Page 50 of Ride or Die

Riley threw herself back and spun, tripping over the boots. She kicked them off and ran for the stairs. She reached them in a few steps and could only hear the sound of her feet. Over her shoulder, Saint stood stock still, cast in shadows as the sun dipped. She paused for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, heart hammering.

His mouth tipped up in a half-smile.

He flowed forward with long strides, faster than he had any right to be.

She let out a shriek and leapt for the stairs. She grabbed the railings, as if she could haul herself up faster than she could run. Cookie barked from the top, cheering her on.

Riley was halfway up when Saint’s boots thudded on the steps, shaking them beneath her. Go, go, go! She scrambled up the last few steps, and a wild grin split her face.

She should have thought this through better. She didn’t know what was at the top of the stairs.

There was no door, and a high-ceilinged loft opened up in front of her. The leather couches and widescreen TV offered very little by way of hiding places. There was a huge kitchen on one side and a door on the other.

The stairs thundered.

Riley lurched forward and slipped, sock feet sliding on the shiny hardwood. Kitchen or bedroom? Cookie barked behind her.

Bedroom.

She was halfway across the loft, almost to the bedroom door, when a fist closed around her hoodie. She careened forward, suspended by the fabric as her feet slid on the floor.

Strong arms circled her, and she slammed back into Saint’s chest. She gasped a laugh and stopped fighting to get free. He smelled like engine oil, but his arms were the exact same as when they’d held her to sleep.

“You got farther than I thought you would,” Saint said, not out of breath in the slightest. Riley beamed at him and found her footing, but he didn’t release her.

“Was that fun for you?”

“You have no idea,” she panted. What a rush. “Where’s my phone?” she twisted, trying to get her hand into the hoodie pocket.

“Absolutely not.”

Saint twisted with her, manoeuvering her so her phone was always out of reach. Riley squirmed and fought, but not very hard. He might let her win if she did, and that would take all the fun out of it. “Just one photo. I’ll only send it to Kristi. Promise.”

She gave one final twist and froze as she came nose to nose with him. The air shifted. Cedar and heat filled her throat and trailed down into her low belly. Saint wasn’t breathing, eyes fixed on hers. Waiting, watching.

Riley didn’t blink.

He brought the hem of his shirt up and wiped the grease off his nose and chin. It ruined the fabric, and he let it drop. His hand slid from her waist, up her back, and cupped her neck, tipping her face to his. Her entire body softened as he brought his lips to hers, brushing them together. A whimper escaped, needy and pathetic. As her cheeks burned, he kissed her deeper. Carefully, always asking.

He didn’t tell or demand, and she kind of wanted him to.

She arched and parted her lips, the yes in every part of her that touched him. He swept in and took control, arm tight around her waist, holding her against him, bending her backwards. He didn’t break the kiss as he half-carried her to the scarred leather couch and set her on the arm.

Saint kissed her neck, and Riley lifted her chin to give him better access. His teeth closed on the delicate skin above her collarbone, and she gasped as heat rushed down, settling into an incessant throb between her legs. Dear god.

She pressed closer, and he pulled up, holding her face in his hands. She caught her breath and stared up at him.

Her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

Saint chuckled and brought their foreheads together as he gazed into her eyes. He was out of breath too, and if that didn’t feel like a win, nothing did.

“I’m going to make us dinner.”

“Seriously?” she panted.

“Yup.” He winked at her.