Page 170 of Vicious Saint
I whimper when he draws a mouthful of the sensitive skin next to my pubic bone through his teeth.
“B-T-W, love the tattoo,” Saint mumbles, biting me again, but this time chasing the ache with soft kisses.
He slides my underwear to the side, exposing my pussy, then licks a line up the center before forcing his tongue inside my entrance.
My eyes roll when he does it again.
“Stop.”
“No fucking chance,” he says through a heavy breath. “I love eating you while you sleep.”
Somewhere nestled between pleasure and shock, lies explosive recollection.
“Have you done this to me before?!” I whisper way too loud.
“Yup,” Saint returns, unbothered as can be as he rips my underwear in half. “But the last time I made it way past kissing your legs before you woke.”
“What the—” I try to roll over, but he’s quick to sit up and wrench my thighs apart with his palms.
“Don’t bother trying to escape, Jimi. Because I’m fucking you no matter what.”
I wrestle against his hold. “There’s a word for that, you know.”
And Saint better not know it, because he just unlocked a kink of mine I never knew was even possible.
“Should I get you an encyclopedia?” he asks, shoving three fingers inside me with no warning.
I bite my lip as he begins thrusting.
“God, I fucking love watching you unravel.”
“When…did…you?” I ask between ragged breaths.
“The first night you slept in my bed.” Saint watches his fingers as they glide in and out of me. “You were like an angel spilling in your sleep.”
I peer down at his silhouette highlighted from the moonlight of the window. Hair messy. Chest bare with muscles flexing.
I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of seeing him like this.
A haunting shade of beautiful.
Similar to a lunar eclipse.
“How?” I manage to speak past the flutters coursing through me.
“Fuck if I know…I was baffled myself.” Saint blinks up at me, eyelids heavy. “Just not enough to stop.”
There’s something fundamentally wrong with him.
Who am I kidding?Me.
Because the thought of being unconscious as he eats me out is enough to rile an orgasm. To make my legs widen on their own accord to beg for more. Both taking place not even eighteen hours after I promised myself I’d be done with the trysts.
“You’re sick.”
“So you keep telling me, Jimi. But look at you.” He slaps his fingers against my swelling clit, and I arch my back. “So. Fucking. Needy.”
My nails are digging into the mattress as Saint rises to his knees to remove his shorts, making his hard cock spring out to greet me the second they pass his thighs.
