Page 4 of Of Saints & Savagery
“Feet on the bed,” he orders. “Then spread your pussy and look.”
I swallow hard, then reluctantly obey his command. I can’t see everything, but what I can see is red and wet, glistening and… Erotic. It’s not embarrassing like I thought. In fact, just looking makes me wetter, especially when he grips his shaft and steers the head of his massive erection to meet it. He taps it against my wet flesh, letting me feel the first piercing, then slaps it against it hard enough to make a wet sound echo through the room.
“Hold it open for me,” he says, his voice gruff, notching his tip against my entrance again.
“I can’t see,” I protest.
He lays me back on the bed, and I push up on my elbows, watching the thick head of his cock fight to breach my entrance. It’s as big as a tennis ball, but tapered toward the tip, and already slick with his arousal. He rocks up on his knees, and I gasp in pain as he starts to sink it into me.
“Angel,” I cry.
“Yes, baby girl?” he says, rocking forward and back, working to stretch me. At last, he leans forward on one fist on the mattress and rolls his hips, forcing the entire head inside me.
I cry out in pain at the stretch, tears springing to my eyes. I’m already sore and swollen, and his intrusion is torture.
“Oh, fuck,” he groans, leaning down over me. He kisses my eyelids, wipes my tears with his thumbs. His hips roll in a sensuous rhythm as he slides almost all the way out and then forces in again.
“It hurts,” I cry, more tears spurting out as my flesh protests, my skin stretched so tight it feels like it’ll tear.
“It’ll pass,” he promises, going still with just the head wedged inside me. “Just relax and let me in.”
“I—I can’t.”
“Just breathe,” he coaxes. “I know you’re in pain, but baby girl, it feels like fucking heaven to me.”
He pulls out and pushes back in with one slow, powerful roll of his hips. I cry out, bucking under him, and he leans down and kisses me. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop moving and let you adjust. Tell me when the pain eases and I can go deeper.”
“I don’t think you can,” I whisper, tears spilling down my temples. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry, baby,” he says, his brow furrowing in the sweetest little frown of entreaty. “We’ll get there. Sometimes you have to work up to it, that’s all.”
I nod, and he lowers himself onto me, holding his weight on his elbows but letting me feel the heat of his warm, smooth skin against mine. His chest grazes over mine, and my nipples stiffen into tight peaks. His mouth claims mine, his tongue stroking mine with a deliciously sensuous rhythm. The stretched skin between my legs starts to ache less, and then I feel flutters down there, and a tingling that soon soaks him with my arousal. He moans and rolls his hips, but it only stings a little as he goes in and out, in and out, just using the tip like Heath did earlier.
“You said you wouldn’t fuck me,” I gasp out when I feel a new pain, a new stretch, as he eases in further.
“I’m just fucking you with the tip,” he says, his hips flexing as he rolls them, his body a chiseled work of art over mine.
“You’re not,” I protest, trying to push up on my elbows to see again. It feels like he’s going deeper with every pass, giving me a new inch each time his hips grind.
“Trust me, baby girl,” he whispers, raising onto his hands so I can’t see how far he’s stretching me, how deep he’s going. “Count the rungs of my piercing. That way you’ll know how deep I can still go.”
“I can’t see them,” I point out, my breath hitching as he stays still, his fat cock feeling like a fist inside me.
“Count with your pussy,” he whispers.
He takes both my hands and pulls them above my head, his mouth finding my throat, my ear, sending shivers of erotic pleasure coursing through me. His hips roll and his girth opens me deeper and deeper.
“Please,” I beg, not sure anymore if I’m asking him to stop or to give me all of it, until I can’t take it anymore. Tears slip out the corners of my eyes, and the sting is so intense I’m gasping for breath, but pleasure is building in a deep, raw ache inside my core.
“Please what, baby girl?” Angel asks, slowing the motion of his hips. He strokes my hair back and kisses my damp forehead, the crease between my brows, the tip of my nose. Then he smiles down at me, like he knows how crazy this is all making me. I can feel him still inside me, so deep and thick I think I’ll scream. But when he doesn’t move, the scream turns into something else, something urgent and desperate.
“Please,” I say, my hips jerking under him, lifting, trying to impale myself further. He’s so thick I can’t slide further onto him, though.
“How many are inside?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“Count.”
