Saint: A Dark High School Romance (Angelview Academy Book 1)

by E. M. Snow

  I freeze and stare at him in disbelief, my thoughts pinging to the first half of what he said. “What the hell are you talking about?” I demand to know. “Saint’s got nothing to do with it.”

  Gabe shrugs and rubs his glove over his sweat-drenched red hair.

  “So, the thing is, I asked him if he’d try to talk you into joining the team. You know, since you two are porking now and all.”

  My cheeks instantly burn red. I close my eyes for a moment to summon up all the patience I can, then release an exasperated breath. “Okay … so then what happened.”

  He hesitates to answer, and I get the feeling he’s afraid I’ll punch him once he says what he’s going to say. “Well, he wasn’t into the idea. Told me he’d tell you no if you decided to join.”

  “What?” My blood runs ice-cold in my veins, and I’m overwhelmed with fury. “Why would he think he’d have any voice in the decision?”

  Gabe shrugs again. He’s always shrugging, like nothing anyone says to him can really stick, and just rolls off his shoulders like water. “I guess it’s cause you’re his now, and he doesn’t want other guys touching you, or messing up your pretty face.”

  I’m going to rip his balls off. That’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to hunt Saint down and make sure the whole goddamn Angelle line ends with him.

  Gabe must be able to read my rage because he takes a cautious step back and raises his hands, like he’s fending off a wild animal. “Now, hold on Ellis, don’t be getting me into trouble—”

  I stop listening as I spin on my heel to march out the room. I tear off my gloves and throw them on the floor as I walk out the door, intent on finding Saint and giving him the ass-chewing of the century. Gabe doesn’t try to stop me, which is smart of him.

  First, I go look for him in the weight room, where he usually spends our free classes. He’s not there, though, so I storm to the main gym, thinking he might be playing basketball with some of the other guys. No luck. Where the hell could he be?

  On a whim, I decide to check the locker rooms, and I head straight to the boys’ side. Since everyone else is occupied with class, I don’t expect to stumble upon any naked peen, so I stalk through the door without hesitating or bothering to knock.

  I halt in my tracks when I immediately hear voices. Listening closely, I realize that I recognize both of them. Saint’s sexy deep baritone is low and angry sounding, and it’s broken up by the occasional pathetic whimpers and sniffles of She-Devil herself.

  What’s Laurel doing down here?

  I make my way deeper into the room, down a row of green lockers, following their conversation. It sounds like a pretty heated argument is going on. I pause at the end of the row and listen in for a moment.

  “This isn’t up for debate, L,” Saint growls.

  “But … but you can’t do this!” Laurel responds, her tone desperate. “Your father had this all worked out, he wants you to make sure—”

  “My father doesn’t control my life. You should know that better than anyone.”

  I roll my eyes, realizing their arguing about rich people problems. Likely one of those non-arranged, arranged marriage situations where Saint’s father decided it was the seventeenth century and he’d hand pick his son a wife. Laurel would be the one he’d decided worthy enough to shackle to Saint’s side for the rest of their miserable lives.

  Since it doesn’t appear their arguing over a matter of life and death, I step out from my hiding place and clear my throat.

  Saint and Laurel both swivel toward me in surprise, but her eyes squeeze into sharp slits the second she realizes it’s me.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, welfare baby?”

  I ignore her and look up at Saint with what I know is an angry expression. “You and I need to talk.”

  “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of something right now,” Laurel points out, her tone reaching a new level of nasty.

  Saint shakes his head. “Actually, we’re done here.”

  She gapes up at him. I can see her eyes begin to water, and I almost feel sorry for her. I hate that.

  “But Saint, I—”

  “You can go, Laurel. Now.”

  She flinches at his harsh tone but doesn’t try to argue further. Turning, she shoots me a look filled with pure venom before she slumps away. I wait until I hear the locker room door close behind her before I begin my rant.

  “What’s your problem, Angelle?”

  He appears unfazed at my show of temper as he sits down on a bench in front of me.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His casual tone irritates me, and I filter in a deep, cleansing breath through my nose. “Where do you get off, telling Gabe you wouldn’t give me permission to join the boxing team?”

  “You know exactly where I got off.” He lets his eyes wander up and down the length of my body, slowly, as if he’s undressing me in his mind right here and now. It flusters me—to the point that my breath grows heavy and my sex clenches under his hot gaze.

  I shake my head to dispel the lustful haze he’s trying to trap me in. “Contrary to popular belief, I’m not your toy or possession. You don’t get to tell me what I can and can’t do!”

  He doesn’t say anything to try and defend himself. Instead, he grabs my hand and yanks me toward him. I stumble, and he pulls me down so I’m straddling his lap. His hands tangle in my hair as his lips seal over mind in a blistering kiss. I clutch the front of his shirt as his tongue invades my mouth, and his hands drop to cup my ass and grind me against him. He’s getting hard beneath me, and I fight the urge to lower myself flush to his cock and dry hump him.

  The bastard.

  When he pulls away, I’m momentarily incapable of speech as I stare at him.

  He grins, and it’s not fair how sexy it is. “I’ll see you tonight, Ellis.”

  With that, he lifts me off his lap so he can stand, gives my ass a quick swat, then walks out of the locker room, leaving me baffled, frustrated, and so, so horny.

  22

  I’m on the verge of getting off for the third time in about as many hours. I’m sore and tender, but that doesn’t stop Saint from going at me like a starving man. His tongue is relentless as he laps at my folds and clit, and I’m a squirming, sweaty mess as I twist in my bedsheets, trying to escape him and yet force him closer at the same time.

  Saint and I have been hooking up for over a week now. Each night, when I go to the pool, he’s the one that shows up to watch over me. Sometimes he swims, most nights he doesn’t. When I’m done, he’ll follow me back to my dorm where we take a shower together, then we’ll spend the next few hours attacking each other like maniacs. We don’t really talk all that much, and when we’re done, he gets up, gets dressed, and leaves.

  The first couple of days, I didn’t mind the not talking part. It’s easier to stay detached, after all, if we’re not bothering to get to know each other. After a week of just pure sex, however, I’m starting to get a little agitated. I’m curious about him—this beautiful boy who’s tormented me in ways that are both beautiful and ugly. Even if I’m still not sure I like him, I want to know more about him.

  We’ve already had sex twice tonight, and I’d figured he was done when it was clear his dick was down for the count, and I was hardly capable of moving. He’d surprised me when he’d pushed me to my back and begun kissing me in a frenzy, telling me he needed my taste on his tongue before he went to his own room. Now, I feel my orgasm approaching and I’m terrified I won’t survive it.

  Saint reaches up and palms my breast as he devours me. Pinching my nipple, he sends me careening into my release, and I begin spasming uncontrollably as I moan until my throat hurts.

  When I float back down from heaven, he lifts his head and licks his lips, giving me that smirk of his that makes my toes-curl.

  “You’re a mess, Ellis,” he teases, his tone husky and hot. He crawls up so he can kiss me on my lips. He does this every time because he l
ikes to make me taste myself. What I haven’t confessed to him is that, secretly, I love it too.

  “It’s your fault,” I gasp, my breaths heavy and shallow. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

  He shakes his head. “Not when it comes to this.”

  I bite my lip and run my fingers through his hair, and it’s almost a tender moment. But then he’s pulling away and crawling out of bed to get dressed. Sighing, I roll to my side and watch him, the satisfaction from my climax dimming somewhat.

  Once his pants are on, he hunts around for his shirt. As he’s pulling it over his head, hiding his delicious torso from me, I decide to be bold.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” I say.

  He looks at me, one eyebrow darting up. “Like what?”

  I shrug. “Something real. I already know a lot of the bullshit. Give me something of substance so I can pretend you’re human and not this god that your fan club swears you are.”

  He laughs at that. I’ve found I enjoy making him laugh, though I’ve never heard him lose himself completely to humor like other people do.

  Running a hand through his thick, golden hair, he mutters, “Something real, huh?” Dropping his hand, he asks, “Why do you want to know anything about me?”

  I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling of my room for a moment as I consider how to answer him.

  “Guess I want to believe there’s more to you than great sex and a dumpster personality?” He chuckles again, and I hide a smile, moving onto my stomach to face him with my head propped in my hands. “Come on. Give me something. It doesn’t have to be anything important.”

  He scratches his chin as he studies me for a few moments, and I begin to think he might deny my request. What do I do then? Stop sleeping with him?

  Probably not because everyone’s prone to weakness and nightly lapses of judgment.

  But I hope he gives me something anyway.

  Several moments pass in silence, and I begin to think he’s going to leave me wanting.

  Then…

  “I’m an insomniac.”

  I hold my breath as I perk up. “Really?”

  His head moves up and down. “Yeah. I can go for days without sleep. It’s annoying.”

  That’s terrible for him, but I’m so relieved that he’s telling me something so personal about himself. I wonder who else knows? Laurel? He never stays over night with me, but did he with her?

  Why does that thought send a sting of jealously stabbing at my chest? I’m not jealous of their relationship. Whatever it had been, I’m positive it was a toxic mess.

  But you might be jealous of their intimacy.

  Stupid fucking inner voice.

  “I like music, too.”

  I gawk at him. He’s telling me more? I thought I was lucky to get the insomniac thing.

  “What’s your favorite kind?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “I’m not picky. I like all kinds.”

  “Do you have a favorite band or singer?”

  “At the moment? Probably Highly Suspect or Twenty One Pilots.”

  I wouldn’t have pegged him as a fan of either. He’s kind of blowing my mind right now. “Favorite songs?” I ask softly and he seems to think about this for a second before he scratches his head.

  “I guess Lydia and Heathens. I also never forget a face.” That last tidbit is delivered in a low voice that sounds a little … dangerous.

  “I-I suppose that could be valuable someday, when you take over your father’s company.”

  A shadow crosses his expression, and for a moment, I think I’ve said something wrong. The next second, though, he grabs his shirt and yanks it back off.

  “What are you doing?” I ask as he stalks toward me. The look in his eyes sends a thrill running through me. He’s hungry again, and I’m his prey. Pushing from my belly, I move to sit on my butt and scramble away from him.

  He grabs my ankle and pulls me to the edge of the bed, then leans over me with his hands on either side of my head.

  “I changed my mind,” he growls against my lips. “I’m not leaving. If I don’t get to sleep tonight, neither do you.”

  The next night, I’m just about ready to head out to go to the pool, when a knock takes me by surprise. With a frown, I cross my room in my swimsuit and open the door. I’m surprised to find Saint standing on the other side.

  “What’s going on—”

  He cuts me off by grabbing me and pulling me into a deep kiss. Backing me into the room, he kicks the door shut behind him. His hands are all over me as he tugs, groping my breasts through my swimsuit and yanking at the crotch so it rubs against my pussy.

  I gasp and tear my mouth from his. “What are you doing? I was going to go to the pool.”

  “Not tonight,” he growls, cupping my ass and picking me up.

  “What’s gotten into you?” I breathe.

  “Nothing,” he snaps, and I don’t believe him for a second. “But something’s about to get into you.”

  He drops me on the bed, strips naked, and proceeds until my legs begin to cramp from how tightly I’m clutching him. Tonight is slightly different. Still rough, still amazing, but I sense some strange desperation in him. It feels like he’s trying to distract himself with me—or lose himself in my body. I don’t know what’s gotten him so agitated, but I don’t dare ask. I know last night I was really lucky to get as much out of him as I did, and I don’t want to push my luck by asking for more so soon.

  Saint doesn’t bother removing my swimsuit. He yanks the top down so my breasts pop free, then tugs the crotch aside so he can stroke my sex before sliding his cock deep inside me. I know some guys have a thing for swimsuits, but I can’t tell if that’s what this is, or if he’s just impatient. His hips thrust into me so hard, my teeth rattle, but I don’t want him to stop or slow down. I love how raw and rough we are with each other. It’s as if all our angst and anger is poured into our sex, and each encounter culminates in this explosive release that momentarily dissolves our hate for each other.

  He kisses me, and our tongues clash. Taking my wrists into his hands, he pins them above my head and pulls my body taut, and I can’t break his hold no matter how hard I try. He’s in complete control, and a part of me thinks I should protest, but another part of me relishes how he handles me.

  Just the thought of being at his mercy makes me shudder and gush with want.

  Fuck, I’m almost there…

  He makes me come twice before he finishes, then he rolls off me and sprawls across the mattress. I move to get up, needing to pee, but he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him.

  “Not yet,” he mutters, tucking my head against his chest.

  I freeze, stunned. Are we cuddling right now?

  Dear baby Jesus, what next?

  I loathe just how good it feels to be curled against him. He’s warm and firm, and I let my arm snake across his stomach to hold him a little tighter.

  “Tell me something about yourself,” he suddenly says.

  Furrowing my brow, I glance up at him. He’s staring down at me, his gaze weirdly intense.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Fair’s fair,” he insists. “I told you real shit last night. Now it’s your turn.”

  “I-I don’t know…” What do I even tell him? I’m not real with anyone around here. Even Loni doesn’t know my deepest, darkest secrets because I keep them locked away where no one can ever find them.

  I just need to give him something simple to reward him for being so willing to let me have a peek into his actual self last night.

  “I like to cook.”

  He frowns. “Not good enough.”

  “What do you mean that’s not good enough?” I protest. “You didn’t exactly get super deep with me last night?”

  He rolls me over onto my back and pins my arms above my head, just like when we were having sex.

  “I hate my father,” he says, shocking me. “Always have. He’s a dick who wants me to be j
ust like him, but I don’t want anything to do with what he represents. There’s nothing good in him. Just manipulation and darkness and I hate him for it.”

  I stare up at him in total disbelief. “That … that was pretty deep.”

  He hollows in his cheeks, then releases them. “Now you, and don’t try to get away with the surface-level shallow bullshit. I want a piece of your soul, Ellis. Give it to me.”

  I’m terrified because it feels like he already has so much of my soul in his tight grip. I know he won’t let me go until I give him what he wants though, and what’s truly surprising is how much I want to give in and tell him … everything. It’s impossible, but the urge is there. He’s a terrible person, and if I unburdened myself to him, he might not judge me as harshly as everyone else.

  Still, I’m hesitant. I’ve spent so much of my time at Angelview making sure no one knows anything significant about me, it feels somehow wrong and unnatural to be open now.

  His eyes drop to my chest, and I can tell he’s staring at my scars again. He stares at them a lot, and I know he’s curious as to how I got them. He’s tried to ask a few times, but I always shut him down.

  He turns his gaze back up to meet mine. “Come on, Ellis. Don’t be a coward.”

  My nostrils flare, and I decide I can give him a crumb, nothing more.

  Tilting my head back, I look past him to the ceiling. The words don’t come easily, but when they at last break free, they flow quickly like blood from a vein.

  “Something real about me is that I’m not a good person, despite what everyone thinks. I hurt one of the only people who ever gave a fuck about me.” I think of James, of fire and blood, and I tremble all over.

  “Hurt them how?”

  Not just hurt. Killed.

  I shake my head. I can’t go there. Not even for him.

  “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I did it.”

  For a moment, I think he might press for more details. At length, however, he gives me a curt nod.