Page 48 of The Rise of Saint (The Sins of Saint 1)

I sank my finger back into her. “On the contrary, it means everything.” I reached deeper between her legs and replaced my forefinger with my thumb inside her as I searched for her clit—the little bundle of nerves that would send her spiraling out of control.

Her body arched as I pressed on the sensitive nub, my thumb continuing to work her pussy.

I could hear her breathing becoming more labored, her body moving more freely to the rhythm while I finger fucked her—harder, faster, never letting that nerve center from under my fingertip. My mind was in a fucking frenzy, every muscle in my body begging for release. But I wanted to watch her come undone by my hand—watch her try to fight the pleasure I forced from her. There was also a part of me that wanted to see her succumb, witness her lose control as she lost herself to the wicked lust that had her body tied in a vise.

Abruptly, I stopped pumping my finger into her, releasing her clit from under my fingertip. The moan that rolled from her lips was exquisite—a sound between pleasure and agony. Pain and desire.

“Do you want to come, Mila?”

I glanced at her face, her eyes shut, and biting her bottom lip. She didn’t answer, and her refusal to respond forced me to show her who was in control by slapping her ass—hard—a handprint instantly scorched onto her skin. “I asked, do you want to come?”

She yelped, her lip trembling, yet her hips kept moving, searching, begging.

“I’m going to give you one last chance to answer me, or I swear to God I will walk away and leave you like this.” I leaned down, my chest against her heaving body and lips against her ear. “Do. You. Want. To come?”

“Yes.” There was slight hesitation in her voice, uncertainty, but I took it. I accepted her answer and touched her entrance with a single finger.

“If you want to come, then you have to do it yourself.”

“Wha…what are you saying?”

I brushed her hair away from her neck and placed my lips on the skin below her neck. “Fuck my finger, Mila. Make yourself come.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You just keep moving those greedy hips.” I thrust my cock against the side of her ass. “You try to pretend like you don’t want it, that you hate me and despise my touch, yet your body says something else. So, if you want that release your body so desperately craves, you’ll have to take it.”

She remained silent, not even moving as she took rapid breaths.

“I’m going to count to three, and if you won’t start fucking my finger, I’m going to leave.”

“Saint, don’t—”

“One.”

She moaned, turning her face down on the table.

“Two.”

“Jesus,” she whined, and I could practically feel her fight, feel her determination to not give in to her body’s needs. To the weakness of the flesh, a battlefield between hate and lust.

“Thr—”

She flexed her hips and took my finger inside her, her body greedy for my touch. I let out a heavy breath and added another digit, rewarded with a whine from her lips. A pang of carnality slammed against my core, and I could no longer control it. I needed relief from the throbbing ache that threatened to tear me in half. Everything about her—her body, her scent, her skin, her soft whimpers—it all torpedoed straight through me and tore my self-control to threads.

I let go of the back of her neck, and she made no attempt to escape me. To escape my onslaught on her body. The hunger had taken control of her, and her need for pleasure had overcome her will to fight.

With Mila still riding my hand, I pulled my cock from my pants and gripped it tightly in my palm. This wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted to be inside her, watch her ride my cock until sunrise. I wanted to feel her heat around my dick, feel her pussy swell as she reached the edge.

She hardly picked up the pace, her hips rolling and rocking, fingers clawing at the table. I pumped my cock to the rhythm she fucked my finger—deeper, harder, but not faster.

My fingers tightened around my dick, and while I watched her pussy work against my hand, the sound of her wet cunt slapping against my palm, I knew she was right there. Right. Fucking. There.

I found her clit, pressed down hard, and her back arched, moans of pleasure echoing around us.

I pumped my cock harder, faster, and like a fucking wrecking ball, it slammed against my spine, ricocheting straight to the tip of my cock, and I came—the white ribbons of my orgasm staining her silk panties and ruined wedding dress.

Her body relaxed into the table, her hips not moving an inch. And that was when I heard it. The most haunting, troubling, gut-wrenching sound I had ever heard.

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