“If you’ve brought me out here to suck my cock, then I would have preferred to do it in the warm somewhere,” I joked, taking a swig from my whiskey bottle as I moved to take a seat in one of the huge wooden chairs that sat on the balcony. Saint eyed me for a long moment, his gaze slipping over my black jeans, leather jacket and the blood red T-shirt beneath it which had a tear in it. It was fucking perfect. Saint bait. He knew it. I knew it. A hole in my shirt. Classic.
