Page 55 of Sullied Saints

I'm spun back around, brought up hard chest-to-chest before I make it one step.

Dirk's voice rumbles against me. "You think I'm an asshole?"

I tug back, but his grip only tightens. "And an idiot," I say sweetly.

"Really?" Pressed together still, he turns, bringing the backs of my thighs up against the dining table.

"Yes!"

He kisses me suddenly, tongue invading, demanding, mouth hungry. I respond before I remember that he's infuriating, and make up for it by biting his bottom lip. Breath already quickened, I hiss, "You make me so mad."

"Good," he grates, hand fisting in my hair, pulling my chin up so that he can claim my mouth again, tongue trailing molten heat, his body a hard wall against me, hips meeting, pressing. Finding him through his jeans, I grip him hard, too hard. Rewarded by a short grunt against my mouth, I tear open his buttons, not sure what I intend to do when I have him in my hand—whether it’s pleasure or pain on the agenda—but I don't get to decide.

Breaking our mouths apart, he orders, "Take off your pants."

For a beat, I don't, looking defiantly up into his eyes, but he doesn't relent, hand tightening in my hair, hazel eyes boring down into me. Who am I kidding? When Dirk tells me to take off an item of clothing, I do it.

Hands shifting to my own buttons, I undo them, and he lets my head move more freely as I push them down, underwear included, stepping out of them. Then I'm pulling further down, coming to my knees in front of him, rewarded by his harsh intake of breath as I cover his tip with my mouth. His hand is still in my hair, but softer, uncertain, as I taste him, take him further until he hits the back of my throat, and his groan reverberates through me.

When he pulls me up, away from my desire, I nearly protest before he turns me around, pressing the front of my hips against the edge of the table. I expect him to enter me like that, from behind, rough how we both need it, taking out our fear in the form of sexual frustration. Instead, I jolt, gasping in surprise and something more visceral as he kneels behind me and drags his tongue between my legs. He elbows my thighs a little wider, tongue curling over me from behind, then dragging back and up. I brace on the table, the pleasure so wicked and so heady at once. My knees are already weak. I'm not sure I’ve ever had sex this visceral, this… intoxicating.

"Dirk, please," I gasp as he keeps going, and for once, he doesn't make me beg all the more.

Fitting along my back, he leans forward, making me bend over as his voice growls into my mussed hair, "You're so ready for me."

I tremble as his slick head finds my wetness. As he penetrates and slides, I almost feel like I'm entering a new level of consciousness.

"That's better," he grates out, thrusting hard but slow. I want to move with him, and I'm sure I do, but it seems all I'm conscious of doing is pushing up on my toes, pushing my ass back and bracing as the waves of pleasure take me. His arm slides around my hip and ignites another fire. "I've missed angry-fucking you."

"Fuck, fuck," I gasp. "Yes." The last word groans out as my climax, dragged out by his fingers and the angle of his rough thrusts, hits, and my head dips down, body swaying with him. While I'm still gasping for air, having emerged from the other side, he pulls out, finishing into a napkin.

Wobbly, I turn to face him, using the table for support of a different kind now, and he stays close, both of us panting, but both of us less angry than we've been all day. My hand hooks around his neck, pulling his face down to mine. "I'm not playing games," he speaks softly, between reclaimed breaths.

"Neither am I," I say.

"You know how I feel…”

"I don't."

His eyes pop open. This close, I can see the golden flecks in the amber sunburst around his pupil, before the colour turns earthy green. “What?"

"Tell me how you feel," I say softly.

A small line forms between his brows, but he says it. "I love you. I have for longer than I'm going to say."

I close my eyes, lips curving into a smile.

Dirk lifts his head slightly, meeting my eye, "If it’s him you want, fine, but then it ain't me."

Repressing the urge to laugh from the swell of joy in my chest, I pull him back. "It's you, Dirk, it’s always been you." My mouth opens, but the nerves rise to the surface. I want to say the words back. But the last time I said that to someone… how wrong they turned out to be.

Dirk lifts his head, saying nothing of the words stuck in my throat, the ones I can’t return. "Good. Because there's no fucking way I'm letting you walk into danger without me at your side."

***

I'm quiet, my mind wandering too far from this cell, from Tristan staring at me from the other side of the glass. Blinking, I try to remember what we were talking about.

"Eleanor? You were telling me what’s to happen…" he prompts.

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