Page 104 of Only Mine
He waits for me to come down, then kisses the corner of my mouth.
“That’s one,” he murmurs.
He lets me catch my breath for exactly three seconds before hauling me off the island and onto his lap, settling me astride him on the barstool.
Saint’s cock is a steel rod under me, an impossible ridge through his pants, and I grind down without shame. The friction is everything I’ve been craving, and Saint’s growl vibrates up through his chest into mine.
He gathers the skirt of my dress in his fists, yanking it up to my waist. My thighs splay wide around him, shameless and hungry, and I rock against him in a rhythm that’s part need, part challenge. I want to see how long he’ll let me take the lead.
Not long, apparently.
He clamps his hands around my hips, pinning me in place, and bites my shoulder through the fabric of my dress.
“You’re going to make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager,” he rasps.
“Maybe I want you to,” I whisper, reaching between us to palm him through the black fabric.
He’s thick and hot, even restrained, and the knowledge that it’smedoing this to him makes me bold.
I drag my palm up and down his length, slow at first, then harder, until he’s panting into the hollow of my neck.
He lifts his hips to meet my strokes, his teeth scraping my collarbone. “I’m about to lose it.”
“That’s the idea,” I reply.
Saint stands suddenly, lifting me with him. My legs wrap tight around his waist, and I cling to his shoulders as he carries me down the hall. We crash into the wall, and he holds me there, his mouth devouring mine.
He breaks away only long enough to rip the dress over my head, leaving me bare except for my bra and the panties already shoved aside. His eyes blaze as he takes me in, pupils swallowing blue.
He shoves his own pants down with one hand, freeing himself, and the sight of him, thick, flushed, and slick at the tip, makes me bite my lip.
Saint holds me suspended, his cock pressed against my entrance, not sliding in, just there, so close I could sob.
“Tell me to stop,” he says again, voice so guttural I barely recognize it.
My answer is a curse and a plea tangled together. “Just fuck me, Saint.”
He groans like he’s been waiting all his life for that sentence, and then he drives into me in a single, deep strokethat makes my vision go white. I have never, ever been this full. Saint stretches me to the edge of pain and beyond until it’s just pleasure. I’m nothing but sensation, an open circuit, every nerve ending exposed and lit.
He fucks me like I’m the only thing keeping him alive. Like if he stops, we’ll both cease to exist. The hallway vibrates with every slam of my back against the drywall. It should hurt, but I want more. I want to be bruised by him, marked by him, ruined for anyone else.
His hands slip under my thighs, hiking my legs higher, opening me even wider, and the new angle makes me see stars.
“Harder,” I gasp, and he laughs, a savage, incredulous sound.
“Careful what you ask for,cherie.”
He pistons into me, brutally, and my head snaps back. The world narrows to his cock fucking me open, the scrape of his stubble on my neck, the burn of his hands on my skin.
“Look at me,” he growls, and I do, and the sight of his face undone, hair wild, eyes black, jaw clenched in savage focus, makes me come again, even harder than the first time.
He fucks me through it, never stopping, finding my wrists and pinning them above my head as I clench and sob and shatter. Every thrust is a dare for me to survive this much intensity.
I want to say his name, but all that comes out is a broken sound that used be be language.
He clamps his mouth over mine, swallowing my cries while my legs are jelly, my arms useless. Saint holds me up, impaling me again and again.
Saint moves his mouth to my ear, breath hot. “You feel that? How tight you are? How fucking perfect?”
