by Violet Blaze
I've never loved anyone before, so I can't be sure yet, but that's my guess.
I let that idea sit with me for a while, holding Serenity until her breath softens and she starts to drift off into sleep, giving her a few moments to recover, wondering as I do if I'm really as big of a monster as I thought I was. Would a monster let her sleep in his arms like this? Hold her like she's made of solid fucking gold? No, probably not. Maybe I'm deluding myself?
I reach a finger down and tilt Serenity's face up towards mine, watching as her eyes flicker open and she looks up at me.
“Turn over,” I say and she does, rolling onto her tummy and putting her ass in the air for me, just like she did the other day. Unlike the other day, I reach down onto the floor and grab my belt, yanking Serenity's arms behind her back and making her yelp. I slip the leather around her wrists and pull the belt tight, trapping her there effectively, giving myself a leash to hold onto.
“If I believed in god,” I tell her as I slick my cock against her folds, let myself get nice and wet, “I'd think he sent you.” A pause. “Oh, and this is probably going to hurt.”
And then I use all of that slippery wetness to push inside her ass.
Serenity lets out a small scream and curls her fingers in the new red sheets, but she doesn't fight me, letting me slide into that unbearable tightness until I'm pressed nice and firm against her ass. It's a completely different sensation for both of us, I think, like having a steel band wrapped around the base of my shaft. It's nearly goddamn unbearable.
“Don't move,” she whispers, voice weak and breathy, “please, Saint.”
But I'm not about please and Saint just about now. If she wants me to stop, she knows what she has to say.
I start to move, pulling out and thrusting in with long, slow strokes. It's too tight to move much faster than that. I yank back on the belt and Serenity yelps, her cheek pressed into the bed, her wrists bound in leather, the patches of my cut staring me straight in the face. I can see the Alpha Wolves logo as I move, the words Trinidad, CA. I can see the MC patch and … the 1%er patch. Hmm.
The club couldn't keep me away from this girl if they tried. Not even all seven chapters combined would be enough.
Thank god Royal didn't send me to Alaska.
This is so much better.
I move a little faster, but still much slower than before, each thrust dragging a guttural moan from my lips, exhausting me in the best possible way. When I come this time, it's a completely different sensation, a bone deep thrill that curls my spine, drags curses over my lips.
I drop the leather belt and Serenity yanks her wrists apart, planting her palms on the bed and lifting up, my cut hanging down on either side of her. She pushes her ass into me and starts to move, moans falling from her throat, tearing me up inside as I give her a few, last good thrusts and then spill my seed into her ass at the same moment she drops her head back and bites the smeared red of her lower lip, an orgasm of her own tearing through her.
Serenity collapses onto the bed with a strangled sob of pleasure, limp in my arms as I tug her to me and nestle us into the pillows near the headboard. She's shaking as I press my face to her hair and pull in the richness of her scent, finally, finally, finally feeling the monster pull back a little. Just a little, but enough.
A tiny warmth suffuses its way through me and I breathe out, deep and long and desperate.
“I love you, Saint,” she says and my heart seizes up in my chest. The heart of a man. The heart of a human.
Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy crap.
Saint and I just … probably violated some laws in certain states.
I bite my nails and sit on the closed lid of the toilet. I just showered and slipped on a pair of borrowed pajama pants that I snagged from Saint's drawer. They're totally cute, too, black with playing cards scattered across the surface. I'm wearing these and one of his shirts—which is totally huge on me and smells like him. Like mint and leather and something else that I can't quite place. It's just him, this smell.
“Holy crap,” I whisper, drumming my feet on the plush black rug in front of the toilet. My lids feel permanently glued into a wide-open position of shock, my lips parted, my body tingling all over. I mean, there's sex and then there's … you know, sex.
I just lost a different V-card today, one I didn't even know was up for grabs.
I rise to my feet and open the door, only to find Glacier already standing there in a different pair of pajama pants—navy blue with stars. He has no shirt on and his skin is vibrant with color, making me wish I had my hands all the hell over it again.
“I thought you might've fallen into the toilet,” he says, which I think is actually a joke. A joke. A real joke. I mean, I figured that there must be something real about the Glacier mask he puts on for the brothers, the one that's often smiling and cracking British puns about Royal. Maybe there really is?
“I was … I'm still reeling from, you know,” I gesture wildly at the air between us and avoid looking at his face, “the sex. And the story.” God, that story. Wow, wow, wow. And not in a good way. How horrid is that? Little Blonde Blue-Eyed Baby Saint waking up from his nightmare about the boogeyman only to find out that the real nightmare was his reality. No wonder he's so cold and disconnected. But not a psychopath—definitely not. There's too much there, too much rage and need and longing.
“Your salad,” he says, completely deadpan, “sucks almost as badly as your casserole.”
I gape up at him and he steps aside, making room for me to exit the bathroom into the hall. Only I don't because I'm doubly, triply, whatever shocked. Shocked at his story, his rage, shocked at getting my … well, everything fucked, shocked at two jokes in a row.
“Are you being playful?” I ask and the corner of his lip quirks just the teeniest amount, like a sliver. He doesn't answer me as I finally exit the steamy bathroom and pad down the hall floor into the kitchen. Saint follows after me and leans casually against the column to his right, staring at me with icy blue eyes as I grab a fork and jab at the black lump on the stove.
Nope. I'd been praying it'd be salvageable underneath, but it's totally fucked.
“I ordered in while you were in the bathroom,” he says as he watches me, looking so totally and completely fucking hot leaning against the wall like that that if my body wasn't sore all over, I'd be jumping his bones again. “I hope you like pizza.”
“Who doesn't?” I ask as I grab the salad bowl off the counter and look at the wilted leaves and the chunky dressing. Wow. “I can't cook for shit,” I say as I push the bowl aside and glance over at Saint, catching his gaze and holding it. We just stare at each other for a really long time. Most people I know look away if you stare at them long enough, but neither Saint nor I seem inclined to do that. I don't much care either way since I like looking at him.
A few minutes later, the doorbell rings and he reluctantly pulls away to answer it.
“Hey there,” he says, his voice weirdly cheerful all of a sudden. I stand behind him in the hallway and stare at the giant demon wings painted across his back. Holy shit. The level of detail is … astounding. “Thought we might starve after I saw the girlfriend's cooking. Thanks for showing up so quick.” Saint tips the delivery dude and then retreats back inside, turning around and leaning against the door with his back to close it.
“Why do you do that?” I ask as he hands the pizza boxes over to me and goes back to triple lock the front door. “Get all … like that.” I gesture with my shoulder as Saint comes back down the hall and takes the boxes from me, easing around me and into the living room. He sets the two white squares on the coffee table and then retreats back into the kitchen, returning with a couple of beers.
“I already committed several felonies today, so why not add a misdemeanor to the list?”
I take the cold beer from his tattooed fingers and scoot over as he drapes himself onto the couch next to me, still staring at me like I'm some sort of enigma. It's a little weird, but n
ot really because of all the staring. It's weird because I've been pining after him for years, weird because I've never had a real boyfriend before, weird because I know he's a hundred times more to me than just a boyfriend, and lastly, weird because I've never fucked anyone before and now, here we are. After doing that.
“Why isn't your TV plugged in?” I ask as he props his blonde head on his fist and continues to stare at me.
“I hate watching TV,” he tells me honestly as I turn to face him, tucking my feet up on the couch and letting my toes tickle against his. He seems to like that. Also, when I look down, it seems he has tattoos on the tops of his feet, too. I guess I hadn't really noticed that before.
“Maybe you're watching the wrong kind of TV?” I venture as I look back up at his face, and watch him give me another one of those rare, fleeting almost-smiles.
“Well, I never liked having sex before you showed up either, so it's worth a try. Play something for me.” His words send delightful little chills down my spine as I rise to my feet and move over to the TV stand, getting on my hands and knees on the wood floor to plug it in and … shivering with devilish delight. Oh my god. As soon as the soreness clears up, I want to do that again.
I jam the plug into the wall before Saint gets any unsaintly ideas and then scramble back to the couch, snatching the remote from the coffee table. Luckily, he's got a smart TV, so I use the menu to log into his Wi-Fi.
“What's the password?” I ask and he snorts from beside me, drawing my attention, still sitting in that bad boy-ish type way with his head on his fist, shirtless and gorgeous and still.
“Wolf, no capitals,” he says and I roll my eyes.
“So creative,” I say as I log in and then type in my own Netflix account name and password.
“Don't you have a bedtime?” he drawls, giving me this crazy weird sense of déjà vu. That's literally exactly what he said the night I lost my virginity—to the word. I look over at him and then over at the sliding glass doors on my left; it's pitch dark outside.
“I told my mom I was staying with Rayna again, since her dad's still out of town.” I look back at Glacier, but I can't decide if he meant to repeat himself or not. Hard to tell with that blank look on his face. But then he goes and smiles at me. Like, a real looking sort of smile.
“How many times can you stay with your friend before Fauna gets suspicious?”
“She's probably already suspicious,” I say with a sigh, retrieving a slice of cheese pizza from the top box and dropping the drooping end into my mouth. It burns so good. I chew it up and swallow, setting it back on the lid of the box so I can take a drink of my beer and surf for a good show at the same time. “I don't really like sleepovers,” I say and pause as the couch creaks, glancing over to see Saint leaning forward. His tattooed fingers brush some wet blonde hair away from my face.
“Really? Because I do.” He sits back again and then reaches over, stealing my slice of pizza from the box lid. For whatever reason, even that's hot, too. I watch him take a bite, thinking of all the hundreds of times I've seen him sit in the café by himself, eating a lemon bar or a croissant or something, sipping a coffee or an iced tea. He's the only one of the boys who orders iced teas from me.
“Do you want to watch a movie or start a TV show? I warn you though: if we start a TV show, we'll probably end up bingeing and spending all night watching the whole season.” I take another swig of beer as I glance over at him, still lounging, his body this muscular swath of perfection etched into the plain white surface of the couch. It's like all the art he should've collected over his whole life got put onto his body instead of on his walls or his furniture.
“Show me your favorite,” he says, his voice this cool ribbon of ice that wraps around me and draws me in. I tuck my beer between my crossed legs and reach forward to take a second slice of pizza.
“My favorite …” I say and then have to think about that really hard for a couple of minutes. That's the nice thing about Glacier; he doesn't seem to mind the silence. He just eats his slice of pizza, all the way down to the last crumb of crust, and then goes for another. “Okay, okay, I've got it.”
I head to the search option and start typing in the letters, selecting the show after just the first few and pressing play.
“It's called Pushing Daisies,” I tell him, and even though I get the idea that Glacier could give two fucks less about television shows, he's actually listening to me. He actually cares. “It's silly and lighthearted, totally ridiculous, but kind of romantic, too. Don't let the death reference fool you. I mean, it is kind of about death, but also about bringing dead things back to life.”
“Mmm,” Glacier murmurs, another one of his sounds that just make me feel crazy inside. If my bringing up death bothers him at all, he doesn't show it. I guess he's probably used to it by now. That part makes me a little sad for him.
I nibble my pizza and sip my beer for a few minutes, listening to the opening of the show, watching the colorful scenes flicker across what must be a really expensive TV. When I look over, I see that Saint is decidedly not watching the show and is watching me instead.
“You're so expressive,” he tells me as he sets his beer on the coffee table and I do the same. I go to put the crust of my slice back in the box, and Saint plucks it from my fingers. He sticks the entire thing in his mouth and then holds out one tattooed hand for me to take. “I'd much rather watch your face than watch the show, but I like seeing your reaction to it.”
I take his hand and scoot into his lap, curling up on my side with my right cheek pressed against his chest. Even now with the show playing in the background, I can hear the steady beat of that heart he wasn't sure he had.
I smile.
Glacier rests a hand on my head and uses the other to tug an afghan off the back of the couch, unfolding it across my back and our tangled legs. I figure we'll talk for a while more and then head back into the bedroom.
Within the span of a heartbeat, I'm already asleep.
A gentle hand urges me awake, pressing against my shoulder and giving me a slight shake.
“Serenity.”
It's Glacier's voice, cool and smooth, maybe just a little sleepy. Beneath me, I can feel the hard, chiseled warmth of his body, the easy relaxed rhythm of his heart.
“We should get up.” He sounds incredible unhappy when he says this.
Groggy and sore as hell, I push up from his chest and sit back on my heels between his legs, yawning and lifting my arms above my head as I stare down into his face.
'What would my mouth be full with?'
'My cock.'
Oh. Oh my god. That happened last night.
I take a deep breath and make myself stand up, sliding off the couch and dropping the afghan to the floor. The little house is surprisingly warm and cozy in the early morning mist, the heater whirring gently in the background as Saint groans and puts his feet on the floor, running both hands down his face. He looks much less collected this morning than he did yesterday. Maybe because he's more relaxed today?
“I fucking hate mornings,” he says as he rises to his feet and looks over at me with a mild, sleepy expression on his beautiful features. And really, he is quite beautiful. Unbelievably so. Even after all the things we did last night, he makes my heart pound and steals my breath away. And he's mine; he gave himself to me.
“That's an interesting fact to know,” I say as he looks at me and sighs, almost longingly.
“I want you to live with me.” Just that, no elaboration. Saint moves into the hallway and pushes open the bathroom door, turning the shower on and shoving his pajama pants down his hips, flashing me a half-rigid cock and those gorgeous hips with the V carved into them.
I try to walk past and pretend not to notice, but it's kind of impossible not to look at that. I end up freezing in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights.
“Do you own this house?” I ask, forcing my eyes to stay on his face, wondering how he can be so damn calm about being
naked in front of me like that. “Or rent?”
“The club owns this house,” he says and I have to suppress a sigh. Of course the club owns the house. “I live here for free because nobody else can do what I do; all the brothers know that.”
Glacier runs his tongue over his lower lip.
“Get in the shower with me,” he says, and the request makes me shiver with desire. Sex before school? That'd be kind of scandalous, wouldn't it? But my eyes can't seem to stay away from the curved perfection of his cock, the proud insistence of it that practically demands that I stare.
“Okay.”
I drop my pants in the hall, slip the massive shirt over my head.
Saint steps over the edge of the bathtub and holds out a hand, helping me climb in next to him, stepping back into the hot spray of water with a sigh and the heavy droop of his eyelids. His blonde hair darkens and falls across the piercings in his upper ears, across his forehead. He blinks at me through the spray and then pulls me into it with him, pressing our naked bodies together in the scalding flow.
“I wish I could live here, too,” I whisper against his chest, but that's the last thing I get to say because in the next instant, he's picking me up and pushing my back into the wall, using that incredible strength of his to hold us up, even with the slick walls and floor of the shower. And then he fucks me, quick and hard and easy, making me come shuddering and screaming around him.
And all before seven in the morning.
I ride my bike to school—which is totally fucking cool except for the soreness between my thighs—and hide it on the street around the corner, walking the rest of the way with my messenger bag slung over my shoulder. For the most part, Nevaeh and Bristol leave me alone, but there's something about the way they stare at me that freaks me out, like they're planning their attack from the shadows.
Assholes.
If I wasn't already crammed full of secrets I really didn't want getting out, I would just beat the crap out of both of them and call it a day.
