Saint

“Hi,” I say, then I flinch, knowing that sounded lame.

“Hey,” he replies with a slight tilt of his chin. His eyes run the length of my body, and it’s obvious what he has in mind for us. Without a word, he grabs my bag from my hand and tosses it into his backseat. “Get in.”

I nod and move around the car, slipping into the passenger’s side as he settles in behind the wheel.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he begins to drive.

“My house. In Malibu.”

My eyes go wide. “Your house?”

He nods, his eyes locked on the road. Then, he takes one of his hands from the steering wheel and places it on my bare knee. I don’t know why I decided to wear leggings instead of jeans, but subconsciously I think I was hoping they’d provide him easier access. God, I’ve gotten way too easy when it comes to Saint. I don’t even try to pretend to have qualms about what we do together anymore.

My breath hitches as his hand moves higher up my thigh, his destination clear. He never takes his eyes off the road as he hooks his fingers around the waist of my pants and pulls them down just enough to slip his hand inside. I spread my legs instinctively as the tip of one of his fingers finds my tightening clit beneath my panties.

“Saint,” I murmur, my breathing thick and unsteady.

“You ever been finger-fucked speeding down the interstate?” The way he asks is so casual, as if it’s a regular occurrence in his own life.

It probably is. He probably does this all the time to girls.

I squash the thought, not wanting to go there with myself. I’m not about to be jealous of Saint and his colorful past. His fingers inch lower, and he parts my folds. I gasp and squirm, but his grip on me is too strong to escape as his fingers work faster and faster. I’m gasping, and it feels like his hand is moving with same speed as his car. They’re synchronized, working together to get me off. It’s not long before I’m tumbling over the edge and crying out in relief as my orgasm crashes through me.

While I’m still shaking in my seat, he pulls his hand from my pants and puts his fingers in his mouth. He hums with satisfaction, and I bite my lip, my thighs clenching at the sight.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

He smirks. “What does it look like? Tasting you. I’ve missed tasting my little masochist.”

Even though he just made me come, I’m getting revved back up watching. He’s so fucking cocky, it should infuriate me, but it doesn’t. It turns me on, and I can’t believe how much. I can’t think of anything to say to him. My mind is mush. I can’t think straight, but luckily, he pulls up to a set of tall gates within the next few minutes.

Rolling down the window, he punches some buttons on a keypad, and the gate swings open. We pull forward, up a winding driveway to the most gorgeous house I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s a three-story Spanish style house with big windows and elaborate iron work all over the façade.

My jaw drops and he pulls up to park in front of the four-car garage.

Turning to me, he arches his brow. “You ready to go in?”

I force my mouth shut as I turn to him with wide eyes. “Y-yes.”

Except, the truth is, I don’t think I’m ready to enter his world at all.