Page 41

"Maybe I don't mind a little indecency with you, Saint." I let my tongue dart out to wet my lips, watching his eyes track the movement. "After all, I am the unconventional type."

I duck into the dressing room, grinning at his muttered curse. The sexual tension crackles between us, electric and alive, even through the closed door.

"You're playing with fire, Jenkins," he warns, voice closer now. He must be right outside.

I press my palm against my chest, trying to steady my racing heart. "Maybe I like getting burned."

I'm ready to shimmy out of the dress when the door opens, revealing Ares. His eyes are molten heat as he slides in, shutting the door decisively behind him. In the mirror, his reflection meets mine, a predator stalking its prey. I swallow hard, pulse fluttering wildly.

"You should never challenge a Saint, Isabella," he growls, low and dangerous as he stalks closer. "We always hold you to it."

I shudder as his large hands skim up my arms, igniting sparks beneath my skin. His gaze burns through me, raking over my curves, promising dark, delicious things.

"Put your palms on the mirror," he commands, voice rough with need. I obey, even as a part of me whispers that we shouldn't, that we're in a store. But the predatory gleam in his eyes renders me mute, eager for whatever comes next.

He bends, pressing a searing kiss to my shoulder, then the side of my neck. I gasp, head falling back against him.

"Are you turned on, Red?" The question rumbles through me, vibrating in my bones. His eyes meet mine in the reflection, dark with possession, and I watch his hands slide up my ribs. "Are you wet for me?"

My breath fogs the glass as he presses closer, and I see it in crystal clarity—how perfectly we fit together, how right this feels. His darkness to my light, his control to my chaos. The way he touches me like I'm precious and unbreakable all at once.

"Yes," I breathe, arching into his touch. The silk of my dress pools at my feet, and I don't miss it. Don't miss anything but the feel of him against me, marking me as his.

The mirror shows us our truth—no more running, no more doubts. Just this. Just us.

A low, appreciative growl escapes him as he takes in the lacy scraps adorning my body.

"What a good girl you are," he purrs, hands mapping the curves of my breasts, my waist, my hips. "And so fucking pretty."

I shudder under his touch, back arching as his fingers dip beneath the lace. The first brush of his skin against my wet heat makes me cry out, forgetting where we are. He chuckles before pressing a finger to my lips.

"If you don't want to get caught, you'd better stay quiet," he warns, even as his touch grows bolder, stroking me through the soaked fabric. "Unless you want Miss Vivian to know what a needy little thing you are for me."

His thumb circles my clit, drawing a strangled moan from my throat. My hips buck into his hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. He obliges, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that have me seeing stars.

"So fucking wet," he grits out, while pulling the fabric aside and pressing two fingers inside me.

I shudder as liquid heat floods my core, my need for him overwhelming.

"Shhh," he coaxes, sensing my desperation. "I'll give you what you need, Red."

He pulls away, and I whine at the loss of contact. In the mirror, I watch him bring his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a wicked glint in his eye. I moan, my thighs clenching around the ache building inside me.

"Do you have any idea," he murmurs, "how fucking delectable you are?"

Before I can respond, he presses two long fingers back inside me, the sudden intrusion stealing my breath.

The slick drag is exquisite, his fingers curling inside me just right, igniting sparks of pleasure that dance through my core.

I gasp, my hips rocking into his touch, seeking more of the delicious friction.

"Fuck..." The word escapes my lips like a secret, whispered into his ear.

He chuckles darkly, a sound that resonates deep within his chest, as his fingers pump faster, rubbing that spot that makes me see stars. Each stroke is deliberate, designed to drive me to the edge of madness.

"That's it, baby. Take what you need," he coaxes, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me, stoking the fire burning within.

I'm panting now, lost in sensation, my body taut with anticipation. I'm chasing the high he's building inside me, each touch pushing me closer to the precipice. My now wet palms slam against the mirror, trying to anchor myself as the world around us blurs.

"Look at you," he growls, pressing his forehead to my shoulder, his breath hot against my skin.

"Fucking perfect." The words are a primal declaration, filled with a raw intensity that I love.

I can feel his gaze on me, hungry and possessive, and it only serves to heighten the storm raging inside me.

I meet his molten gaze in the mirror, my lips parted and trembling, cheeks flushed crimson. His eyes lock onto mine, the deep brown almost black now, pupils blown wide. Something flickers in their depths, something possessive and primal that makes my chest tight, each breath catching in my throat.

"Do you belong to me, Isabella?"

"Yes." The word falls from my lips, soft but certain as a prayer. "Only you."

"That's right." His fingers slide and twist inside me, each movement deliberate, knowing. "This is mine. Your pleasure, your heart. All mine. Like I'm all yours."

He crooks his fingers upward, and when his teeth sink into that sensitive spot on my shoulder with just the right intensity, my inner muscles spasm around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure pulses through me, each one making my thighs quiver and my toes curl.

"That's it, baby."

The orgasm turns me into a shaking mess, but it's the best kind of shaking a woman can have. I sag in his arms as the aftershocks subside, boneless and satisfied. He catches me against his chest, holding me tight as I drift down from the high he gave me.

"You're so goddamn gorgeous when you let go," he murmurs against my hair. "I could watch you come on my fingers all day."

I laugh breathlessly, shaking my head. That was... beyond anything I've experienced before. Sex in a dressing room, holy shit. But apparently, Ares Saint turns me into a complete wanton mess whenever he touches me.

I shiver as his fingers trace up my inner thighs, gathering the lace of my panties. The touch is deliberate, teasing, making my breath hitch all over again. His knuckles graze sensitive flesh as he slides the fabric back into place, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a moan.

"Such pretty things," he murmurs, smoothing the lace over my hips. His fingers linger, tracing the delicate pattern. "But I think I prefer them off."

Heat floods my cheeks at the promise in his voice. My legs are still trembling, and the way he's looking at me, like he wants to devour me whole, isn't helping me regain my composure.

He bends down, retrieving the wine-colored silk from where it pooled at our feet. The movement brings his face level with my thighs, and his hot breath against my skin makes me whimper.

"Stop that," I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair. "We can't start again."

His answering chuckle is pure sin. "Who says we're finished?" He rises slowly, dress in hand, eyes dark with wicked promise. "This is just intermission, Red."

My heart thunders against my ribs as he backs toward the door, that dangerous Saint smirk playing on his lips. "The dress is mine. Just like you."

The possessive growl in his voice shoots straight to my core. "Ares..."

"Get dressed," he orders softly. "Before I change my mind about letting you leave this room." His gaze rakes over me one last time, hungry and promising all sorts of delicious debauchery. "I'll be waiting outside. Don't make me come back in here."

The door clicks shut behind him, and I already know—tonight’s only just getting started.