Page 102 of Bishop

“That feels good,” she whimpers.

“You like feeding a butcher?” I stare up at her. “You enjoy the mouth of a murderer between your thighs?”

“I enjoy your mouth, Bishop. The only mouth that’s ever been there.”

Her words hit like a blow.

“You’re shocked?” She raises a brow. “You think men willingly go out of their way to selflessly pleasure a sure thing?”

“I want that list, belladonna.” I snarl against her pussy. “Every motherfucking name.”

“It’s yours.” She nods, rocking into me, her core clamping around my thumb as I pump it inside her. “Just don’t stop.”

If only I could.

I flick her clit with my tongue, my cock throbbing for attention, my balls aching and tight. She tastes like heaven to this unworthy sinner.

“Holy shit.” She bucks. “Bishop.”

“Keep saying my name,” I growl. “Never forget who’s between your thighs.”

Her fingers tear at my hair. “Bishop.” It’s a plea this time. “Macellaio.”

How did I end up here? Obsessed with her? Addicted?

This woman fucks with my head. With my lust. With my life.

I splay the rest of my pumping hand over her ass, sucking harder on her clit while my index finger slides between her crack to find its target.

She gasps. Her thighs squeeze.

“I want this ass,” I growl against her pussy. “Give it to me.”

“I…” She pants, her grip unrelenting in my hair, her leg tight around my neck. “I’ve never…”

Of course she hasn’t. This woman, who’s decimated empires with her body, has never orgasmed for another. Never been devoured. Never had her ass plundered. Never been with a man who’s given a motherfucking shit about her.

My pulse rages with the injustice, the wildest storm raging inside me because I shouldn’t be the man to steal so many of her firsts. But the need to claim ownership becomes a living, breathing thing in my veins.

“Relax.” I circle my thumb inside her pussy, lapping her juices in between flicks of her clit. “Breathe.”

Her panting increases—harsh, fast gasps that make her perfectly encased tits rise and fall in the soaked fabric. She’s such a pretty sight. The damp hair. The pink cheeks. The wild eyes.

“Take what I give you.” I press my fingertip against her ass. Slow. Edging it inside her. “Sii la mia brava ragazza.” I fight the need to groan at how she wiggles and jolts as I slowly sink a knuckle deep.

She whimpers. Mewls. Each sound makes my dick pulse as I work my thumb and finger in tandem, fucking her with my hand.

“Oh, God,” she says in a rush. “Give me more.”

“Such a greedy little belladonna.” I pump faster. Harder. I want her as crazed and addicted as she’s made me. Bitter and enraged.

Her gasps increase. Each breath is a hiss of surprise that makes my cock weep.

I can’t deny myself any longer. I can’t fight the ache.

I fist my length with my free hand, already poised to blow a second rapidly pitiful load as I continue to feast on her. Harsh, brutal sucks. Punishing repetition.

Her breathing grows frantic, her whimpers melodic as her nails dig into my scalp. “Macellaio.”

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