Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

His face was the funniest thing on earth as it moved from surprised to eager, then finally to turned on.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pressing his hard cock against me. From the outside, it must’ve looked like we were sharing the dirtiest hug ever. “I’m about to go ice-skating for a hand job, and I’m not even sixteen anymore.”

“You’re totally going on a day date,” I joked.

He rolled his eyes but followed me back outside and into the nearest subway station, buttoning his pea coat to cover the massive bulge between his legs. “Lead the way.”

Despite my teasing, I didn’t really plan to take him ice-skating. But I wasn’t going to tell him that just yet. I actually enjoyed watching him sitting opposite me on the subway. Jaw grinding. Brows creased. Eyes locked on mine. We were oblivious to the noise around us—the damp, stinky coats brushing against us, the Kindles, paperbacks, and takeout bags that smelled like Asian food and were nudged into our ribs. It was just us.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d spent the day having fun in the city without thinking about picking up more shifts or running errands.

I also couldn’t remember the last time I spent the day with a man who made my knees weak, my breath erratic, and my heart feel like it didn’t belong to me anymore.

“This means nothing,” he said from across my seat, twisting my own words from yesterday when I let him into my apartment.

“I’m asking you to ice-skate with me, not trying to melt the ice around your cold, cold heart,” I retorted in the same way he’d responded to me less than twenty-four hours ago.

He cracked a rare smile. “Where are we really going? This isn’t the way to Rockefeller Center.”

“Always so perceptive, Mr. Spencer.” I got up and held on to one of the poles when we reached 77th Street station. He followed me. “We’re going to the Met.”

At the Met, there was a special exhibition about human anatomy, of all subjects. It was extra realistic and gory, too. When we waited in line to get the tickets, I told Vicious I’d almost fainted when I saw a real-live mummy the first time I’d visited the museum. He laughed and said that he once went to the Mütter Museum in Philadelphia on a school trip and threw up when he saw some of the remains of Einstein’s brain.

“Can’t blame you. There are some things better left to the imagination…though I can’t see myself ever wanting to picture that either.” I scrunched my nose as we entered the exhibit.

I choked the little booklet I was holding to release some of the tension from my body. We stopped next to a picture of a real heart, sitting on a white cube. It was bloody and looked fresh, like it was still beating not long ago.

I saw the art in it.

Heck, I wanted to run back home and paint it.

“I was thirteen and all kinds of messed up. The brain just always seemed to me like the most important, intimate part of the human body. Maybe because that’s what was left of my mother after her accident. She was paralyzed from the neck down, but completely lucid. Still herself.”

I didn’t utter a word because it felt important to let him speak. We were both staring at the picture when he added, “I like the way you stare reality in the eye without looking away. You’re not a coward, Emilia.”

I nodded. “Neither are you. I mean, you’re crazy, but brave.”

We walked a few feet to our right, checking out the next piece. Time moved quickly, too quickly. Four hours into our day at the museum, and I was starving, so I suggested that we go get something to eat. Vicious nodded in agreement. I was surprised we’d gotten this far without him complaining about us being here so long. We walked toward the exit, but then he grabbed me by the collar of my coat and shoved me into a corner behind a wall leading to the bathroom. It was quiet and secluded. Just another dead weekday before Christmas.

His lips found mine quickly as he muttered, “Where’s that second base you promised me?”

I linked my fingers around his neck and waited for him to make a move.

I was a good girl.

He was a bad boy.

He knew what to do.

Vicious pressed his lips to mine, kissing me slow and long—teasing this time—before moving away and watching me through narrowed predator eyes.

“Refreshing,” he croaked.

I nodded. A good long kiss was better than quick casual sex. He ducked his head down again for another one, deepening our kiss, and sucked on my tongue hungrily, cupping my ass with one hand firmly, and brushing my throat with his thumb with the other softly.

“Did you think about this often? Kissing me like that?” My voice was husky. I felt him nodding even though my eyes were closed. The electricity between us was tantalizing. My body begged for more of him and chased his touch, desperate to be closer.