The Sins of Saint: A Dark Romance Novel Read online

  I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and tried to loosen his hold, but he didn’t budge. He tightened his grasp for a second—a mere display of dominance. Ownership. Blue eyes beamed with amusement. He loved that he could still intimidate me. But he loved my fight even more.

  I jerked my face from his hold. “You know, one would think since you had such a colorful goddamn sex life before you kidnapped me, only to perform such a blasphemous act in front of God by forcing me to marry you, that you’d be a little more clued-up on—I dunno,” I shrugged, “how to not get a woman pregnant.”

  A second of silence passed—a second I regretted every word that just came out of my mouth, not knowing what the repercussions would be.

  But then a low, rumbling laugh tore from his throat. “Are you serious?”

  I let out a breath. “I am.”

  “One would think that a young woman who grew up on the streets of New York would be a little more clued-up on—I don’t know,” he mocked, “birth control.”

  I glared at him over my shoulder. “What are we, twelve?”

  Pain radiated up the back of my neck as his fingers abruptly bit into my flesh, causing me to gasp as he pulled me back, his lips covering mine before I could manage a breath. His tongue delved into my mouth, a dominant display of possession, and he stole every ounce of oxygen from my lungs.

  My back barely touched the seat before his arm slipped around my hip and he easily scooped me up, forcing me to straddle him, my knees pressing into the expensive leather of the seat.

  His kiss didn’t falter as he fisted the hair at the back of my head, pulling me closer, our lips locked in a desperate embrace as if we stood at the edge of devouring one another. But by the way his tongue claimed every corner of my mouth, his kiss tasting of lust and greed, I knew there’d soon be nothing left of me.

  “You have a smart mouth.” His voice was a rasp as he barely parted his lips from mine. “Sometimes I can’t decide whether I want to kiss it or fuck it.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck, the battle already lost as I succumbed without a single moment of hesitation. “You do a pretty good job doing both.”

  He jerked my head back, and I gasped, his heated kiss now a burning caress of his tongue across my throat. “I spent hours on that flight thinking of a hundred different ways I want to fuck you.” He reached between us, the sound of his belt buckle a mere echo of the sin we were so eager to commit. “Every time you crossed and uncrossed those pretty legs of yours, my dick ached to spread them.”

  The words that seeped from his mouth were laced with seduction, a liquid poison that annihilated all inhibitions. “I lost count of the times I had to stop myself from dragging your ass to the bathroom so I could tie you to my shower and watch you gasp for air as water cascaded down your face. I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t be able to close that smart mouth of yours, and you wouldn’t be able to think of anything other than my cock while you drowned so willingly for me.”

  “Jesus Christ,” I murmured, the image he painted nothing short of diabolical. But the darkness in me craved it. Loved it. Desired it. And when I felt his hand slip up my thigh, pulling the fabric of my romper to the side, every muscle in my body tensed with anticipation. With the flick of his wrist, I heard the fabric tear as his fingers effortlessly ripped my panties. That was when I knew I couldn’t be saved. Not from his kiss, his touch, and this twisted lust that had my body wound up so tight I’d snap in half if he didn’t have his way with me. I had made peace with the darkness, peace with how I was unable to fight it. Marcello Saint Russo ruined me, and there was nothing I could do to change that. Not while his hands teased my skin, while his lips burned my soul, and not when his body demanded the submission of mine.

  Saint nudged against my entrance as he eased a finger through my slick heat, an appreciative moan rolling from his lips as he relished my evident arousal.

  “I’ll never grow tired of you always being ready for me, Mila. It’s both a blessing and a curse to know every minute of every day I can have my way with you whenever I want.”

  I leaned my head to the side as he continued to lap against the sensitive skin of my neck. “Why a curse?”

  He slipped a finger inside me, and my body quaked from the welcome intrusion. “Because now my mind is stuck inside the darkest pits of hell, constantly thinking of ways to make you break for me.” He moved his hips and snaked an arm around my waist, the fabric of his pants brushing against my thighs. Effortlessly, he lifted my weight as he pulled out his cock. “I’m the devil, segreto. And you are the only soul I want to torture until God brings His judgement down upon me.”

  His fingers bit into my shoulder, and he forced me down, leaving my body no choice but to take all of him with one hard and deep thrust. The blunt pressure between my thighs felt exquisite, and the waves that rippled up my spine caused an irresistible impulse to move. I wanted to rock my body on top of his, sway my hips and take my own pleasure. But he kept me in place, both arms wrapped around my back and hands firmly holding me down so I couldn’t budge an inch.

  “Don’t move,” he warned, his gaze latched onto mine. “I want to watch you fight it.”

  “Fight what?”

  “Your biological urge to fuck.”

  I moaned and closed my eyes. Forcing me to keep still had me feeling every inch of him inside me. His length, thickness, how his girth stretched and filled me. Every muscle in my body was taut, my veins heated with a fire that threatened to burn me to ash. My legs started to tremble, and I grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as I fought the ache that had my insides knotted and twisted, my body on the verge of imploding.

  “Saint, don’t do this.”

  “Shhh, Mila.” He brought a hand up to brush the curls from my face. “I want you to know what it feels like.” He slipped his hand in between us, and his thumb found my clit, teasing me with a gentle touch. “I want you to experience the tension and the agony of being unable to cleave your way into finding the pleasure your entire fucking existence demands.”

  My body trembled. My heart pounded inside my chest. My core quickened, and I could barely take a breath.

  “I need to move.” My hips shifted just an inch, and I could feel his entire length brush against my inner walls, the sensation so strong a moan ripped from my throat and sliced past my lips.

  Abruptly, Saint grabbed my waist, digging his fingers painfully into my flesh. “You’re not playing by the rules.”

  “You’re right. I hate your fucking rules.” I clenched my teeth, desire quickly morphing into raging lust.

  I dug my nails deeper into his shoulder, determined to take my own goddamn pleasure. But his other hand came down, and he gripped my waist so tightly it hurt, and it forced me to keep still, our eyes fixed on one another.

  “I always make the rules, Mila. You should know that by now.”

  “Silly me for thinking we were past the point of you needing rules just so you can go on some power trip.”

  With a swift move of his arm, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head to the side. Pain seared across my scalp, and I hissed in agony. “You think now that you are pregnant you have the upper-hand here? That carrying my seed inside your womb somehow changes the chain of command here?”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Yet still you want to ride my cock.”

  “I guess that makes me a masochist now, doesn’t it?”

  “No.” He slanted his head to the side. “It makes you mine.” He let go of my hair and removed his hand from my waist. “Fuck me.”

  I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the throbbing ache his cruel touch left just above my hip. “I think I’ve lost my appetite for a goddamn orgasm right now.”

  His sapphire eyes burned with fierce dominance, an iron-clad superiority that conveyed a clear message. I was his. I was his to do with as he wished. To worship, or ruin. To protect, or break.

  “You have five seconds to move those greedy hips and ride my d
ick like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do, or I swear to God I won’t touch you for weeks. One—”

  I remained still, silent as I kept his glare, defiance pulsing in my veins.

  “Two—”

  He rolled his hips, a subtle movement that reminded me how good he felt inside me.

  “Three—”

  I exhaled labored breaths as my body started to burn once more.

  “Four—”

  I bit my lip, my urge to fuck stronger than my need to fight.

  “Fi—”

  I grabbed the edge of the seat behind him, enclosing him with my arms, and lifted myself before slamming back down, allowing his hard length to impale me. Our moans collided, a filthy melody of sordid desires that possessed us both. With his arms at his sides, his hands nowhere near me, there was nothing keeping me from taking what I wanted. Needed. Craved. There was no restraint, no obstacle that stood in my way. It was just us in the back seat of a limousine, a classic cliché of the billionaire seducing the poor girl while she would trip on all the wealth she never had.

  “Faster,” Saint growled, biting his bottom lip as his ice-cold stare penetrated mine, a beastly expression cast in shadows of sin on his face.

  My nails dug into the leather of the seat as I moved—harder, faster—my hips swaying back and forth, my body seeking release from the tension that had every muscle wound up tight.

  Saint remained still beneath me, not moving an inch, and merely stared at me while I rocked my body on top of his. It was as if he surrendered, gave me control to take what I wanted. But I knew better. I knew he would never surrender, never give me control. Right now, he was simply allowing me to think that. Allowing me to experience the thrill of dominating even though it wasn’t real. He still controlled my every move, though he wasn’t touching or restraining me in any way.

  I lifted myself before sliding back down, his cock slipping easily through my slick heat. My head lolled, my core throbbing around his thick girth, curls falling around the sides of my face hiding my tainted virtue like a veil of sin.

  “Remember the night I made you vow before God to honor me as your husband?”

  I kept moving, taking his cock over and over again.

  “Remember how I pinned you on that table and finger-fucked you until you came?”

  The memories flashed inside my mind, and I flipped my hair back to look him in the eye. “What are you doing?”

  “Do you remember it, Milana? How I coated the skin of your naked ass with my cum? Humiliating and degrading you right after I forced you to marry me?”

  “Don’t.” I clenched my jaw.

  “I can still remember the sound of your sweet sobs, the sight of your tears staining the table as I had you bent over and exposed.” His expression was hard, his eyes beaming with cruelty.

  “What the hell, Saint?” My shoulders tensed.

  A dark brow slanted, his wicked stare an unspoken challenge. “Or how about the night I tied you to my bed and forced my dick down your throat while I denied you an orgasm?”

  Anger simmered. Rage fused with burning lust, and my hips thrust hard, taking every inch of him.

  “You remember how much you hated me? How you fought me tooth and nail?”

  “You’re making it hard to forget,” I sneered with clenched teeth as white-hot coals seared my spine as he continued to provoke me. To anger me by reminding just how much he hurt me. But it didn’t make me stop. It only fueled my depraved hunger for the twisted ecstasy I knew awaited me. It only made me more determined to take what I wanted.

  I twisted my hips to the side as I kept his cock locked inside me, forcing him in deeper.

  “That’s it.” He grinned, his arrogance reflecting in his malevolent eyes. “Fuck me, Milana. Make me pay for all the times I hurt you.”

  God, I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop even though I knew exactly what he was doing, inciting rebellion in me, stirring my defiance so I would lose control.

  The more riled up I became, the more it fed my lust, my nails tearing through the leather as every emotion crashed within my core and derailed every shred of control I had left.

  My knees pushed deeper into the seat, and my thighs tightened as I straddled him, our every transgression reflecting in our eyes as we stared at each other, our bodies fused together. We were the same, Saint and I, yet completely different. Darkness and light. One couldn’t exist without the other.

  I hissed as I kept moving, biting into my bottom lip until I tasted my own blood, but I didn’t give a fuck. All I cared about was having pleasure and pain melt together into a single moment of euphoria. And it was fucking liberating taking it, no matter the fact that it was all just a façade as we both pretended I held control in the palms of my hands. An illusion painted by the devil so his angel could feel empowered and unshackled. A sense of freedom.

  “Take your pleasure, Mila. I won’t hand it to you on a motherfucking silver platter again.”

  And I took it. I took it all.

  3

  Saint

  Sweat beaded like pearls on her beautiful face, her cheeks flushed and lips glistening. My wife was exquisite—especially during the moments of rapture as her body’s carnal needs butchered the prudery that caused her to hold back. To fight the darkness.

  I gave her this. I handed her control for my own selfish reason—to witness her fall from grace right into hell with me. A place where she would learn to not let her inhibitions control her, but rather to have her hunger for power fuel her.

  A sonnet of moans lapped from her lips as she moved her body on top of mine, rocking her hips back and forth as she welcomed my cock inside her body. The euphoria that painted her expression, that had every muscle in her body contract, was all the evidence I needed to know how much she craved me. And it fucking thrilled me to know my dick was the only thing she wanted in that moment. Nothing else.

  I leaned my head back and stretched my arms across the leather seat, the smooth driving of the limousine a strong contrast to her hard, heady, and incessant fucking. Her pussy was slick, coating my dick with her arousal as her heat wrapped around my length like a vice. Her inner walls squeezed my dick so I could feel the way her sex throbbed. It took every ounce of self-control to not grab her hips and make her move the way I wanted her to move. To pull her down and let me do the pounding. So, I exhaled and bit my lip, an agonizing groan tearing from my throat every time I slipped out of her. But my needy little lamb would force me back inside her before I even had a chance to move.

  I knew I should have probably worried a bit more about the life growing inside her, but I was a selfish bastard. I always had been, and always would be. Milana’s body was mine long before my child claimed ownership of it.

  Mila’s nails dug into my shoulder as she steadied herself, the rhythm she had starting to falter the closer she came to climax. Jesus, I was seconds away from creaming her pussy, and I had to clench my thighs and force myself not to move my hips. I wanted this to be all her.

  Her needs.

  Her terms.

  Her demands.

  “Christ, I’m going to come.” She rasped, out of breath, and I lifted my head to look at her. To witness her undoing.

  “I just…fuck. I need more. It’s not enough. It’s not…Jesus Christ.” She flipped her hair over her shoulders as she threw her head back, her tits bouncing beneath her shirt. And that was when I realized my wife wasn’t able to do this alone. She fucking needed me. She would always fucking need me.

  I grabbed the fabric that kissed her chest and yanked hard, tearing it straight down the middle of her breasts. The black bodice she wore was no match for my destruction as I ripped it down so I could grab her tit and suck her nipple hard.

  “Yes,” she whimpered with relief, yet her body was rigid, heat radiating from her every pore.

  She pushed her chest toward me, my back firmly against the seat as I sucked, lapped, and licked her swollen nipple.

  “Pain,” she muttered b
etween labored breaths. “I need pain. I need it. I need it now.”

  I bit down, pinching her breast between my teeth. Mila cried out, and I felt her pussy pulse around me as she came—hard and violently. Her body shuddered, her arms shaking and hips moving completely out of rhythm as she rode out her pleasure. I groaned against her tit, and this time I gave a hard thrust beneath her, forcing myself as deep as her body would take me. But then she jerked up, my dick slipping out of her.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, what are you doing?” I grabbed her hips, but she pulled away, shooting me a menacing smirk with her plump lips.

  “Giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

  “Do not fuck with me, Mila.”

  “It sucks, doesn’t it? Teetering at the edge, your pleasure right there for you to take, yet…you’re denied it.”

  The inside of my veins burned, my heartbeat a deadly storm behind my ribs. “If you don’t get that pussy of yours around my dick right now, I swear to God I will shove my cock so hard down your throat you’ll taste my balls for the next twenty motherfucking years.”

  My dick was aching, my muscles complaining with agonizing tension. I could practically feel my balls squeeze and contract, one motherfucking stroke away from shooting ribbons of cum on my ten-thousand-dollar suit.

  Mila fell down beside me, her romper in tatters, and the silk of her torn panties slipped to the side. “I know what you were trying to do, Saint.”

  “Good, then you know what needs to be done right fucking now.”

  “No.” She brushed her fingers through her wild curls, her cheeks still flushed. “You were trying to let me think I was in control when, in fact, I wasn’t.”

  I shifted, my dick still out of my pants and ready to pound. “Well, from where I’m sitting, you were pretty much in control of the entire fucking show.” I couldn’t even mask my annoyance if I tried.

  Mila sat up straight, closing her thighs, and every goddamn bone in my body cracked since what I needed more than my last breath depended on those sexy-as-fuck thighs being spread wide open.