Page 12 of Wicked Devotions: Part 2

“You were sleeping?—”

He pulls my face toward his, so close our lips nearly brush as we speak. “I don’t care.”

“So you’re going to hold me prisoner in your home with no privacy as punishment?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it.”

“This doesn’t endear me to you. You know that, right?”

“Ask me how many fucks I give.”

“I’d say at least seven.” I drag in a breath as he backs me against the wall. Heat floods my veins, lust and anger mixing into a potent cocktail.

“Who would have thought the preacher’s meek daughter could grow such sharp claws.” He presses his hips against mine, and I feel every hard inch of him.

I drag my nails down the exposed skin of his sides hard enough to leave marks. If it’s claws he wants, I’ll make him bleed. My core floods with desire when he gasps, his eyes darkening to nearly black.

He bends and grabs me by the back of the thighs, lifting me effortlessly. I’m tossed on the bed just as easily bouncing as I land, and he rips the sleeveless cutoff shirt he was wearing off, tossing it aside. He lays over me, grinding his cock between my spread thighs. I slide my hands under his shorts and inside his briefs, digging my nails into his ass.

He bites down on the spot where my shoulder meets my neck as I arch up against him. How can I want more when I just had sex with Cyrus in the bath an hour ago? His hands hook in my shorts, yanking them down in one motion. He pulls my panties to the side and spears me with two fingers.

I cry out as he pumps them in and out of me with brutal speed and strength. There’s nothing gentle about us right now. I bite down on his jaw and drag my nails from the globes of his ass around his hips and up his abs.

He inhales sharply against my lips as my pussy flutters around his fingers. Before my orgasm can crest, he withdraws his fingers. I push his shorts down until his cock bobs free.

I can’t help but admire it in the light of day. The shaft is long and thick, the crown wears an angry red flush. A deep purple vein throbs along the length, tempting me to trace it with my tongue.

He watches as I slide off the bed and down to my knees before him. Hesitation flickers in his eyes as I stick my tongue out and lick the path of the vein. He grabs my hair by the roots and pulls me away.

“If you don’t stand up right now, I will fuck your face. It won’t be gentle. It won’t be romantic. It will be brutal and fast.”

“I can take it.”

“Fuck.” He slams himself into my mouth, still holding my hair.

His hips piston back and forth as he uses my mouth for his pleasure and my punishment. With every muttered curse that falls from his lips, my pussy gets wetter. He hits the back of my throat, over and over. I can feel the blood pumping through the vein as I lave my tongue along it.

He hisses when I dig my nails into his hips and pull him further down my throat until my nose is nestled against the coarse, dark hair at his base. I swallow around him and feel the first wave of his orgasm cresting.

“Stick out your tongue.” He pulls his cock from my mouth and wraps a hand around it.

I follow directions and watch as he pumps himself once, twice, and then erupts all over my tongue. Ropes of cum land on my lips and cheeks as well. I watch mesmerized as his abs flex with each gasping breath he takes.

He stares down at me in a daze as he comes down from the high of his release. I’ve left my mouth open and tongue out for his inspection, not because he told me to, but because it feels right. He gathers his cum from my cheeks and lips with his thumb, pushing it into my mouth.

“Swallow.”

I do as I’m told, and a sense of power flows through me as I watch his Adam’s apple bob while he watches me. He might be angry with me, but he still wants me. I didn’t realize how much I want him, too, though. Or that I would want this kind of rough, debasing sex.

There’s a freedom in watching him use me. For some reason I stay right there on my knees while he gets dressed. I know I could stand, but I want him to tell me to do so. Or maybe just to help me up off my knees. I’m not really sure.

He holds out his hands and helps me up, wordlessly kissing my forehead and then walking out of my room. I watch as he goes, horny but oddly at peace.

“Emerson?”I knock lightly on his door. “It’s Harper. Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” comes his muffled response. He looks up from the books spread over his bed as I enter the room. “You don’t have to say it’s you when you knock. You’re the only one in this house who does.”

I give him a half-hearted smile. “Okay.” I gesture to his bed. “I can come back if it’s not a good time.”

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