his arms as an orgasm stronger than she’d ever experienced before shook her to the very core of her being.

“That’s my girl,” he said and kissed her again.

Lockie pulled his hand out of her panties.

“Take your clothes off. Get on the bed. I want to see all of you.” Those words sounded like an order, an order she desperately wanted to obey.

He pulled away from her and yanked off the towel. She stared at the sight of him completely naked and fully erect. She’d never seen a naked man this close-up before. She almost started to obey his orders when she remembered that she’d come here to see Søren, not have sex with a total stranger. She was a virgin. She wasn’t on birth control. And she was in love with someone else.

“Um … Cockie. Lockie, whatever. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Diaphragm?” He nodded sagely. “Bathroom’s over there, bite-size. Don’t be too long.”

“My, um, stuff’s downstairs.” She pulled her jeans up and zipped them. “I’ll be right back. Hold that cock. I mean, hold that thought.”

She unlocked the door and slipped out into the hall. She allowed herself all of three seconds to hook her bra and silently freak out before taking off toward the steps. In that three seconds she almost considered turning around and walking back in that room. If Søren wasn’t going to f**k her, maybe she should find someone who would.

A door opened next to her and a woman stepped into the hallway. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the house—luxurious red-black hair, brilliant blue eyes. She wore an elegant black cocktail dress and everything about her screamed money and privilege. And yet for all of that she wore a subdued expression, almost submissive, even as her flushed faced seemed alight with some secret sort of pleasure.

The woman nearly bumped into Eleanor. She said a hurried “So sorry” and neatly skipped down the stairs. Eleanor saw movement and turned her head. And there stood Søren in the same room the woman had emerged from.