Page 55 of The Lies We Tell

“Fuck, thought I could let you lead,” he groans, lifting me and slamming me down hard.

He takes my hands and encourages me to kneel a little higher so he can fuck me. All the muscles in his abdomen tense as he thrusts up into me. I don’t know if it’s the places he’s hitting or the intensity of his gaze and pace, but I feel myself riding the start of an orgasm in record time. “Don’t stop,” I gasp.

“Yeah? You like that?” he grunts. The frame of the sofa creaks. We might break it, but I don’t have it in me to care when he feels so good.

“Saint,” I say as everything in me begins to tighten. “I’m going to come.”

“Do it,” he instructs. “Come all over me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

And I do.

Stars form in my peripheral vision. I close my eyes and shatter. It feels good. Feels empowering. I really don’t want it to stop.

As I slow down, he puts his thumb at the place where we’re joined, gathers some of my cream, then licks it clean. His eyes narrow as he reaches for my neck and pulls my lips to his in a bruising kiss that makes me feel cherished and vital.

I taste myself when his tongue duals mine.

With little effort, Saint stands, walks us three feet to the wall, and slams my back against it. His body holds mine to it as he presses his hand to my throat, not hard enough that I choke, but enough pressure to feel it. “That day in your apartment, this is what I really wanted to do.”

With no further warning, he withdraws and slams home hard. I feel my back inch up the wall. He does it again, with pace and precision. Each time he bottoms out hard, each time he goes a little faster. “Your cunt was made for me. Feels so fucking good.”

His lips hit mine. It’s messy. Sloppy. Too much movement. He bites down on my collarbone hard. I don’t normally come twice, but I feel a second orgasm building.

I wrap my arms around him and hold tight.

“Ahh, fuck,” he grunts at the side of my neck.

“Saint. Please. I need this.”

I can’t explain how it feels, as though the universe can be distilled to the one place his cock hits me inside.

“I’ve got you. Come for me, Briar. Soak me,” he commands. And we come together. Me, with my mouth wide in a scream that has no sound. Him, repeatedly mutteringshitover and over as he loses control of his thrusts and slams hard inside me.

I can feel him pulse.

I’m certain he can feel me do the same.

“Welcome home,” I mutter as I slide my hands into his hair.

21

SAINT

“Yo, Saint, can we make a detour first?” Spark says two days later as we climb on our bikes.

He’s been distant since he got back from his long ride. Which is weird, because today he actually looks happy. Not sure where the fuck his head is at. Was going to try and talk about it with him tonight over beers, before King asked if we’d do another cash run to Jasper Haven at the Port Authority.

“Sure thing. What are we doing?”

“Need you as a lookout while I have a conversation with someone. Have my back and shit.”

“Whatever you need,” I say as I start my bike. He starts his, and I follow him to an automotive repair shop, a small garage with grease up all the walls. A lanky guy in overalls is working on an old Buick, even though it’s after ten in the evening. He has lights angled under the hood.

Spark looks around. There are neighboring buildings, but they are all closed for the night. “What are you thinking, Spark?” I ask.

He shakes his head and pulls on a single leather glove. “Stay there and let me know if you see anyone.”

I’ve never seen him dispense anything other than deserved justice, so I half watch the street and half watch Spark, who drags the lanky guy over the workbench.