Page 138 of Bishop

There have to be a million reasons why I shouldn’t be doing this but none of them penetrate the static in my head. There’s only madness, and adrenaline, and lust—so much goddamn lust—as precum seeps from my cock.

“Bishop,” she whimpers beneath my hand.

I press my palm tighter across her mouth. No room for air. Or sound.

“You’ve got me knocking on death’s door, belladonna. I hope that means you’re going to come.”

She nods.

I fight another groan. I fight impulse. I fight the need to storm out of here and slaughter every man who’s ever done her wrong.

“Come for me,” I whisper in her ear. “Come so hard you soak my hand.”

Her hand finds my hair. Pulling. Tearing.

I want her. God, how I want her.

My balls ache through my restraint. My pulse storms.

She lets out a cry, the sound vibrating against my palm as she comes undone. All that sapphire blue, wide-eyed and blinking back at me.

I want more.

I need it.

But I push through. Breathe against the weight of insanity. Clench my teeth against the compulsion.

All too soon, her intensity retreats. The pussy flutters lessen. Her grip on my hair loosens.

I drag my hand from her mouth and she slumps against the door, her face mottled from my rough handling.

Jesus.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers.

I drag a thumb over her cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

“Do you mean now or earlier?”

I wince, dropping my hand back to my side. “Women really do like to hold a grudge, don’t they?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s been a few hours. If you weren’t leaving in the morning, you’d get a better indication of how long we like to hold onto things.”

I despise the reminder—hate how it taints the stunning picture before me. She’s always profoundly beautiful in the aftermath. When there’s nothing but her bliss and my triumph for a brief slip of time before regret swoops in to steal the show.

I pull my hand from her panties and raise my fingers to my mouth, tasting her.

She watches me, her teeth dragging over her bottom lip, her chest rising and falling. What I wouldn’t give to smear the slickness over those lips, to watch her eyes flare as she tastes herself.

“I’ll miss this when you’re gone,” she whispers. “A girl could get used to coming every time she’s touched.”

And I could get used to doing the touching. Far too fucking easily. “Maybe steer clear of men for a while.”

She chuckles. “You think I should turn to women?”

Now that I would happily allow. “It’ll save me from killing a lot more men.”

Her laughter fades, her smile vanishing along with it as she adjusts her underwear. “I can usually take care of myself just fine.”

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