Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

“You’ll both be fine, Madison.”

Her eyes swing to me. “How can you be so sure?”

I shrug. “Because he loves you, and Bishop doesn’t give up on the people he loves.”

“But he did, though…” Madison whispers, and I almost think I missed what she said.

“No, he didn’t.” I shake my head, bringing my eyes back up to the sky. “He never once gave up on you. He was waiting for you.”

Tillie sighs. “Well, this is depressing. Can we go inside now?”

I chuckle as Madison stands, swiping the dirt off the back of her pants. They’re both a force to be reckoned with. You can see it anywhere they appear. They’re like yin and yang. “You guys go up. I’ll be in soon.”

“Saint, you’re my sister and I love you, but the creepy shit you’re into definitely doesn’t come from mine or Bishop’s side.”

I smile up at her. “Well aware of where it comes from, Tillie. I’ll see you guys soon.” They both leave, and once they’ve left, I pull out my phone and scroll through my contacts again, searching for that ?. “How are you not here?” I whisper to myself, desperate to find anything. Even to be able to contact him again, maybe ask why he’s showing in my dreams or visions.

“Still trying to find your secret pen pal?” Brantley steps out of the shadows. A hoodie is over his head, shading the curves of his face. He pauses when he catches the stone I’m sitting against.

“Do you know whose this is?” I had to ask.

He lowers himself down and takes the exact spot where Madison was just sitting. “I don’t. Been there for as long as I can remember. Why?”

I turn, bringing my palm to the moss growing between the cracks. “Just asking.” I swing back around. He seems closer now, a breath away.

He pulls a leg up to his chest, and my throat turns dry. The silence is peaceful, my heart heavy since he’s here now. Minutes pass. More minutes. I can feel the tension slowly begin to enter, but I pray I’m wrong. When he opens his mouth, I know I’m out of luck.

“I can’t have you.”

The words are like a verbal punch to the gut. I can feel my intestines swallow his fist whole. My throat turns to fuzz as I attempt to find the right answer.

“Even if I say I’d be happy to just have you like this?” I sound weak, but what is it to be human if you can’t show your vulnerabilities?

One leg is stretched out, the other bent in with his arm hanging off it. “Especially then.”

“Brant—” I whisper, shuffling up.

He cuts his name off. “Don’t, Saint.”

“Don’t—what?” My cheeks heat and my chest flutters from nerves.

“Touch me like you know it’s my undoing every time you do it.”

“You can undo, Brantley.” I shuffle farther, and I swear a hiss escapes his mouth. I don’t care. I continue until my hands are secured on both his knees. “I know how to put you back together again.”

“But you don’t!” He whacks my hands off him.

“Stop pushing away from me.” The tears that threaten taste dangerously close to finality. I move closer, my hands now on both his cheeks, and before he can remove them, I spread my legs over his lap until I’m straddling him. I tilt his face up to mine. The moon glowing in the sky offers all of his sharp features on a silver platter. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll get off you right now and never touch you again—”

He grabs me by the back of my neck and shoves my face down to his, his mouth a whisper away. He grazes the swell of his lips against mine. “Don’t say the words.” He can’t stand for me to say the words, but expects me to do it? Frustrating male.

“Then kiss me, because I’m not kissing you first.”

He tilts forward slightly, just enough for our lips to brush against each other, and then he kisses me. Soft, warm, familiar. I open my mouth for him, his tongue licking mine. I wrap my arms around his neck and grind myself over his crotch. He groans so low that it rocks my core from the inside and has me almost spilling over my control. This is easy for us. Our bodies are familiar, our souls connected, but his mind? His mind is what I need to conquer. He slides his hands beneath my shirt and up my bare back, unclasping my strapless bra. I toss my shirt over my head before reaching for the edge of his hoodie. Nothing is in a panic, everything almost painfully slow, but somehow perfectly paced. He tosses his hoodie to the side, his hand on my breast. The corner of his mouth tugs in a half-smile as his thumb glides over my swollen nipple.