Page 58 of Hymns of the Broken
Something in me snaps. I slam my thumb on the screen, hanging up on Blake, not caring if the phone hits the bed or the floor. I want Jasper, need him, and I’m done pretending otherwise.
I grab a fistful of his hair and yank him towards me, mashing my mouth to his—kissing him like I want to bite, like I want to hurt. He growls against my lips, fingers never stopping, working deeper, rougher, until I’m grinding against his hand, fucking myself on his fingers, desperate for more.
“Yes, baby. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Fuck—you look so good riding my hand like a desperate slut.”
Oh, okay, praise and degradation kink unlocked.
I claw at his shirt, trying to rip it off, nails dragging over his shirt. “Off,” I gasp, “Jasper, off—” I need him bare, need to feel his skin on mine.
He pulls back just enough, breath ragged, and with one hand still inside me, the other reaches to his shoulder and rips the shirt, then he moves his hand behind his neck, grabbing the back of the shirt. He drags his shirt off in one rough move, muscles flexing, tattoos rippling in the low light, and it’s so hot it nearly makes me dizzy.
Jasper’s fingers are fucking me right to the edge, every muscle in my body tight with need. Then, when I’m about to fall apart for him, he pulls his fingers out, leaving me empty and aching. I can’t help the frustrated growl that slips from my lips.
He smirks, mouth twisted in wicked satisfaction. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m only making it even. For now, anyway.”
He leans in, kissing down my jaw to my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin as his hands slip under my shirt. His palms are hot, callused, teasing their way up my ribs, barely skimming my breasts before he pauses—making me squirm.
He pulls back, locking his eyes on mine and hooks his fingers in the hem of my tank top. He lifts it slowly, watching every inch of inked skin come into view with that hungry look. When it finally clears my throat, he lets it drop to the floor.
For a beat that feels like forever, he stares at me—chest rising and falling, pupils dilated. I feel stripped, exposed, wanted in a way I’ve never been before. His eyes roam all over me, taking in every single detail.
Then he surges forward, mouth crashing into mine—this time slower, deeper, tasting every part of me. His hands start at my waist, gripping tight, dragging up my sides, making me shiver. His lips find my neck, kissing and sucking, no doubt, leaving my skin bruised.
He finally cups my breast, rough palms sliding over sensitive flesh, thumbs circling my nipples until I’m writhing against him. He leans back and grins. “You know what I want, Little Sin? I want to hear you beg. Want to see how pretty you look when you’re aching—when all you can think about is my mouth on you.”
He lowers his head, tongue swirling around one aching nipple, while his other hand squeezes and pinches the other. The sensation is almost too much. Pleasure and pain blurring, making my back arch up into him. He sucks, then bites down just enough to make me gasp. His other hand rolls my nipple between his fingers, drawing another cry from my lips.
My hands fly to his wet hair, twisting and tugging, trying to pull him closer to keep him there, anything to ground myself as his mouth and hands ruin me.
“Please, Jasper. Please— I need you. Please.”
His eyes darken, and he grins like the devil himself. “That’s what I wanted to hear, baby.”
In one swift move, he scoops me up and throws me onto the bed, making me bounce. I barely get my bearings before he’s stalking toward me, every inch of him a predator, a king claiming his feast.
He crawls up onto the bed, eyes almost black and never leaving mine. When he reaches me, he kisses me softly—almost sweet, a tease after all that hunger. But it’s just a trap. He drops his mouth to my neck, licking, biting, sucking bruises onto my skin that make me whimper.
His lips blaze a trail down my chest, swirling his tongue around each nipple, biting until I cry out, then soothing the sting with another lazy lick. He keeps going, mouthdragging across my ribs, my stomach, tongue flicking every sensitive spot, making my back arch up off the bed, chasing his mouth.
He pauses just above the waistband of my shorts, hot breath ghosting over my skin, teasing me until I can barely think.
He looks up at me through dark lashes, his voice a sinful growl. “You begging for it, baby? You want me to fuck you with my tongue? I’m gonna make you cum so hard. I’m gonna spread you open, taste you until you’re dripping down my chin. You’re not leaving this bed until I’ve eaten every fucking sound out of you.”
He drags his tongue along the edge of my shorts, eyes locked on mine, waiting for me to fall apart. I can’t breathe, can’t think, all I can do is beg.
“Jasper, please—please, please—”
That wicked grin appears. “That’s it, baby. This is all about you right now. I want everyone on this bus to know who you belong to.”
He curves his fingers in the waistband of my shorts, dragging them down my thighs with maddening slowness. His breath is hot on my skin, and I swear my whole body is trembling with how much I want him.
He spreads my thighs, settling between them like he owns me—because right now, he does. His hands grip my hips, pinning me to the bed as he lowers his head.
“Keep begging, baby,” he murmurs, voice vibrating straight through me. “Let them hear you fall apart.”
And then his mouth is on me—hot and wicked. He licks slowly, then he buries his tongue inside me, groaning against me like he’s starving. His hands squeeze my hips, holding me open for him, dragging me closer until there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do but give in.
He’s not gentle. He’s hungry—devouring me, tongue and lips working in a filthy, perfect rhythm. He flicks my clit, then sucks hard, making me cry out, back arching off the bed. One hand slides up, spreading me wider, his tongue fucking into me, deeper, like he wants to taste me forever.
