Page 59 of Broken Saint

Before I’ve managed to register the words, his grip on my hair tightens, his other hand slides from my waist to my ass, and I’m lifted up his body until his lips are on mine.

I want to fight, but the second his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip asking for entrance, I cave.

I always do when it comes to Colton Rogers. He’s my ultimate kryptonite.

He’s the reason I ended up in this mess in the first place.

The second I part my lips and accept his kiss, a deep groan rumbles in his throat and he dives in.

He’s always been a gives-no-shits, takes-what-he-wants kind of man. It’s something I always admired about him after spending so many years caring too hard about things that didn’t really matter.

It’s why I handed my body and my heart over so easily.

It wasn’t even a choice. It just happened.

I fell hard, and I fell fast.

It’s just a shame that I was the only one who did.

“Oh god, Colton,” I moan as he rocks me over his erection.

He always did have incredible recovery times. Seems like that hasn’t changed.

“Been years since I had you, Bombshell. Did you expect anything else?” he asks, making my heart pound harder. “Wait. No. Don’t answer that,” he quickly says, learning all too fast about my insecurities. “I couldn't get enough then, and I can’t get enough now.”

He finds my lips again, stopping me from saying anything. His grip on my ass tightens as he grinds against me, and the other slides from my hair and down over my back and waist.

His touch burns, and with each second that passes, I just about manage to put my unease aside and indulge in what he’s giving me.

If he didn’t like your body, he would not be doing this right now, the rational, healthy part of my brain says.

But you’re not the girl you used to be, the other part screams.

“Colton,” I cry, both ripped from my thoughts and the delicious friction from his cock. “What are you?—”

“Sit on my face, Ella,” he demands, holding me over his chest.

“What? No. No way, I can’t?—”

“Shut the fuck up and do as you’re told,” he growls. “I want to taste you again.”

“I’ll kill you.” His lips curl at the corners as mirth dances in his eyes. “What?” I snap. “What’s so funny?”

“Bombshell, you won’t kill me. And even if you did, it would be the ultimate way to go.”

Without my agreement, he wraps his giant hands around my thighs and drags me forward.

But I still hover just out of reach.

“Ella. Sit. On. My. Fucking. Face.”

“I can’t. I?—”

His grip on my hips tightens, his fingertips digging into my skin as he takes matters into his own hands and tugs me down.

The second I’m low enough, he sucks on my clit and sets about proving to me why this is a good idea.

“Oh fuck.”