Page 77 of The Dead Saint

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“You’re mine,” he said, voice low and thick. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” Sorcha whispered, pressing against him, desperate for everything he was giving her and wanting more. “All yours.”

He ground against her, changing the angle—going deeper—hitting that inner part of her that throbbed, the friction on her clit intensifying.

She was blind with pleasure, not seeing the tent around them, unable to see him clearly through the haze of desire—only aware of his hands on her hips and his cock stretching her wide. She whispered his name, wanting all of him in her mouth and in her body. Wanting him everywhere.

The orgasm crashed through her again, white heat sweeping her body, leaving her weak and fighting to breathe.

Adrian didn’t give her time to recover before he flipped her over and pulled her hips up, slamming into her from behind relentlessly.

She fumbled a hand between her legs, desperate for pressure and friction against her clit. Biting the furs and squeezing her eyes tight, she panted as she circled the spot. Painful pleasure built yet again, the delicious fullness of his cock stretching her, his hands demanding on her body. She moved faster, release so close she whimpered.

“Mine.” Adrian’s voice was hard, but his hands were gentle as reached around her and moved her fingers. She choked on a sob, her pussy aching. “Ask for what you want.”

“Touch me,” she pleaded, hands fisted in the bedding. Adrian stroked her clit, slowing to draw out each long thrust. She shook her head. “More. I need more.”

Adrian pressed down with the fingers of his right hand, increasing the speed of his thrusts. The fingers of his left dug into her hip, holding her in place under the demanding pace.

Sorcha sucked in a breath, on the verge of crying out, and buried her face in the furs to stifle her moans. She couldn’t take the spiraling tension in her body—the way he demanded more from her, relentlessly moving inside her. It was too much. So much.

Sorcha sucked in a harsh breath, body trembling uncontrollably. Tears filled her eyes as the orgasm ripped through her. Her body worked his cock, throbbing around him, and she heard the sharp intake of his breath. Harder, deeper than she could have thought possible, he thrust into her and then went rigid, a low groan tearing from him as his cock pulsed with release. She felt warm and so full, his orgasm sending another shiver through her as she bit her lip and pressed backward into him.

Adrian collapsed on her, easing his weight to the side so she wasn’t crushed beneath him. She lay flat on her stomach as they breathed heavily, sweat glossing their skin, and Sorcha’s heart thundered so loud she was sure he could hear it. Before she could move, he reached over her, picking up the discarded tunic beside the cot.

“Lift your hips,” he said softly.

Without ceremony, he cleaned her—moving slowly, pressing kisses to the side of her face. Sorcha gasped as the smooth fabric touched her, the soft cotton harsh on her swollen flesh. Adrian pressed a kiss to her shoulder, squeezing her gently before releasing her and dropping the tunic back on the ground.

Adrian rolled, taking her with him, adjusting her beside him until she lay with her head on his shoulder and one leg over his waist. He tightened his embrace, kissing the top of her head. It was sweet, not at all what she’d expected after he’d wrecked her so thoroughly. One hand trailed up her bare back, tracing the curve of her spine, following the line of her shoulder. He took his time, gently touching each part of her that he could reach.

Something had broken apart in her soul. The shards of past and present flying free, leaving only her wish that things were different. Reality was creeping back too soon. She wanted to banish it, refuse it, demand that it leave.

“Do you—” Sorcha stopped, the word she’d wanted to say stuck in her throat.

What? Love me? Is that really what I was going to ask?

* * *

The unsaid word hung between them, chasing up his spine and clawing through his mind. Something had been growing there, taking tentative shape as weeks rolled by—as he watched her walk fearlessly into danger again and again. But he’d been dreaming of another kind of life, glimpsing it in her face. Sorcha had shown him acceptance in the way she spoke to him separately from his actions and history that colored every waking moment.

He wanted this woman. Her body, her soul, her heart, her mind. He wanted each piece of her that she’d ever given away and all the pieces she’d kept to herself. Sorcha was everything he’d never let himself dream about.

If she were no longer a map and the Saint was in one piece, the creature wouldn’t need her anymore. And Prince Eine wouldn’t need the Wolf if the Saint could accomplish everything Adrian could but better.

Eine had promised Adrian he could eventually withdraw from the army and endless battles. Rewards had been promised. When the Empire of the White Snake had been expanded and established, when the fighting stopped and the farthest reaches of the Empire couldn’t be reached in a matter of days or weeks, but months or years, Adrian could walk away from it all. They were getting closer to that goal each day. Then he could fade into obscurity, claim the land that had been promised, and vanish.

His mind raced with possibility. There would be nothing for Sorcha to return to, and as they’d traveled, he’d seen her faith in the Saint waver. If not exactly in the god, but in serving him.

She could come with him.

Adrian knew if he extended his hand and whispered her name, she would take it, would accept him. And they could vanish into obscurity together—forgotten at the edges of the empire. Maybe Prince Eine would let them remain forgotten.

“What happens after the Saint has returned?” he asked. “Will you be needed?”

“I don’t know.” One shoulder lifted in a halfhearted shrug.

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