His Sinner (Saint and Sinner Duet, #2)

by Harmony West

On the bed beside me is a tray covered with scrambled eggs, bacon, burnt toast coated in a thick layer of peanut butter, and waffles absolutely smothered in syrup. My perfect breakfast. Saint de Haas may be the most skilled stalker to walk the earth.

“Are you a witch?” He winks at me. “In the sense that I have a magic touch and a broomstick you can ride whenever you wish.”

Her breath catches. “You must be a witch because these hands are magical.” I chuckle. “You must be a goddess because these tits were made to be worshipped.”

“You like my knife on your swollen, throbbing clit, don’t you, muse?”

“Do you think you’ll love my gun in your pussy just as much?”

Before I’ve recovered from the orgasm, he stands, yanking me down and spinning me so I’m facing away from him. He lifts my feet off the ground, bending me over the railing. I yelp, the floor far below me, making my stomach flip. “Saint! Put me down!” But he ignores my pleas. “Grab onto the chandelier,” he commands. The chandelier dangling from the ceiling is mere inches from my fingertips now. “I’ll break it and fall!” “I don’t give a fuck if you break it,” he growls. “And I’m not going to let you fall. If you trust me, you’ll let me fuck you like this, muse.”

“I’m sore. I can’t go much longer.” “You’re going to have to waddle then, muse. I’m not even close.”

He presses a heartbreakingly tender kiss against my lips. “I told you you can trust me. I’ll only ever let you fall for me.”

“I can’t remember what I lived for before I met you,” he murmurs, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or my pussy.

“For once, I’m actually grateful for your criminal behavior.” “I actually think you were grateful for my criminal behavior the second I broke into your house and licked your pussy.”

She is more important than any of my wants or needs. I would gladly stop breathing if she needed my oxygen.

don’t care if I need to convince you every day for the rest of our lives that I love you. I will do so with my dying breath.”

“Before I met you, I only knew you as the faceless user online declaring herself my biggest fan in her book reviews.” She blushes, even now. “I wrote all my books for you, even before I met you. I knew, deep in my soul, that somehow, my words would find you. Find that one person in the universe who would read them and understand. I’d read your reviews on my darkest days and remember why I did this. Why I kept toiling away on books that seemed to fade into obscurity as soon as they entered the literary world. Why I kept pouring all my blood, sweat, and tears into books that no one would read. Except you. And you were enough. You’ve always been enough, Briar.”

“I kept writing because of you. I wrote This Book Will Haunt You because I thought you’d love it. I included all of the elements of my previous books that you said you loved most. And that book became my bestseller. It made my previous books bestsellers. And then, when I thought I was a broken writer, when I lamented that I’d never be able to write another word again, there you were. The light in my darkness once more. I finally met my biggest fan in person and listening to you gush about my words, watching the excitement light up your eyes, something clicked in my mind. The dam broke. The words flowed again. All because of you. And I knew the second I spoke to you, the moment our eyes connected, that everything has been because of you. Everything that’s happened, every step I’ve taken, has been a journey to find you. The other half of my soul. The missing piece to my puzzle that I’ve been searching for my entire life. I know I’ve fallen faster and harder than you have. You may not love me yet. Or, if you do, you may not be willing to admit it. But I promise you, I will gladly devote every day of my life to proving my worth to you. And even if I don’t hear those three words from your lips until I’m on my deathbed, I will die a happy man.”

At Briar’s house, I pound on the front door to give her a chance to answer and pretend we’re a normal, civilized couple before I resort to breaking in through a window.

“You’re my everything. If I don’t have you, I’m nothing. I said I’d give you anything you want. If you want my blood on your hands, you can spill it. If you want the light to leave my eyes, you can extinguish it.”

Trevor will have to do a lot worse than bury me alive to stop me from crawling back to her.

Rain soaks my clothes, my hair, my face. My arms shake violently as I pull myself out of the grave and flop onto my stomach. The words are hoarse from my dry, aching throat. “I’m coming for you, muse.” From my grave, I crawl to her.

Trevor buried him alive. And he still found his way back to me. Kept fighting only to save me.

The book he wrote because of me. About me. For me. I flip to the dedication page and my heart stops. To my muse: I wrote all my books for you, even before I met you. But this one even more so than the rest. Because this is the book in which I ask you to love me forever. To be mine. To say yes. When I drag my eyes up from the page, vision blurry, he’s kneeling in front of me. A small box open in his hands and a giant smile across his perfect face.

“Until death,” I vow. “And then, until I find you again in the afterlife.”