Page 10 of Saint (The Divine Ruin #2)
Luca
I signal my driver with a slight nod, watching him divert his eyes from Lily’s legs as he closes the door behind us. Smart man. The Bentley purrs to life, and I press a button to raise the privacy partition.
“Change of plans,” I tell her, my voice rougher than intended. “We’re not going to a restaurant.”
The dim interior lighting catches on her lips—Christ, that red is killing me—as she turns to face me. “Where are we going then?"
“My place,” I say, observing and gauging her reaction. “I have a chef preparing dinner for us.”
A flash of uncertainty crosses her face, replaced quickly by something bolder. “Your place? That’s... presumptuous.”
I laugh, the sound low in my throat. “I’m a presumptuous man, baby girl.”
She shifts in her seat, the movement causing her dress to ride higher. My fingers itch to touch the exposed skin of her thigh, but I keep my hands firmly on my own side of the seat, for now.
“You’re not what I expected,” I admit, watching the city lights play across her face.
“What did you expect? The Governor’s perfect little princess?”
"Something like that.” I reach across the space between us, not to touch her, but to adjust the temperature control. The proximity makes her breath catch. “Instead, I get a woman who buys fuck-me heels and wears a dress that’s practically begging to be ripped off.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe I’m tired of being what everyone expects.”
"And what do you think I expect, Lily?"
“I don’t know.” She licks her lips, the gesture unconscious and all the more erotic for it. “But I’m curious to find out.”
The car turns onto Park Avenue, and she slides closer to me on the leather seat. Whether intentional or not, the movement causes her thigh to press against mine. I feel the heat of her through my slacks, and it takes every ounce of control not to place my hand on that smooth skin.
“Curious enough to come up to my penthouse with a man your father would have shot on sight if he knew his intentions?”
She looks at me through those long lashes. “What are your intentions, Mr. Ravello?”
I lean in, close enough to smell that intoxicating perfume mixing with something uniquely her. “Nothing good, baby girl. Nothing fucking good at all.”
We ride in silence for several blocks, the tension between us thickening with each passing minute. She’s fidgeting now, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her fingers playing with the hem of her dress. The innocent nervousness of the gesture contrasts with the sinful dress, driving me insane.
“Stop that,” I command softly.
Her hand freezes. “Stop what?”
"Playing with your dress. You’re making me think about what’s underneath.”
Her eyes widen, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the blue. “Maybe that’s the point.”
Jesus Christ. This girl is going to be the death of me.
When we arrive at my building, I don’t wait for my driver to open the door. I step out and extend my hand to her, watching as she hesitates for just a moment before placing her small hand in mine. The doorman nods respectfully as we enter, his eyes carefully averted from Lily’s legs.
In the private elevator, I stand behind her, close enough that she can feel my breath on her neck but not touching her. Not yet. She shivers, and I watch goosebumps rise on her exposed skin.
“Cold?” I ask, knowing damn well it’s not the temperature making her tremble.
“No,” she whispers, and the single word contains multitudes.
The elevator opens directly into my penthouse, and I’m rewarded with her sharp intake of breath as she takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the Manhattan skyline. The lights of the city spread below us like a carpet of stars.
“This is... incredible,” she says, stepping forward.
“The view’s better from here,” I tell her, my eyes never leaving her silhouette against the city lights.
I watch her notice the dining table set for two, candles already lit, a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. Chef Marcel appears from the kitchen, nodding respectfully.
“Everything is prepared as requested, Mr. Ravello."
“Thank you, Marcel. We’ll serve ourselves.”
He disappears discreetly, and I hear the elevator doors close behind him. We’re alone now.
“You planned this,” Lily says, turning to face me. “Before I even agreed to meet you.”
I move toward her, stopping just shy of touching. “I don’t leave things to chance, baby girl. Not when I want something as badly as I want you.”
I pull out her chair, watching as she sits, the dress riding up her thighs. I pour champagne into her flute, my fingers brushing hers as I hand it to her.
“To unexpected pleasures,” I toast, clinking my glass against hers.
Throughout dinner, she tells me about her studies—literature and political science, a combination that makes me smile.
She’s smarter than her father gives her credit for, passionate about writers I’ve never heard of, and political theories I find myself wanting to debate just to see the fire in her eyes.
“Why do you want to be mayor?” she asks suddenly, catching me off guard.
I consider lying, giving her the sanitized version I feed to reporters, but something about those blue eyes makes me want to give her a piece of the truth.
“Power,” I answer honestly. “Control. The ability to shape this city the way I see fit."
“Not to help people?” She raises an eyebrow.
“That’s a convenient side effect.” I take a sip of my wine. “I grew up with nothing, watching people with power decide who got to eat and who went hungry. I decided early on I’d rather be the one making those decisions.”
She nods slowly. “At least you’re honest about it.”
“I’m honest about many things, Lily. Especially what I want.”
Her foot brushes against mine under the table, and I’m not sure if it’s accidental until it happens again, more deliberately this time. I raise an eyebrow at her boldness, and she gives me an innocent smile that doesn’t match the wicked press of her foot against my calf.
“Tell me about growing up in Brooklyn,” she says, taking another sip of champagne. Her lipstick leaves a perfect imprint on the glass.
I share stories I rarely tell anyone—about Nico and me causing trouble, about my father working three jobs, about the scholarship that changed everything. She listens intently, her foot continuing its exploration of my leg under the table.
When we finish the main course, I stand and move to her side of the table. Her eyes follow me, wide and uncertain but filled with heat.
“Stand up,” I tell her softly.
She obeys, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath.
“Now sit on the table. Right here.” I pat the polished surface in front of my chair.
She hesitates only a moment before perching on the edge of the table, her dress riding up to the tops of her thighs. I sit back down, positioning myself between her legs.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, though I think she knows exactly what I’m doing.
“I’m ready for dessert.” I place my hands on her knees. “Spread your legs for me, baby girl.”
She swallows hard but does as I ask, her thighs parting slowly. I slide my hands up under her dress, finding the thin silk of her panties. With one quick motion, I tear them away, the fabric giving easily in my hands.
The sight of her bare pussy, pink and swollen, glistening like honey in the candlelight, nearly shatters my control.
Her delicate folds glisten with arousal, begging for my touch, my tongue, my cock.
I lick my lips hungrily, looking up to find her watching me through heavy-lidded eyes, her perfect breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath.
“Fuck, you’re absolutely drenched,” I growl, sliding my thumb through her slippery heat, coating it in her sweet nectar. “Is all this cream just for me, baby girl?”
She nods, a whimper escaping her parted lips as I circle her swollen clit with deliberate, torturous precision, feeling it pulse beneath my touch.
“Tell me, Lily. Tell me this pretty pink pussy is dripping wet for me.”
“It’s for you,” she gasps as I increase the pressure, her hips bucking against my hand. “Oh God, please..."
“Please what?” I lean forward, my breath hot against her inner thigh, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her arousal. “Say exactly what you need, baby girl.”
"Please... taste me.” The words come out in a broken whisper that sends blood rushing to my already painfully hard cock. Her thighs tremble as she spreads them wider, offering herself completely.
I’ve been with countless women, but none have affected me like this innocent girl begging for my mouth, her slick arousal glistening in the dim light. I press my lips to her inner thigh, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses toward her swollen center.
“Since you asked so nicely,” I murmur against her skin, “I think I’ll have my dessert now.”