Silent Night (Twisted Holidays)

8. Hayley

EIGHT

HAYLEY

“For now, I’m just here to have a nice Christmas.”

I get the sense that Saint’s had very few of those throughout his life. Maybe none at all.

I still can’t believe he’s here . My thief in the night has come out of the shadows and into the stringed holiday lights, pretending to be the man he’s lying to Bentley about being.

I’m practically on his lap so if he can feel my nerves, he’s doing a damn good job of hiding it while he and Bentley talk. My stepbrother tosses veiled insults and doubtful questions at Saint whose lies come naturally. Too natural, and it makes me question the little I know about him.

Suddenly, this is all feeling too real. I’m finding myself wanting to take Saint away from Bentley and learn everything there is to know about him, except Saint and I can’t be in that kind of relationship. Hell, we’re not even in a relationship. He’s my dirty, little secret and should be a horrible mistake.

I stare at the side of his face while he talks, wondering when the last time he interacted with others like this was. Surely, a guy on the move doesn’t hang out in people’s homes often.

Unless he does. Each town he stops in, he picks a girl, manipulates her into being a good fuck, robs her place, and ditches town.

Saint catches me watching him and the smile he shoots my way, the blistering stare tells me he’s not lying. That he isn’t a lie.

“Well,” Bentley says gruffly, “not sure why baby sis invited you considering we’re not really having a regular holiday since our parents ditched us.”

“That’s fine.” Saint drops a kiss to my forehead. “I’m happy to be here either way.”

Bentley grumbles and downs his drink. “Fuck this, I’m out to go visit a friend who’s also alone today. I don’t need to see some asshole violating my sister.”

“Not your sister,” I call out as he disappears toward the front door.

The moment we’re alone, Saint drags me over his lap, my thighs bracketing his hips. “What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you were leaving.”

Hurt flashes through his eyes, but before I can explain what my question meant, he replies, “I tried. Made it to the edge of town before turning around. Didn’t like how he was touching you yesterday, so I’m making a point.”

It might be wrong, but my heart skips a beat. He did this for me. Because he sees Bentley as a threat, even if I know he’s harmless. All bark, no bite.

“The point being?”

“That you’re mine. Temporarily, of course.” His teeth graze my neck, enticing a shiver from me and a hungry look from him. “I also realized, despite what I said last night, I’m already damned so why should I deny myself from the only gift I actually want?”

“That being…?”

His palm presses into my back as he sits straighter, meeting me halfway. “You.”

He steals my mouth in a bruising kiss, his hands tearing at my sweater, yanking it over my head. He tosses it to the side, making me shiver. His hands travel up my spine until reaching my bra. He unhooks it, drawing it away from my body.

“Saint.” My eyes dart to the door. If Bentley were to come back, this isn’t how I’d want him to find us.

“Relax,” he whispers, knowing my precise concerns, and his hands meld with my hair. “I promise he won’t see you.”

He kisses me again until I’m breathless, mindless, and senseless, panting with desire. My hips move over his on their own accord until I feel his erection through his jeans and he rewards me with a groan.

One hand shifts from my hair to my hip and in a sudden, quick swoop, he’s standing with my legs around his waist and walking me away from the couch. As quick we stand, he lowers to his knees, placing me on my back in front of the Christmas tree.

Saint leans back on his knees, gazing down at me. White tree lights create dots all over my skin, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

He lowers himself on top of me, kissing me sweeter than ever before. I reach for his shirt, but he draws back, pulling it over his head. It’s the first time I’ve seen him—truly seen him—and my fuck, he’s gorgeous. His muscles are defined from a life of heartache and not from a gym. Scars decorate the skin by his shoulders and I want to know how he got them. The scars, as well as the marks on his ribs.

He follows my gaze, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Not so nice to look at, eh?”

“You’re beautiful,” I repeat his earlier compliment. “Scars tell a story. It makes me only want to know yours.”

A strange look comes over his expression before he shakes his head, and somehow, I know what he’s about to say before he does. There seems to be two versions of Saint: the gentle man full of compliments and the hardened criminal, making degrading comments about himself .

“No, you don’t. My story’s too rough for someone as innocent as you. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“It’s not over yet. You don’t know what your ending will be.”

He smiles sadly. “Yeah, I do, and trust me, it’s not one where the criminal gets the princess.”

“But I’m not?—”

His palm comes down over my mouth, blocking my next words. After a moment, he slowly tugs his hand away, replacing it with his mouth, kissing me until I forget the denial I was about to say.

As he kisses me senseless, he tugs off my leggings and then my panties, until I’m completely naked beneath him. He pulls back again to look at me, cursing softly, except coming from him, the harsh word sounds like praise.

I reach for him, undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans all without breaking his gaze. I reach inside and pull out the cock that filled my mouth last night, stroking him to full length. All I could think about when he was down my throat was what he’d feel like inside me.

His eyes bore into mine like he’s trying to memorialize the moment. They tell a story, but it’s in a language I’m not entirely familiar with.

He lets me have my fun with him, his mouth slowly falling open as his breaths grow shallower. After a moment, he rips my hand off him, growling, “Keep going and I won’t get to play with you, and we can’t have that.” He taps my thigh, instructing, “Roll to your knees.”

Lust drips from his command, and I’m more than happy to comply. In front of the tree, I get to my hands and knees, staring at the Christmas lights as his fingers slide along my clit.

“Fuck, you’re already wet.” He pulls his hand back for a moment, and I twist, watching him suck his finger into his mouth, pulling it out with a sweep of his tongue. Then he lowers his hand between my legs again and slides his finger back inside me, sinking deep until my gaze breaks from his and my head falls forward with a long moan.

“Don’t be quiet, Hayley. Not this time. We’re all alone. ”

Saint thrusts his finger in and out before pulling out to add a second, curling them inside me. The angle nearly shoots me off immediately, but I vow to hold on a bit longer. I don’t want this to end.

As fast as I think it, the sparks inside my core build. His thumb sweeps over my clit and the combination of sensations brings my body higher and higher. My arms grow weak and I end up with my chest on the floor, my head scraping the edge of the tree skirt, my hips moving in tandem with his thrusts.

“Fuck,” I cry. “Saint!”

“Sing my name, sweet girl. Treat it like a carol. Let the neighbourhood hear who you’re dirtying yourself for.”

Again with the self-degradation, and I want to tell him to stop it. That I know he’s not that kind of person. But as fast as I’m able to get my mouth functioning, he thrusts again, harder, and I come around his hand, my cry echoing through the high-ceilinged room, my core clenching on his fingers.

Saint rewards me by finger-fucking me as long as I can physically manage before slowly pulling out of me. I turn in time to watch him studying his wet fingers in the tree’s lights with a pleased smirk.

“Look how drenched you are.” He puts one finger in his mouth, his draw long and slow before his eyes sparkle with mischief. “Should we see how many fingers we can fit?”

He takes my whimper as an agreement—which is exactly what it was meant to be, and when his hand lowers to my pussy again, it’s with three fingers.

He’s going to stretch me and it’ll probably burn, but I can’t find it in me to care. I’m realizing, this man can do anything to me, and I’ll accept it. Accept him .

With three fingers, he moves slower, his other hand stroking over my spine as he makes soothing noises, sprinkled with bits of praise.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You’re a greedy girl. ”

“You’re beautiful, sweet girl.”

Eventually, he stops stroking my back to pet my clit instead. Nothing intense; just lazy slow touches that cause my legs to shake, my head to drop onto my arms. It’s a contradiction to how full my core feels and the slight burn accompanying it.

“My…fucking…god.”

His thrusts slowly pick up their pace, the sounds getting wetter—more erotic. I’m mindless in my drive to come like this. To respond to his praises.

A full body shiver wracks me with my next orgasm.