Page 103 of Broken

I want that.

I want to bathe in his darkness.

He must see what that does to me because he lets out a growl, swipes his tongue over my clit, and thrusts into me once before he gets to his feet and uses the new position to press a finger into me.

“How are you feeling?” he demands, but the harsh tone is in direct contrast to his gentle exploration. “Sore?”

“H-Huh?”

“Are you in pain?”

Mouth watering, I shake my head. If this is pain, then I want to feel it often.

His lips hitch up on one side, and at that moment, the shadow of grief, the horrors of the past, and the torment in his soul have lightened.

He only sees me. And I’ve never wanted to be seen as much in my life.

My ankles are bound together by my jeans, so I can’t move, and I’m okay with that. I’m okay with all of this.

He leans over me and pushes my legs harder into my stomach until my shackled feet are resting by the right side of my head. His dick settles in the join between my thighs.

His mouth collides with mine as his fingers unerringly find my center. He plays with me, teasing and taunting, titillating me with each caress until I’m wriggling underneath him, my arms digging into his back, the nails arcing into claws that grow slick with his blood as I fight the desire to scream with delight.

When he lifts slightly, a rictus of pain from my touch twisting his features into an expression of outright bliss, I moan as he rubs his cock over my clit until I’m writhing beneath him, and gradually,finally,he pushes inside me.

I see stars because the decadently slow thrust is nothing like I expected. There’s no rush, no pressure. Not because the urgency isn’t there, but because he’s showing me something important—that he loves me.

He’s making love to me.

Savio-style.

I shudder into his kiss when his tongue teases mine, and slowly, he takes me how he needs me, how I need him to take me.

It’s gentle and soft,tender. But also deep and hot and so arousing that I can’t seem to catch my breath.

I know he’ll want me to be quiet, but he swallows any sounds before I can even form them. I much prefer that to a gag. Maybehe does, too, because as he thrusts into me, filling me to the hilt, his mouth never leaves mine and he makes love to me there too.

This isn’t a fuck.

This is a communion.

My eyes ache with tears that begin to fall because this is more than I ever expected to have with him.

I feel cherished.

Adored.

I never expected that. Never expected toneedthat.

The orgasm isn’t like last night’s, either. Instead, it’s more of a slowly building mushroom cloud. But once it overtakes me, it’s as explosive as a summer storm.

My body strains while I experience a need so pure that I want to shout out hosannas, but I can’t.

So I don’t.

Instead, I internalize it, and that only makes it ten times hotter.

When he comes inside me, he rests his forehead on mine, but our lips remain glued together as he continues stroking me through the never-ending implosion. Because this welter of feeling has nowhere to go—I’m not even permitted a scream—it just keeps building, building,buildinguntil I black out.

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