Page 41 of Break My Rules
Praise….
I get a flash of Saint groaning ‘good girl’ as I take his cock all the way, and blush deeply. “Well, thanks!” I blurt brightly. “I’m having a great time with the project—when I can steal the time away from my studies.”
“Ah yes, I remember the Oxford pressure cooker,” Hugh gives me a sympathetic smile. “The best advice I can offer is to carve out time to protect the things you really care about, otherwise you can wind up working yourself into a minor breakdown.”
“Oh, minor breakdowns are no trouble to me,” I joke. “That’s amateur hour.”
Hugh chuckles, as Peter returns with an armful of paperwork. “Printed, bound, and triplicate,” he says proudly. “Just the way you wanted.”
“Uh, thanks.” I heave the folders from his arms. “I really appreciate it.” I turn to Hugh. “You know, Saint said we should all get together for a drink sometime…”
“I’d love to!” Hugh agrees. “Let’s check our calendars and set something up.”
I say goodbye and leave—already regretting the heavy packet of documents I have to tote around town now—but my mind stays on Hugh’s calendar, and that mysterious blocked-off weekend.
Where was he? And was it with Wren?
Back at Saint’smews house in Kensington, I find he’s already home: drinking a glass of wine in the living room with his shirt already unbuttoned, bare feet up on the coffee table.
He looks deliciously undone, giving me that sleepy, happy-to-see me smile.
“I’m braindead,” he tells me with a yawn, as I lean over and kiss him hello. “They got me with three solid hours of depreciation projections. Do you know the breakage rate for glassware in a laboratory setting? Because I do. Quiz me.”
He gulps the wine, and I laugh in sympathy. “Poor baby,” I coo, climbing into his lap. “What can we do to wake you up?”
I slide my hands over his bare chest, and kiss him, slow and deep. Saint makes a noise of appreciation, setting his wineglass down and wrapping his arms around me without even breaking the kiss.
“Well, that certainly helped,” he murmurs, eyes bright again when we come up for air. He shifts me on his lap, pulling me closer against him, and trailing soft kisses down my neck. “How was your day studying?”
I bite my lip. “I kind of played hooky,” I admit. “I hung out with Annabelle, instead, and stopped by the office to see Hugh. I checked his calendar,” I add. “He doesn’t have an alibi for Wren’s attack. At least, not one I know about yet.” I sigh. “I understand a little of how you feel now,” I add, nestling my head against his shoulder. “I hate having to suspect him of doing something like this.”
“It’s awful,” Saint agrees. “I can’t shake it now, wondering about the truth. All day, it’s lurking in the back of my mind. I wish we could just forget all about it, for a little while.”
“You mean, take a time out from the investigation?” I ask wistfully.
“The investigation, my work at the company, all of it.” Saint brushes hair from my face. He looks worn out, and stressed, and I know exactly how he feels.
“Why don’t we?” I ask, feeling a reckless urge. He arches an eyebrow. “Take a time out,” I explain. “Do something wild, and crazy, and fun tonight; just let go, and have a good time. I’m sure you can think of a few ideas,” I add, flirty. “Wild and crazy is kind of your expertise.”
Saint slowly smiles at me. “Just how wild are we talking?” he asks, sliding his hands around my waist and squeezing with a new purpose.
I shiver with anticipation. “Try me,” I whisper, and watch the lust flare in his eyes.
“Done.”
Saint gets to his feet, lifting me and setting me down in one smooth motion. “Upstairs,” he orders, landing a light slap on my ass.
The anticipation flares into hot desire.
“Yes,sir,” I murmur, and practically skip up to the bedroom. Saint strides after me, but when we reach his room, he doesn’t just throw me down and ravish me—he crosses to the closet instead.
“Wear….this,” he says, browsing my new clothes, and plucking down a hanger. “And these, too…” He picks out lingerie for me, gorgeous, sensual pieces in inky silk and lace.
“I’m liking this plan already,” I reply, stripping off my clothes and tossing them to the floor. Saint sits on the bed, watching me, so I make sure to put on a show for him: wriggling into the panties and lace bra, and bending way down to slide the stocking and suspenders into place.
His expression is smoldering, his eyes devouring every move I make, but he doesn’t reach for me, or touch me at all, just leans back, watching me as I tug the dress he selected over my head. It’s a black silk number that pours over my body like water, hugging my curves and flaring out at the waist in a swirling knee-length skirt. I add a pair of wicked black stilettos with sexy leather straps and let my hair down in a tousled mane.
“Do you like it?” I present myself to him with a little pose, enjoying the subtle shift in power dynamic, how I’m obeying his instructions and seeking his approval now.