There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(24)

Why did she keep those piercings? Does she like them? Is she afraid to take them out?

I hear the soft rumble of thunder.

A few scattered raindrops hit the black paper covering the library window.

Mara stirs, feeling the rain on her skin.

I expect her to rise, to pull her mattress back inside.

But Mara seems determined to surprise me at every turn.

She sits up. Lifts her palm. Feels the rain pattering down.

Then she pulls her dress over her head and tosses it aside.

She lays down on the mattress once more, fully nude.

I let out a soft sigh, my eye pressed against the telescope.

Thunder rolls and the rain falls harder. It shatters all across her naked skin: on her thighs, her stomach, her bare breasts, her upturned palms, her closed eyelids. It falls in her partly opened mouth.

She’s soaking it in. Feeling the delicious coolness and the tiny impact of each droplet breaking on her skin.

Her expression is dreamy, floating. Soaked in pleasure. Fully relaxed for the first time since I’ve been watching her.

Again I feel that strange, squirming feeling in my guts.

Jealousy.

The rain falls harder, soaking her hair, drenching the mattress, chilling her skin.

She doesn’t give a fuck.

Mara reaches between her thighs. She begins to stroke her fingers back and forth across her pussy lips. Touching herself lightly, delicately.

Her lips part wider, allowing more rain into her mouth.

The rain beats against the side of the house. A bolt of lightning sizzles across the sky, illuminating Mara’s shining body like a camera flash. Every detail stands out in sharp relief: the long column of her throat, the divot of her collarbone, the points of her nipples, the long, flat expanse of her abdomen, the delicate bones of her hands, the slender fingers slipping inside of her.

I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.

She’s bronze as a statue in the purplish light. If I could sculpt her exactly like this, it would be my greatest work.

I want to pour molten metal over her, freezing her in time forever.

I put my own hand down the front of my pants, feeling the thick rod of my cock, painfully hard.

My skin feels feverish.

I want to be out where she is, drenched in rain, touching that cold flesh . . .

I pump my cock in time with the motion of her hand.

Her pace quickens, back arching, head thrown back.

I fuck my hand harder and harder, imagining I’m about to explode over her body, hot cum raining down on her harder than the storm.

Her eyes squeeze tightly shut, her cries drowned out by the rain. Her thighs clamp around her hand, body shaking.

I’m cumming for the second time today, a hot flood that pours over the back of my hand, dripping down onto the floorboards.

I can’t tear my eyes from the telescope.

I can’t stop looking at her for a single second.





10





Mara





Monday morning Joanna catches me at breakfast.

“Mara,” she says, “about your stuff . . .”

“I know,” I wince. “I’ve been looking everywhere for space.”

“You gotta get it out. I need room for my own shit.”

“I know. This week, I promise.”

That’s a promise I have no way of keeping. I’ve really been looking every day, but I’m flat fucking broke. Even if I can find an affordable studio, I don’t have money for first month’s rent, let alone a deposit.

I borrow Erin’s laptop, planning to scan the artists’ message boards yet again. Instead, I see I’ve got a new email from the Onyx Group, whatever that is.

I open it up, expecting spam.

The sentences that meet my eye are so serendipitous that I read them four times over, stunned and unbelieving.

Dear Ms. Eldritch,

We received your application for studio space. We’re pleased to inform you our junior studio in the Alta Plaza building on Clay Street is currently available.

The junior studio is offered to upcoming artists at a discounted rate of $200/month, payment due at the end of the month.

I have an appointment available at 2:00 this afternoon if you’d like to view the space.

Regards,

Sonia Bridger





For a second I wonder if one of my roommates would be cruel enough to prank me.

But I doubt any of them can spell this well.

Hands shaking, I type back as quickly as possible,

That would be incredible, thank you so much. I will be there at 2:00.





I want to run over there right this second, before they give it away to somebody else.

Two hundred bucks a month is unheard of. I don’t remember applying for this place specifically, but I put my name down everywhere I could find. This feels like manna from heaven. I really can’t believe it. I’m keyed up, terrified that something will happen to fuck this up.

I can barely concentrate while I race my way through the brunch shift. Arthur can tell I’m excited, or maybe just useless, so he lets me off early to run home and change.

I dress in my most professional-looking outfit, a linen peasant blouse and almost-clean jeans, and then I hurry over to Clay Street.

Ms. Bridger is already waiting for me. She’s tall and elegant, with an iron-gray bob and a long, aristocratic nose.