Page 64 of Spark of Madness

“Please,” I beg him for the millionth time, and a fire ignites behind his eyes.

Shifting, he reaches between us with one hand, fisting his cock. We both look down between us, watching as I lift my hips, as he angles the tip and brushes it through my folds. We pant through the tease, our breaths growing heavier and more desperate as we slip and shift into position.

And when he sinks inside me, the gates of heaven spread wide open and welcome us in glorious light. Our embrace tightens as we revel in stillness and the bright white light of pure and holy pleasure.

As a moment’s relief gives way to greater need, my stomach tightens in dark knots of lust, and our bodies start to move. He encourages it when his hands fall to my hips and squeeze. I rock with him inside me, holding him close.

He groans with all the filth of a demon, and suddenly, we’re cast out of heaven, forced back through the pearly gates before they’re slammed shut to lock us out.

I don’t mourn the loss of heavenly light as we’re dropped down into darkness. My pace quickens as need builds. As his chest heaves and his lips part against my skin—as pleasure sinks us into the darkened depths of depravity—hellfire rises to greet us, and we welcome it with pure carnality.

Thought is lost.

Reason has fled.

Caution and fear have caught fire and burn to smoldering ash all around us.

“Oh…” My head falls back, and I moan, a sound I’ve never heard myself make before.

I’ve never found pleasure with a man—not until Arlo first touched me in the woods. And even that pales in comparison to the pulsing and tingling between my legs now.

His lips and tongue are on my breast, licking over the mound, swirling around the hard pink bud, and sucking it into his mouth. My body sinks, twitching around my center as warmth spreads and ecstasy builds through this ethereal sin.

“Yes,” I encourage, the first time I’ve ever used that word in sex and meant it.

I want more, harder, faster.

I want every dark plea of my senses to be filled by him, fueled by him.

He tenses around me, his grip tightening, his lips falling away from my nipple as he takes in a rasping breath. “Come for me,” he groans. “Punish me with your pleasure, starlight.”

His fingers find my hair, curling and fisting a lock in his grip. He tugs my head back sharply, and I whimper as my chin shoots toward the ceiling. His thick lips brush lightly across my throat, the soft touch contrasting the rough way he keeps my head angled with the ferocity of his grip.

“Come, Mercy…” He trembles against me. “Now. Come now.”

This would be the moment I’d fake it in service—not that it’s common for men to want the pleasure of the women who service them, though sometimes they like it. But the way Arlo commands it—no, the way hebegsfor it—lassoes around me and tugs deep through my core. Leaning back, rocking my hips in this steady rhythm, forces him against a perfect spot inside me that pulses and swells, making me feel like boiling lava slowly rising inside the mountain.

His thumb sweeps softly over my nipple before pinching it in his fingers. He rolls it as he flattens his tongue, running it heavily over my skin from the hollow of my throat to the tip of my chin.

It sets off the explosion within me, and I erupt from my center, waves of heat pulsing through me as pure bliss ripples between my legs. My lips part to gasp through the wave of ecstasy. I barely notice the pain of him tugging on my hair harder, craning my neck deeper.

I can feel him swell inside me, and the thought of him coming with me touches my cheeks through a smile as my pleasure breaks. “Come with me,” I whisper toward the ceiling as my twitching body stills.

He releases my hair so fast that my head wobbles, but he steadies it quickly with his hand, cradling the back of my head in his palm as the other grips my hip. He lowers me to my back in a rush, and I turn my gaze to him, trying to meet his eyes, suddenly excited, hopeful, somehow even wistful at the thought of him taking me this way…at the thought of him taking control to spur his release.

But his eyes don’t meet mine, and his cock slips out. The sudden absence feels as overwhelming as if he’d torn a piece of my flesh from my body just to watch me bleed.

He drags himself away, scrambling unsteadily to his feet, cock still hard and proud, with a bead of liquid settled at the tip in anticipation of release.

He doesn’t come back to fuck me.

He doesn’t do anything to relieve himself.

Instead, he forcefully shoves his rigid length back into his pants, zipping and buckling with the most pained expression I’ve ever seen on a man.

“Arlo?” I don’t understand what he’s doing.

“Quiet. Don’t speak another word to me, sinner.”

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