Page 68 of The Crowned Garza

That’s good. It means he’s reprieved from his unwanted grief. He needed that moment of humanness. To stop andbreathefor a minute. Because how he manages it all is astounding. Then add grief into the mix? Yeesh.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he mumbles after he’s deposited my duffel bag in the closet.

Watching him go, I contemplate going in with him but ultimately decide against it, remembering that pace and space is everything with him. The sooner I grasp how to navigate his mercurial personality, the better.

While the shower runs, I snag a cluster of grapes from his fridge and snack on them by the wall of windows.

Granted, this is not the kind of night I was expecting when I packed my overnight bag. But it makes sense now why he even replied to my texts at all and came to get me despite being in the middle of handling important affairs. He was having a bad and lonely day.

Sure, I’m bummed that I’m only here because he’s a bit off-kilter from grief, but I’m pathetically thirsty enough that I’ll lap up every leaky drop of attention he gives me. Without complaint or shame.

A buzzing sound pulls me over to the peninsula where Saint left his phone. I peek at the screen and get a jump scare.

Torin calling...

I dart a glance to the elevator, recalling Saint saying Torin’s the only other person who has access to this loft. He wouldn’t just show up here unannounced, would he?

The phone rings out, then buzzes again shortly after with a text. Only a peek of it is visible in the notification bar.

Torin:Checking in to see how you’re holding up. Hit me...

Does Torin know about his father? The obvious guess would be, “Of course he does, he’s Torin Garza.” But at the same time, there’s major duplicity going on, so maybe not?

Yeesh, I might blow a blood vessel trying to understandanyof this. Too much for one night. Think I’ll stick my head in the sand for a little while.

SAINT IS INthe shower for a long time. No idea what he’s doing in there for so long, but at least I know I made the right call to not go in after him and allowed him space.

I’m lying on the couch with my phone, putting things I don’t need in my online shopping cart, when he finally emerges from the bathroom. Andholy déjà vu, the sight of him taut and beautifully inked, towel slung low, knocks the wind right out of me.

Santo Luciani sans clothes is…majestic. Sacred art.

He finger-combs his damp hair back from his face as his broody eyes dart searchingly around the loft until they settle on me and he catches me openly leering.

Eyes locked on mine, he strides straight to me, plucks the phone from my hand, and tosses it on one of the single-seaters. He then dips to scoop me up off the couch like I’m a broken doll and carries me off to the bedroom.

It’s difficult to read his mood or even have a hint of what he’s thinking, but my subconscious must know something I don’t because my body’s more aroused right now than it’s ever been,singingwith desire, sending bolts of heat between my thighs. Not in the usual way I get turned on for him. This is different. My body feels as if it’s priming itself for something.

A squeak of eager anticipation leaves me when he dumps me across the bed and gazes down at me with eyes so heated I might melt under their penetrated focus.

Oh.Oh. Something’s up all right. And I’m down. I’vebeendown.

I scoot farther up onto the mattress and slowly part my legs until the red dress he ordered me to wear shifts up my thighs and rumples around my hips.

When he notices his stolen bow tie around my left thigh like a bridal garter, his whiskey eyes shift to steaming black coffee.Yes.He wraps his fingers around my ankles and drags me back across the mattress until my ass is at the edge of the bed and my legs are bent to my chest, spread open for him.

My heart thumps excitably in my chest. “Saint…”

Sinking to one knee, he trails kisses along my leg, up my inner thigh. Drizzles kisses around the bow tie. Presses his nose against my covered folds and inhales deeply before he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my panties and pulls them down, careful not to disturb the bow tie.

Once my panties are off, he wraps them around his wrist like a bandana.

I’m so wet my juices trickle down my ass and onto the sheets. How is he so damn calm and controlled right now?

Gently, he sweeps the pad of his thumb over the tip of my swollen, throbbing clit, and my hips jolt up off the bed. Desperate. Hungry.

“Saint…please.”

“Bella figa,” he mutters, right before he sucks my clit into his mouth.