Page 98 of Martyr
When he lifts my balls in his other hand, I let out a hiss. Everything is so damn sensitive, and I can’t ruin it by jacking my hips forward. It’s what I want to do—I want to grab on to his hair and shove him down, to take control and show him how I can fuck a face.
His face.
He pulls off and tips his head back, his eyes half-lidded. “Go on, then.”
It’s like he heard me.
I touch his cheek, briefly. I slide my fingers through his hair to the back of his head and drag him back to my cock. This isn’t exactly how I wanted it to go—I wanted to be inside him. But I can’t resist this either. I fill his mouth, plunging deeper until I hit the back of his throat. His eyes widen.
“There you go,” I breathe. “Relax into it.”
He does. His throat works, squeezing at my tip, until I pull back. His nostrils flare with his sharp inhale, and I do it again. I get into a rhythm, making sure he’s not hating it. His hand is in his pants, freeing his dick. I grunt when he jacks himself.
Selfishly, I don’t want him to come in his hand. I pick up my pace, and he mirrors me. I’ve got the leg up on him. The advantage of his mouth and a head start in the race.
My balls tighten, and I tell him I’m about to come a split second before my climax hits.
He swallows, nearly choking on it. His tongue sweeps around my length as I pull out.
“Hands off,” I grit out.
He releases himself. His rock-hard cock bobs in the air, tattooed and perfect. I step back, eyeing him. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and narrows his eyes.
I smile, then turn away to fix the water temperature. I climb in without a backward glance, the hot water immediately pummeling my chest. I rotate and tip my head into the stream.
Saint doesn’t take long to join me, entering from the opposite end. The curtain rustles back into position when he is fully in, and my gaze drifts across his body. He’s ripped. His abdominal muscles flex under my inspection. His cock is still hard, pointing at me.
Poor thing.
And he wasn’t taken care of last night either.
The sacrificial Saint.
I step closer, into his space, until our chests bump. He has to look up at me like this, the slightest incline of his chin, and I smirk down at him. I lean in, so fucking slow, and press my lips to his.
He doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back, and my fucking heart soars. I reach between us and grip his length. His hips buck once, then still. I jerk him off, my wet hand sliding easily. I knowhowIlike it, and I have a feeling he likes a solid grip, too. He pants into my mouth.
“Not yet,” I say, my breath mixing with his.
He grunts. He grasps at my waist, and his nails dig in the more I stroke him. When his grip tightens, I release his cock. I plunge my tongue in his mouth and take my time tasting him. He fights back, and I revel in the passion.
He has come back. The memory-lacking Saint wouldn’t be this into it. Not with months of sexual tension from theoldhim under his belt.
No belt on anymore…
With that in mind, I break our kiss and drop to my knees. He tasted me, now I want to show him whatIcan do. He opens and closes his mouth, but I just wink at him. The water hits the back of my neck and runs down my back.
“Oh, fuck,” Saint murmurs.
“Let me show you how to suck a dick like it’s your favorite flavor,” I say.
I grab his hand and put it on the back of my head, then I open my mouth and swallow him whole.
“Is that Tem?”
Saint’s voice is raspy. His fingers trace a pattern across my back, randomly pressing into the muscles when he finds a knot. It’s been a luxury, in a way, to be able to just exist with him for the last few hours. The shower blow job led to washing each other, and more kissing, but that’s it. We fell into bed, but it was exhaustion-driven, not sexual.
He’s referring to the chime from my phone, which I haven’t yet looked at. My phone is on the floor, and one of my arms hangs off it. My fingers are inches from the device.
