Manwhore +1 (Manwhore, #2)(56)

He seems mad about something.

I try tying the sheet around my body and letting it drop a little so he can get a peek of a shoulder. Then I decide to let him look at both shoulders. Then I lie back and fan out my hair a little again, kind of annoyed at my body for being so . . . well, so ready so soon. But my skin feels the delicious touch of his super-soft high-count sheets, and I can’t suppress the chaos in my body as I wait for him.

I hear silence again. Footsteps. And the door opens. A sliver of light from outside appears and his silhouette at the door. The air starts crackling. I can hear my heart. Thump. Thump. Strong. Resonating though my ears as I look at his shape—his awe-inspiring shape in the door. His hair a little standing up as if he pulled it in frustration, maybe. Our eyes lock. My Saint hormones go crazy.

I sit up and pull the sheets to my chest, pushing my hair out of my face. “Hey,” I say.

He reaches behind him to shut the door. “Fuck me, I like you so much in my bed I need to figure out how to permanently keep you in it.”

“Just put yourself in it. I’ll stay.”

He cracks out a slow smile, looking genuinely pleased as he looks at me. “I’m here.”

Um, yes he is. The energy in the room shifts with him here with all the power he projects, attracting anything weaker than him.

“Like I wouldn’t notice.”

He walks into the room and picks up my panties and bra, and I flush like crazy. “Nice,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking appreciatively. He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches behind him, fists his polo in one hand, and pulls it over his head.

He’s mouthwatering.

So beautiful I can’t wait.

I go up to my knees and knee-walk to the end of the bed, the sheet to my chest with one hand as I reach out and stroke my fingers up his chest. I don’t know how many times it’ll take to see him naked and not feel absolutely buttery, but his every hard plane is perfection and my every soft part tingles. Before I know it I’m setting my lips over one small brown nipple, lightly sucking. God, his taste is addictive.

He fists my hair, pulls me back, and takes my lips, deep and hungry. I’m tingling with happiness as our mouths search, find, and fuse together. I keep trailing my fingers up his chest and when he eases back to look at me, his breathing is ragged, his fist still in my hair.

“Where to even start with you,” he says as if to himself.

He tightens his hold on my hair and pulls me up for another mind-numbing kiss.

“That’s a good start,” I admit into his mouth. “I wanted to stay and thank you properly for my shirt and for today.”

“I wasn’t letting you get away.” His voice is husky and sure. He tugs the sheet down to look at me. My throat closes as he drags a hand over my upper body, to cup the globe of one breast in one strong hand. “That’s not exactly true. You could’ve left,” he tells me, tugging my ear playfully with his free hand, “but I’d have chased you.”

“Maybe I’d have let you catch me.”

He smiles as he gently fondles my breast, as if I’m deluded, thinking I could escape him. Resist him. He knows what he does to me. He found me naked like one of his groupies in his bed. “What do you say we turn a light on in here?”

“Why?” I pant as he eases off me.

He sends me a thousand-volt greedy look. “I want to look at you.”

“But . . . there’s light coming from outside,” I protest.

He walks around. “I want to see you.”

I clutch the sheet back up as he stands to flick on the lamp by the bed.

It bathes him in light as he comes back to me. He grips the sheet in one hand and starts tugging and I feel my resolve melt and melt as his gaze starts sliding down my neck, soft as a caress. I force my fingers to release it.

“Saint . . .” I protest.

“God, come on. Don’t be shy with me, Rachel. Not with me.”

I stop tugging at that, and he looks at me with such a look of tenderness, I melt.

He lowers it to my waist and my pulse quickens as his eyes take in my breasts in the lamplight, my abdomen, the lower half of my body hidden still by the sheet that dropped there. As he lowers it down my hips and it slides down my legs, my body starts to ache horribly for his touch. My senses coming to life before he even touches me.

He tosses the sheet at my feet now.

“What do you want from me?” I croak.

His hand coasts down my rib cage, his thumb slowly stroking my hipbone as he leans over and nibbles my ear. “Everything.” I sigh. His lips slide across my jaw and back to latch on mine. He doesn’t seem to want to talk now.

I can’t speak now either. I’m too busy tasting him back. Fingers wandering into his thick hair. Breasts pressing to his flat chest. And his warm tongue and strong lips leaving mine to wander . . . wander . . . down my throat. He moves the little R necklace aside and sets a kiss on the nook below as his hand caresses down my flat abdomen.

I start closing my thighs—this always makes me vulnerable. Thinking he’ll kiss me there. He stops my thighs from fully closing and urges one open to the side.

His breath coasts over my nipple before his mouth crosses the peak. On the inside of my leg, his thumb travels up my thigh.

“Saint,” I whimper anxiously.

He tastes my mouth again, harder. He rolls me to my back and comes over me in his jeans, his bare chest hot against mine. And that sexy smiling mouth of his kisses me, and I’m dragging my hands up the grooves of his back, undulating as I try to get him to give me what I need—him, all of him—right now.