Page 96 of Sire
We belong.
I nip at her trembling lips. I need to know. “Do you want to be a good girl for me, Wren? Do you want all the dirty things I crave with you? Do you want all the dark things I need to do to my wife?”
“Yes. Yes, I want it. Sire…” She pants, “Please…”
She circles her hips faster, raising the heat in my spine. The fire in my blood. The craving in my cock. She’s fucking the man and the monster.
I’m not done with her.
I fist her hair and veil. “Do you want me to breed you, Wren? Do you want me to tie you up and fill you with my cum for days?”
“Oh, fuck yes.” She shakes, her lips huffing over mine. Her fingers dig into my neck.
Lightning starts shaking my thighs. The urge builds, drawing tight, fire cracking through my bones for her.
Only her.
I growl over her panting lips, “Do you want me to breed you, Wren? Naked and hard and in front of my brothers? Do you want me to let them suck your pretty tits and come on your lips and lick your sweet pussy before I fill you with my cum?”
“Ugh… fuck. Yes, Sire… Yes—” Wren bucks so hard, her eyes roll back, her body convulsing over mine. She can’t even scream at the new sensation seizing her body; her first orgasm with her tight, pussy clenching around my thick, pulsing cock.
God.
She’s breaking.
She’s beautiful.
She’s mine now.
“Fuck, Wren.” I can’t wait any longer. “Oh fuck, I feel your pussy coming for me.” I have to thrust hard into her, and I do.
Falling back on the carpet, I trap her hips, holding her still while I hammer my cock so fucking brutally hard inside her tight cunt. I watch her, crying out, but the instinct is too powerful, the vision too strong.
I’m possessed, gazing up at her, then the cross, then back at my salvation, my Wren, and the spirit makes me roar—my back bows. I strain. I can’t breathe until I rise, grabbing her into a kiss as I groan, releasing and coming so hard inside her, I see heaven.
My heaven.
My wife.
Will I fulfill every vow I made to her tonight? Dirty and divine?
God and the Devil help me, I will.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
WREN
Four monthslater
It’s a struggle,but I make myself smile, singing while I decorate Christmas cookies. It’s my annual duet with Bruce Springsteen. We’re crushing “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.”
The speakers thump so loud, I almost don’t hear Sire and his merry band of menacing brothers, bounding through our door.
He’s the first inside, all sweaty and charging my way. “Come here, Angel.” It’s how Sire always greets me before his lips are on mine.
In three seconds, he’s pressed against me. I feel him getting hard under his running shorts as I sigh into our kiss. “You smell like a wet dog.”
He laughs, pulling away to yank off his soaked sweatshirt. “Better?”
