I shake my head. “You don’t want to know me. Can’t you see I’m trouble? The first time you met me you had to save me from a kidnapping.”
“Amara, I don’t care about that. I’ll protect you. I’ll protect us both. If we have to, we’ll go somewhere else, another city. Shit, another country. If that’s what it takes I’ll do it.”
“I can’t ask you to do that. I’m sorry. You need to forget about me.”
A growl escapes his lips and it should make me turn and run but instead it connects directly to my pussy and I mewl as I tense, a little drop of come leaking between my legs. How does he have this effect on me?
“I can’t forget about you. Amara, I’m not going to give up on this, on us. You need time. Fine, I get it, but if I have to wait a lifetime I’ll do it.”
“Please, don’t do this,” I beg him, not because I don’t want him. I do. But I don’t want to have to walk away from him. I wish he’d just hate me because it would make this so much easier.
“I know where your apartment is. If you need me, I’ll be there to protect you, Amara.”
I watch the man at the edge of the park raise his hands and for a second I tense, thinking he’s holding a gun. But it isn’t. It’s just a camera. He takes two or three shots of the two of us together, then turns and leaves.
Oh, God, what have I done? Saint is a target now and it’s all my fault. My father will get a copy of that photo and he’ll stop at nothing to punish Saint just for knowing me.
“I have to go,” I say, but as I turn to leave, Saint grabs my wrist and pushes a piece of card into my hand.
“Call me, any time of the day or night, and I’ll be there, Amara. And when you’re ready, we will have a proper date. You and me. We’re made for each other, you just don’t know it yet.”
***
Saint is wrong.
Not about us being made for each other, but about me not knowing it. I wish I didn’t. I wish I could just tell myself that we’re all wrong for each other and it would never work, but I’d never believe it. We’re so perfect it scares me, but not as much as it scares me to think of him being hurt because of me.
“Saint…” I whisper in the dark of my bedroom as I lie on my back, my knees drawn up and apart, my fingers rubbing gently at the secret lips between my legs. I imagine it’s his hand on my pussy, his fingertips brushing my clit, but it’s not quite the same. I wish he could be here with me right now, even as I know I’m the one who told him to stay away. “Oh, God, Saint, yes…”
There’s a scent in the air of my own stickiness, and I close my eyes as I breathe it in. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Saint. I want to taste him, to touch him, to feel his hands on every inch of my naked body. I want to run my fingers through the curls of hair over his chest, I want to stare into his mesmerizing eyes and scream his name as I cum.
“Oh…” I moan as I dip two fingers inside my pussy, feeling the tightness as my pelvic muscles clench instinctively. I’ve never masturbated as much as I have these last few days since he saved my life. I’ve rarely craved that release but now it’s like I’m mad for him.
Glancing up at the open curtains, I see the moon shining down on me, its light just barely illuminating the sprinkling of hair on my pussy, the edge of my thigh and my glistening fingers as they dip in and out and run gaspingly around my lips. I wonder if he’s looking at the moon right now and thinking about me the way I’m thinking about him. Perhaps he’s even masturbating too.
The thought drives me wild and my hips buck against the mattress as I whimper, trying desperately to hold myself back. I clench my stomach hard, feeling the muscles ache with the effort, and with my free hand I grab my breast and squeeze, pinching the nipple between my fingers and drawing a squeak from my lips.
I’m so close to the edge right now, and part of me wants to jump right over while the other part wants to hold back, to hold onto the waves of pleasure that are crashing over the cliffs of my orgasm as I think about him, imagine his monster cock opening me up right now, wondering what it would feel like to have something like that inside me.