Page 112 of Brutal Devil
“Your turn, baby.”
He hooks my legs over his shoulders, palms my ass, and brings me to his mouth with a low sound of appreciation. I’m already dripping and ready for him, and when he sucks hard on my clit, I almost come out of my skin. I’m hyperaware of everything, the smoothness of the sheets against my back, his musky, woodsy scent, his hold on me, the rumble of his moan as he licks into me.
Then his fingers replace his tongue, thrusting deep and curling while he goes back to sucking and nipping my clit. My orgasm is fast and ferocious, rocking through me as I dig my heels into his back and ride his face. I throw my head back on the pillow, black stars edging my vision and my ears ringing as I cry out his name.
I’m still coming down from the high when he flips me onto my belly and drags me to my knees.
“That’s the second time you’ve called me by my name,” he says, drawing my hair over my shoulder so that he can dot kisses up my spine. “I like hearing you scream it when you come.”
I moan, ass in the air, on all fours.
He gives my cheek a light slap that doesn’t even sting.
“Going to fuck you now, baby.”
“Yes,” I hiss as he drags his bare cock up and down my pussy, coating himself in my wetness.
I want him inside me, filling me. I want him to fuck me so hard that I’ll still feel it next week.
Next year.
For the rest of my life.
I never want to forget what it feels like to be his.
He aligns himself with my entrance, and then he grabs my hips and thrusts, his cock buried deep. We both moan. I’m so wet that it’s almost embarrassing. It’s coating my thighs, probably running down his dick as he fucks me. But it only seems to turn him on more. He thrusts into me faster, holding me where he wants me.
One hand slides from my hip to my pussy. He circles my aching clit.
It’s too much.
I clench down on him as my next orgasm hits.
“That’s it,amore mio,” he praises. “Come for me. Come all over my cock.”
My pussy flutters around him, and Priest growls and fucks me harder until he finally withdraws and I hear him groan as he reaches his release, my name on his lips.
I’m at the desk in the office Priest set up for me, revising a poem, when I hear a distant noise that catches my attention. He left for the restaurant where we’ll be hosting tonight’s dinner about an hour ago, with the promise that he’ll be back as soon as possible. I know why he went. Everything must go according to plan tonight. There’s no wiggle room in this scenario, or the wrong people will die. The stakes are high and so is the danger. He wants to make certain security is in place and so are his men.
But I still wish he hadn’t gone.
Ever since the door closed behind him, I’ve been doing my best to soothe my frayed nerves by distracting myself with writing. It’s not working. I’m on edge without him here.
I’m worried about tonight.
Worried about Priest.
About losing him.
Amedeo has already taken my brother and my father from me. What if he takes my husband too? Panic grips me at the thought. I don’t know how I’ll be able to cope with another loss.
I stare at the screen, telling myself my imagination is getting the best of me. That whatever sound I think I heard must have been city noise. Maybe someone in another apartment.
With a sigh, I delete two lines on the poem.
I’ve been trying to put into words the immense changes that have swept through my life in such a short time. But nothing feels right. My emotions are too vast and complex. My lexicon is seemingly incapable of achieving what I want.
Hovering my mouse over the floppy disk icon, I hit save and then stand, stretching my arms over my head. I’ve been hunkered down with my laptop and an espresso for over two hours now, and I still don’t have much to show for my efforts.
