SAint: A DArk Mafia Romance

A Shelter Harbor Novel

Aubrey Irons






I run because its the only thing I know to do.

There’s no thought process to it, or even the idea that I’ll actually get out, I just bolt because I know if I stay, there’s no telling what’ll happen. Because I know what I walked in on, with my panties in his hand.

…The other hand wrapped around his-

Holy shit.

He’s so big, and magnetic, and so gorgeous, and it’s a horrible thought, considering the situation. Maybe something's wrong with me. Maybe I'm broken, and maybe that's the reason my body behaves this way towards the man keeping me captive.

It's that body, like something carved out of wood. The kind that comes from work day-in and day-out, not hours spent preening in a gym.

It's the tattoos, and the scars, and the way he’s such a man. Connor’s not a tight-jean-wearing, slick haired hipster with ironic tattoos. He’s rough, and dangerous, and disturbingly gorgeous. And I know there’s so much else to think about, like the fact that there might be a Ukrainian mob hit out for me. 

The fact that I’m his prisoner.

Or worse, the fact that I might not hate this as much as I should.

But all I can think about is the way his arm muscles clenched, and the way his abs rippled as he turned - those grooves of his hips curving towards that enormous bulge, with his hand wrapped tight around it.

The gasp tears from my throat as I hear him thunder after me, his bare feet slapping the hardwood of the loft floor. I dodge around the couch, but he’s vaulting over it, and I know he’s almost on me.

I'm grabbing the lamp off the side table in my fist, and before I even know what I’m doing, I’m whirling and throwing it right at him. Connor roars as it smashes into his chest, and I gasp as I go slamming into the wall, his body against mine.

“Let go of me!”

I only half mean it this time.

His hands hold me tight, both of us panting and the blood pounding in my ears. I shiver as I feel his hard body pressing me to the wall, the thick bulge between his legs firmly against my ass.

And my body betrays me.

Bad girl,” he growls into my ear.

I whimper.

“You think I don’t know you?” He husks, making my heart jump in my throat as his lips brush my ear. “Trust me, I know who you are," he purrs. "I know you’re the good girl that gets off thinking she’s bad. You're the the innocent one that think hanging around the bad boys is sexy and dangerous.”

I whimper again as his hand tightens on the back of my neck, his cock pressed hard into my ass. My traitorous body comes alive, pulsing with raw fire and arching against him despite everything I'm telling myself.

Despite how bad he is.

Or maybe that's the reason.

“Well, sweetheart,” he growls. His hand slips into my hair, and I gasp sharply as I feel him pull it tight.

“I’m not a fucking bad boy. I’m just a very dangerous man.”

I pant, feeling his lips tease against the nape of my neck.

“And I know this gets you hot.”

“It does not,” I barely whisper, my whole body pulsing for him - aching for his touch.

“That a fact?”

I swallow as his words drip like honey into my ears, not daring to say a thing.

He spins me around, making me choke on my gasp as we come eye to eye, and I moan as he presses into me, his thigh going between mine as he pins me to the bedroom wall.

“Princess, we both know that uptight, prudish, good-girl pussy is dripping for me right now.”

The blood roars through my ears, and I whimper at his filthy words, but he’s right. I’m soaking wet for him - for this - as much as I want to pretend I'm not.

“You’re disgusting,” I spit back.

“And you love that I am.”

Connor’s powerful hand slips over my hip as he keeps me pinned to the wall with his other and his thigh. He traces and teases over my belly, moving lower, and I hate how wet I am.

His hand finds the edge of the boxers of his I’m wearing, and I want to tell him stop, but I know I’m not going to.

Because I don’t really want him to at all.

It’s mutiny is what it is. It’s my traitorous body saying yes while my head is saying no. I want him to stop, but I'm dying for him to keep going. I want him to let me go, and I never want his filthy hands to leave my skin.

His hand slips beneath the waistband, and my jaw goes slack as I feel his fingers slide lower over the tender, aching skin there - moving lower, and lower, and lower. I’m melting against him, my eyes starting to close, and wanting this so fucking badly-

When he suddenly stops, just shy of touching me.

My eyes snap open, and then dart to his. And I almost choke at the grin on his face, but I shriek instead as he suddenly pulls his hand away, grabs me, throws me over his bare, muscled shoulder, and starts to march across the room. He tosses me down on the bed, looming over me as he pulls my hands up the headboard and fastens the tie around my wrists again.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he growls. “I’m not going to touch you.” 

His eyes flash as he leans close, and my pulse skips as he tightens the tie around my wrist.

“Not until you beg me to.”

My mouth gapes, my eyes go wide, and my pussy throbs between my legs - aching for his touch.

And he fucking knows it.

He drops a hand to my hip, letting his finger trace over the bare skin there just enough to make me bite my lip and subtly arch my back, which of course, just makes him grin that dark smile again.

He rises from the bed, his hand leaves my skin, and he steps away, stopping at the door and glancing back at me.

“Sleep tight, princess.”

And then he's gone, leaving me tied up, turned on, and completely twisted up.