Page 72 of Lawless Rivals

His thumb presses harder against my clit and the coil snaps.

Pleasure detonates through me, white-hot and blinding. My muscles lock up and my back arches while my inner walls pulse around his fingers.

My knees wobble and my breath comes fast. One arm circles my waist, and he presses his coarse-haired cheek to my belly, holding me upright.

His fingers stay buried inside me, the strokes slower to draw out every tremor, every aftershock, until I’m oversensitive and weak.

I sense the tension pulled tight in every line of his body, from the hard length of his dick straining against his jeans to the shallow rasp of his breathing, the way his fingers twitch inside me like he’s fighting the urge to start all over again.

“Saint…” I say breathlessly.

He removes his fingers, sits back, and cleans them with long licks.

I sink to my knees before him, heartbeat thundering against my ribs, and place my hands on his thighs.

“This changes nothing,” he says. “You’re still a Harrington and outside of this cabin, we don’t fit together.”

I swallow hard and reach for the sweatshirt. “Yeah, I get it. A little fun won’t shake up the snake pit.”

He sits forward and grabs my arm. “You think I’m enjoying this?”

Saint’s jaw clamps shut and his nostrils flare. In that beat of time, there’s a flicker where he almost gives in again. “I’m fighting with myself every time I’m with ya, Keira.”

Then his fingers leave my skin and he drags a hand down his face.

Chapter 19

Keira

Saint watches me in silence.

Firelight kisses one half of his furrowed brow, catching on the curve of his cheekbone and carving shadow beneath the dark sweep of his lashes.

Without another word, he pushes himself up from the chair.

“You’ve had a busy day,” he says. “Time for bed.”

Before I can decide whether to stand or scoot backward, his hands find me. One slides around my shoulders, broad palm spanning almost the width of my back, the other beneath my knees, forearm flexing as he lifts.

My hands come up to hold on to the solid muscle of his neck. Heat radiates through the cotton of his shirt.

His pulse beats steady and strong beneath my fingers, and I find myself melting against him.

“I’m not tired⁠—”

“Yeah, ya are.” His voice vibrates through his chest and into mine. “You nearly drowned out there today.”

He carries me along the hallway and kicks the bedroom door open, not breaking stride. When we’re inside, he moves to the bed and lowers me onto the mattress, his hands lingering at my waist before he straightens.

From this angle, looking up at him, he seems larger somehow. Broader. Breathtaking.

The fading firelight from the hall moves around his shoulders, the powerful column of his throat, and the shadowed strength in his jaw.

“We’re drawing a line in the sand now,” he says. “This is dangerous, Keira. So, let’s not get to the point when I can’t fucking stop. This will all be over soon and ya can go home.”

The word home shouldn’t sting. It’s where I’m supposed to belong. Where my family lives. But the way he says it makes something inside me recoil.

Go home.