Page 25 of De Luca: The Saint

Her eyes widen but she does as she’s told. My cock throbs as I watch her sucking her own juice from the crop.

I groan, “Good girl. Fuck. So good, Angel.”

Going back behind her, I set the crop down and spread her ass cheeks, getting a good look at her most intimate parts. “Ask me to fuck your pussy.”

She bucks her hips up, “Please fuck me.”

I smack her ass, “Use your dirty words, Angel.”

Kat whimpers again but still doesn’t say what she knows I want her to say. I’m torturing myself right along with her, but I’m not fucking her until she does as she’s told.

“Color?”

“Green,” she nearly shouts, “Please. I need you inside me.”

I hit her on the other cheek, “Say it,” I growl.

“Please fuck my pussy, Sir,” she says with a whimper that speaks to my dark soul like an angel calling the sinner in me home. With one hard drive, I’m completely buried inside her cunt.

I run my rough fingers down her soft back before gripping her hips, “Do you see how good we are together, Angel?”

“Yes,” she squeaks out as I pull out and slam back into her. Her pussy is drenched, juices dripping onto my balls.

I fucking love how wet she gets for me. A lot of women need clitoral stimulation to get off, but not my girl. She comes just from me fucking her.

“Color, Kat?”

She squirms underneath me, “Yellow. I don’t think I can handle it. The intensity. Too much,” she cries out through sharp breaths.

“If you need me to stop, what do you say, Angel?”

“Red.”

I will never take a woman without consent. This is the most important thing to me. So while I don’t pull out, I stop fucking her, “Again, color.”

“Greenish yellow.”

Chuckling, I say, “Alright then, we’ll continue.”

I begin fucking her again with slow but steady thrusts. When her cunt squeezes my cock tight, I slam into her until I’m painting her walls with my cum. I watch her closely as she screams with pleasure. Leaning over her, I kiss her back tenderly, “You did so good, Angel. So fucking good.”

Chapter Fifteen

Kat

Damian carries me upstairs bridal style to his bedroom.

I wrap my arms around his neck. The exhaustion has overcome my body. I expect him to carry me to the bed. Instead, he walks into the bathroom and sets me on the burgundy velvet chaise lounge chair. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open at first, but I manage just so I can watch his every move.

He really is a work of art. It’s not just the ink, although that is sexy as hell. It’s every defined muscle, the way he carries himself like he knows how gorgeous he is.

Shit. My inner thoughts rattle me to my core. My head screams no as my heart gleefully nods in an ‘I told you so,’ way. This is not the man for me, but walking away from him is impossible. If I left him, my heart would be left behind, demolished. I have a feeling I’d never get it back. How would any man measure up to him? Impossible. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts as Damian finishes filling up the oversized bathtub with water and some kind of bath oil. At first, I didn’t know what it was, but I figure it out as the room fills with the soft scent of lavender.

After turning the water off he walks over to me and lifts me into the bathtub before climbing in behind me.

“I don’t think I have the energy for more,” I complain.

He chuckles, “It’s not always about sex, Angel. I fucked you into exhaustion and now I’ll take care of you.”

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