Page 90 of The Sinner and the Scholar
“Love,” he grunts. “You’re killing me.”
I grin against his lower abdomen and find a vein leading south. I lick down the line until I feel the rough texture of his pubic hair, trace over it and discover his erection. His breath hitches, and he thrusts up, chasing my lips as I skate past.
“Thea,” he begs, voice a rasp of need.
“Yes?”
“Open your sweet, sinning mouth and suck my cock.” He pants. “Please.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
I take him into my mouth, swirl my tongue over the blunt head, and lick in the groove. Then I push down until his tip hits the back of my throat and goes further. He releases a string of curse words and struggles to hold still. His hand is on my head, his hips flexing.
“Sweet mother, you’re—Christ. Fuck me.”
He’s shuddering with sensation. Gasping and digging his fingers into my hair. I suck him hard, drag off, then go down deep again. He gasps again. Then roughly pulls me off him with wild, dark eyes.
“I can’t,” he pants. “It’s too good.”
I wipe my lips with a smirk. “Then this is going to feel better.”
“What?”
I straddle him and slide his tip against my entrance.
“Thea,” he groans at the sensation.
“Keep saying my name, Wes. But don’t hold back.”
He grips my hips. With short, sharp thrusts, he works himself in. He stretches me, and it’s so perfect, so right.
“God, you feel so good inside me, Wes,” I breathe.
He rolls on top, then pushes inside me to the hilt. He does it watching my face, hunting for more of my response to him. My eyes flutter, and I struggle to breathe.
“Wes,” I whimper.
“Keep saying my name, love.”
He pulls out, and my body weeps. It must show on my face because he’s still bewitched by what he sees. He knows I have no control now. I’m his puppet. He grinds his hips in circles, changing his angle to hit deeper, to stimulate my clit with his pubic bone, to wring what he wills from me.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice hoarse.
My eyes open and see anguish on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to share you.” He frowns and thrusts hard, a curl to his upper lip as if he’s going into battle. But it’s just me. We don’t fight anymore. We only play. My hands slide down his back. I try to soothe him, but his eyes are almost manic as he drives in and out of me.
“If you’re to remain a Sinner,” he croaks. “Your body is for me.”
The proclamation hurts him to say.
“Babe,” I rock into him. “If another man tries to show me his dick, I’ll cut it from his body.”
Air expels from his mouth, and he hangs his head until his forehead meets mine.
It takes him a moment to gather his emotions. He tries to speak once. Twice.
