Page 76 of The Dead Saint

“What do you want, Sorcha?” he asked, voice rough.

She gasped, back arching as she pressed down against his cock, rolling her hips forward.

He groaned, gripping her waist with his other hand, desperate to take everything from her. Every shudder and moan, each panting breath, the slickness at the center of her body, he wanted to thrust into her and swallow each scream. He wanted to ruin her for any other man.

But only if she asked.

“You.” Her eyes were dilated and half-lidded when she looked at him, stroking up and down slowly with one hand. “I want you inside me.”

Adrian adjusted his grip on her, one hand cupping her ass, the other moving to her pussy to trace the outer lips, parting her slowly. She was wet for him, slick and hot, trembling as he barely touched her. He wanted her riding his cock, sweating as he told her how beautiful she was. With a low noise of satisfaction, he brushed against her clit, watching her face and continuing to touch her.

“Here?” he asked, circling her clit with his thumb.

He dipped one finger in her wetness and stroked slowly.

Her expression changed as he added another finger, curling upward to touch a swollen, inner part of her. He groaned as she shuddered.

“Adrian,” she pleaded, her hands going to her breasts, squeezing the soft flesh.

Leaning forward, he nuzzled one of her hands aside and took a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on the hard bud as her inner muscles tightened around his fingers. She tasted better than anything he could have imagined. He was desperate to bury his face between her thighs and feel her on his tongue. But that could wait. Right now, he needed her to come with his fingers inside her. She whimpered, meeting his thrusts as he rubbed. He increased the pace, rocking beneath her now. Adrian wanted her, but he wanted this more.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

Sorcha placed her hands on both sides of his face and kissed him. She wasn’t tender or shy. Her tongue boldly caressed his, and she nipped at his lower lip as she took what she wanted. Hips twitching, his fingers stroking and applying the perfect amount of pressure, she came—shattering apart in his arms. Adrian swallowed her scream, their mouths locked as his tongue and fingers worked, drawing out the shuddering contraction of her inner muscles.

He stood, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, head against his shoulder and almost boneless in his arms. She gripped his shoulders as he eased her onto the pile of furs, and she curled languidly into them, eyes dreamy. Kneeling between her legs, Adrian touched her small, perfect breasts, massaging their delicious weight, tweaking a nipple between thumb and forefinger.

She gasped and bit down on her lip, fighting to keep quiet.

Sorcha reached for his breeches, pulling at the laces, silent but insistent. He removed them, his heavy erection slipping free, and she took him in her hand, stroking his length. She moved confidently, adjusting her grip and rubbing her palm over the head of his cock.

He twitched, and she smiled, eyes flashing up to his.

“Lie down.” He pushed her down, taking her hands and sliding them above her head, pinning her in place. “Don’t take your eyes off me,” he commanded, pulling her leg over his shoulder and kissing her inner thigh.

Taking his time, he committed each inch of her skin to memory, every quiver of her body. He paused at her center, breathing over her clit, smiling as her hips twitched.

“Are you watching, Priestess?”

“Yes,” she whispered, eyes barely open but locked on him as she lifted her hips impatiently.

Adrian lapped at her center, teasing her clit and groaning against her when her body tensed. Slowly, he ran his tongue over her before sucking at her soft flesh and thrusting two fingers into her. She came again, body arching up, eyes squeezed shut.

He waited, drawing out the last few shudders before pulling back to settle his hips between her thighs, cock pressing against her pussy. He lifted her leg and grasped his cock to tease her, closing his eyes as skin met skin.

“Sorcha.” Her name was a prayer, a request for redemption as he ran the head of his cock over her opening.

She trembled, fingers digging into his waist, as she wrapped one leg around him.

He opened his eyes, staring down at her, barely able to control his voice. “You’re going to come on my cock, and you’re going to be quiet. Understand?”

She nodded and reached down to touch herself, running her fingers through her slickness. He grabbed her hand and brought her wet fingers to his mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, and he thrust into her. She was stretched around him so tight his head dropped forward with a groan.

He saw stars, her body so soft beneath him as he pumped into her, gaze fixed on her mouth open in a silent scream.

He pulled back, leaving her warmth, before snapping his hips forward and filling her with a grunt. She shuddered, clenching around him, hands tangled in the furs beneath her. Closing her eyes, she threw her head back, exposing the long, pale line of her throat, back arching. He pounded into her, driving her toward a cliff edge, focused on her inner muscles tensing and her legs trembling.

She moaned his name, biting her lip and struggling to keep her voice down. Hot triumph swept through him. He wanted to pull that sound from her again and again—he wanted her to scream his name and swear no one else would ever touch her like this again.

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