There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(58)

“You don’t want to know what I used for my paint . . .”

I can never tell if he’s joking.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he never jokes at all . . .

The pounding beat throbs through our bodies. I’m so dizzy I doubt I could stand up if Cole weren’t holding me.

I shouldn’t have downed that drink so fast.

I’ve never felt this level of attraction to someone. I know without a doubt that Cole is taking me home tonight. Fuck, I might not make it to his house . . . I might not make it to his car . . .

I’m grinding against him, feeling the thick swell of his cock pressed against my hip.

I let my hand graze over his cock, my fingertips stroking the head with only a little fabric between us . . .

“Bad girl . . .” he growls in my ear. “You can’t keep your hands off what you want . . .”

“Why should I?” I whisper back, squeezing his cock hard. “You’re the one who says whatever I want must be good . . .”

“That’s true for me. It might not be true for you . . .”

I look up at him, and I do what I’ve been wanting to do since that ink-black hair first brushed against my skin. I thrust my hands into it, filling my fingers with those soft, thick locks, gripping and pulling hard to yank his face toward mine.

“I don’t care if you’re good for me,” I say.

I kiss him deep and hard. I kiss him like he kissed me at the art show—like I’ll eat him alive.

I fuck his mouth with my tongue like I wish he’d fuck me with cock: deep, filling his mouth all the way up.

We only break apart to breathe.

Cole’s eyes blaze darker than I’ve ever seen them.

“Come with me,” he orders.

His hand is locked around my wrist, dragging me toward the door.

We’re leaving together, and we both know where we’re going.

Until a broad, beefy figure steps in front of us, blocking our path.

I don’t recognize him at first. He’s dressed as Rambo with jungle camouflage on his face and a black mullet wig covering his sandy blond hair. Still, the size should have tipped me off. Not many people can fill a whole hallway with their bulk, blocking us off like a cork in a bottle.

“Shaw,” Cole says, giving Alastor a curt nod while trying to slip past, my wrist still clamped tight in his grasp.

Alastor Shaw has no intention of letting us go that easy.

“Cole!” he says, his booming voice cutting through the pounding music. “I thought I’d see you here. I heard you got some new student. Is this—”

He peers over Cole’s shoulder, trying to get a good look at me amidst the smoke and streamers and dim purplish light. The sight of me causes him to break off mid-sentence.

The strangest flow of emotions passes over his face:

First, shock.

Second, mounting disbelief.

And finally, what looks like pure glee.

“There she is,” he breathes.

Cole drops my wrist, breaking the bond between us.

“She’s just renting a studio in my building,” he says.

The grin only spreads across Alastor’s face. He looks unutterably happy, for reasons I can’t understand.

“I bet she is,” Alastor says. “I heard you’re mentoring her.”

Cole is silent.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on. He’s never seemed embarrassed of me before. My face is burning and I want to speak up, but the tension is so thick that for once I keep my mouth shut.

“She’s nothing to me,” Cole says, so quietly that I can’t actually hear him. I watch the words form on his lips and carry across to Alastor, slashing me deep along their way.

Now it’s me who takes a step back from Cole, my heart cold and dead in my chest: a steak tossed in the fridge.

Alastor only laughs. “You brought her here,” he says. “You’re wearing matching costumes.”

Now Cole’s jaw tightens and he steps between me and Alastor, putting me directly behind his back. He stands face-to-face with Shaw, almost the same height, one slim and dark, the other broad and blond.

“Alright,” Cole hisses. “She’s my student. And she only learns from me. So stay the fuck away from her.”

“You’re so territorial,” Alastor growls. “You need to learn how to share.”

“Never,” Cole snarls back at him. “Keep your distance. I’m not fucking around this time.”

Grabbing my wrist once more, Cole drags me past Shaw, always keeping his own body between us.

He hauls me all the way outside, into the cold October night. He won’t release my wrist until we’re several blocks away.

“What the fuck was that?” I demand.

“What,” Cole says.

“Don’t even fucking try that. Don’t try to pretend that was anything close to normal.”

“I loathe Shaw, you know that.”

“I’ve seen you interact with plenty of people you despise. That was different. You were stressed. He upset you.”

Cole wheels on me, angrier even than he was with Alastor.

“I’m not upset,” he snarls. “I don’t give a fuck about Shaw.”

“Or me either, apparently,” I say sarcastically.