I nod.

As he straightens to meet my gaze with so much passion in his, the fire in my stomach hikes up another notch, he pauses as if deciding where to taste me, touch me, next.

It’s agonizing.

He trails a finger up between my legs. “This is where you want it. Isn’t it?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek and try not to squirm as he rubs a little. I’m so wet, the juices I hear slicking under his fingers are not pie or cream, it’s me.

He’s teasing, testing. He leans over and licks my mouth again. Sampling.

I groan. “Malcolm . . .”

He pinches a wet, swollen nipple.

As he tends to the other, I dip my fingers into the pie and before he knows it, I’m slowly drawing a two-finger line along his hard jaw, to the corner of his lips.

He looks breathtaking and before he can move away, I grab him by the back of the head and I bend and taste the flavor, bitter chocolate with minty peppermint, and he opens his mouth.

We both taste like dessert and heat and there’s so much hotness we should be put away wherever the nuclear weapons are locked up because we detonate each other so fast, so well, so completely, I don’t know if we’ll survive.

He lifts me by the ass and I straddle him as he carries us to one of the sofas. As we kiss, he’s groaning, past the point of being fully in control. I like him this way, so much. When he’s almost, almost unleashed on me.

I lick his chocolate-and-peppermint lips as he sets me down and gives me a sex-throbbing, mind-bending kiss, physical and animal, the sure thrusts of his tongue curling my toes and pricking my clit in the most delicious way.

I throw my head back, giving him full access. He presses a series of kisses down my neck, wet and warm. “Need you . . . inside . . . need it now . . .”

“Want me inside you?” He stands up and yanks off his cashmere sweater, tossing it aside.

“Yes.”

“Hard? Deep?” He unbuttons and unzips, his jeans following.

“Saint!”

Oh god, this beautiful man, eyes narrowed, muscle jumping in his jaw as he tears open a foil packet and sheaths himself, then comes back to spread his big, delicious weight over me . . . this man undoes me. I undulate as our naked bodies connect, undone when his mouth and hands find parts of me he wants to taste.

He whispers a seductive murmur below my ear, kissing there. Dips his tongue in the hollow at the base of my throat. Bites gently into my neck.

I claw at his shoulders. He’s in no rush, but I tremble as he takes my legs by the knees and guides me around him—where he wants me. His stomach ripples; his biceps and triceps flex as he mounts me.

Then he grabs my hips and slides me down an inch or two, so that he pulls me down as he thrusts upward to enter me. His name leaves me on a gasping breath of pure gratitude.

Another thrust. We groan. Another. Closer. Closer. I rake my nails down his back. I feel complete, but needing. Full, but aching.

One nipple disappears into his mouth. One hard suck and I’m thrashing, biceps bunching around me as he thrusts.

All the time I feel the slide of hard heat and power.

My hips roll upward. The room is flooded with the sounds we make.

He wrings out my every breath from my body as he watches me writhe, eyes glowing hotly. His gorgeous face hardens in orgasm, jaws tight, eyes a brilliant, possessive green, teeth grinding from the pleasure as he growls, “Rachel.”

It’s like my sex pulls him in deeper, milking, sucking him in, not letting go.

His buttocks flex, thigh muscles tightening beside mine, powerful back muscles bunching beneath my fingers as he drives forward, deep and fast, filling me so much there’s no room to breathe. No room for anything but Saint inside me. I can feel when he’s coming, because he whispers the words I’m coming in my ear, groaning.

It’s so hot when he comes—the only times that I’ve ever seen Saint out of control—that my orgasm wrenches through my body, causing his cock to swell and jerk in me one, two, three times. I twist beneath him, my mouth seeking his. He grabs me by the cheeks, holding my face as he slows his rhythm, pressing his lips to mine. We kiss, the kiss slow and languorous as our bodies as we come back to each other.

“Oh my god,” I breathe.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. Using his arm, he sits back and shifts me so that I’m the one halfway on top of him.

I lock my hands around his neck. If we weren’t on the couch, I’d just stay here, ready to fall asleep from the bliss of my new alpha-male-fuck exhaustion. “You’re so good at this,” I nuzzle his jaw, feeling warm and gooey inside. “I hate a little bit every woman you went through to get this good.”