Page 67 of Of Sinners & Salvation
“You have me,” I say, curling my fingers inside her.
She whimpers, her hips bucking. “Fuck me,” she cries. “I want my big brother to fuck me.”
I rip my jeans open, knock her legs apart, and plow up into her so hard her feet leave the ground. She lets out a mewling cry, her head falling back against the van.
“What’s wrong, little sister?” I taunt. “Does your pussy hurt?”
“Yes,” she cries, a tear squeezing between her lashes and trickling down her cheek. At last. It feels like triumph, my lifelong fantasy come true, my sweet little sister crying as I strip away her innocence and turn her into my own personal fuck doll. Watching her tears fall while my cock is sheathed inside her is rapturous, transcendent. I draw back and then slam my cock to the hilt inside her quivering, wet cunt.
She is mine.
“Tell me to stop.”
“No,” she cries, gripping my shirt like the desperate slut she is. “Please, Saint. Don’t stop.”
I draw back a few inches and then thrust back in, punching into her depths in short, deep blows. She winces, and the tears come faster. Her lips are trembling as she sucks in a ragged breath. She’s so fucking hot. I smear my thumb through the teardrop, then paint her lips with it. The next second, my lips crash into hers, and I fuck her. With my tongue and my cock, I fuck her. I fuck her hard and rough, not caring if the whole world sees it. I’m not ashamed.
“You asked for it,” I growl, ramming into her so hard the metal door of the van dents inwards. “Begged, in fact. So take it. Take my cum like my thirsty little slut.”
“Yes,” she cries. “I’m your slut, your whore.”
I ram into her again, my hips jerking as I shoot my load deep inside her. Then I reach between us, pinching her clit to make her buck and moan. I keep her impaled on my cock while I guide her toward an ending that a few months ago, would have been too shameful to comprehend.
Now, as she cums all over my cock, legs shaking and cunt clenching and voice hoarse from crying my name, there’s nothing shameful about it. It’s dirty and hot and forbidden, and absolute perfection.
twenty-two
The Angel
“He’s probably going to bite my hand off when he sees me again,” Mercy says, following me down the hall, with Saint and Heath bringing up the rear. “I’m sure he’d rather stay with your cousin.”
“That’s not how it works,” Saint says. “You can’t just give him away. He’s yours.”
“Try telling that to your parents,” she mutters.
“My parents are pieces of shit,” Saint says flatly. “They can burn in hell.”
I tap on Annabel Lee’s door, and a second later, it’s opened by a skinny girl with a shaved head, hoop earrings, and striking, pale sea-green eyes framed with thick black lashes. A snake is draped around her shoulders, and she’s wearing camo cargo pants with a spiked belt hanging so low on her hips we can see her hipbones, fingerless black mesh gloves, and a tight tank of the same material. Thankfully she’s got a skimpy bra under it covering her tiny tits, though her bellybutton ring is on full display.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, scowling down at her.
“I could say the same to you,” she says, quirking a brow as she looks me up and down. “Something you want to tell me?”
Annabel Lee appears behind her, her gaze fixing on Mercy. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she settles into her usual blasé expression. “Oh, hey,” she says, like it’s no big deal and she wasn’t at all worried. “Glad you didn’t get buried alive.”
“I… Thank you?” Mercy says, watching the snake warily as it sways its head and flickers its tongue.
“Didn’t know you were having a Future Lesbians of America meeting,” I say.
“It’s actually a current Pride Club meeting,” Eve says.
“Thorncrown has one of those?” I ask. “Or is that what you’re doing on campus? Stirring up trouble, as usual?”
“Can’t let my namesake down,” she says, tapping necklace she wears, a gold snake with a ruby apple in its mouth.
“We’re actually here for the cat,” I say.
“Not very gay of you,” she says, flashing her teeth in a grin. The tip of her tongue peeks out under her long, left canine the way it always does. For years, she refused to smile in family pictures and even cut short her laughs and looked around self-consciously to make sure no one noticed the mismatched tooth. Then we found out someone at school was making fun of it, so I kicked his ass, and Dad kicked his dad’s ass. Now she brings attention to the imperfection every chance she gets, like she’s daring anyone to say something about it.
