He reaches between my thighs and parts my legs a few inches, locates the wet little groove in my panties and rubs a little. His thumb slides, up and down, finds the swelling bud of my clit and rubs in a maddening circle.
“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice raspy on his throat.
Rasping on my skin.
My answer is one word, “perfect,” my own voice textured with my emotions.
He rubs a little harder.
He’s stroking me with his fingers over my panties as he leans over and nibbles on my lips—an innocent kiss on my lips, but I’m so raw with need, I’m slowly unraveling beneath him.
He reaches between us and tugs my panties down my legs. I’m still wearing my heels and I think they look sexy but Saint tugs one loose, then the other, dropping them to the floor.
“Saint . . .”
God, this man is going to kill me before he gets to actually fuck me.
He shifts above me, caresses one breast, bending to kiss it, wet and fast. His lips stay there, his hand curving around my hips to the curve of my ass, holding me as he sucks hard.
Pleasure slams me so hard I buck.
He murmurs tenderly, “Easy.” Then he sucks my other nipple gently into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it, then draws it into his mouth again.
I fist the sheets in my hands as the orgasm builds fast and hard, a tension knotting from the core of my body. “Saint, I can’t do foreplay right now.” I tremble beneath him.
“God, I missed you,” he rasps with a happy light in his eye, sliding his fingers up to cup my face, the look on his face so reverent I feel perfect. “You’re like a spark, Rachel, all I need is to breathe on you and you catch fire.”
I’m so undone, I’m a heartbeat away from coming. “Malcolm, please don’t let me do this alone.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he says, not in the least bit worried as he pulls away to look at me with eyes that have never looked this heavy-lidded. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping, my hands trembling at my sides as he starts to undress.
He strips off his shirt and then his slacks, I feel like I’m dreaming. He’s shedding his clothes until it’s all bare, all for me.
Tan, cut muscles, over six feet of pure testosterone-primed man. His skin feels so smooth and hot and hard when he lowers himself over me.
“Say you want me . . .” he murmurs, and then he dives and sweeps my mouth with his tongue. He twirls and pushes my own tongue with his, showing it where to move, what to taste, where to go . . . with his.
“I want you,” I groan.
Reaching over his muscular shoulders as he settles between my thighs, I curl my legs around his hips and lock my ankles together. He takes my hands and draws them over my head, then he laces his fingers through mine, and drives inside.
Body-slammed. Perfection in every way. We groan once he’s inside, and our bodies stop moving and stay like this.
“Like that?” He cups my face and looks down at me.
We’re both motionless from the pleasure. We stare at each other. We’re each taking in the other’s face as if we can’t believe we’re here.
He pulses thickly inside me and it feels like every inch of my body is holding on to him. And I swear at this moment that I never ever want to let go of him, and as long as I can help it, I never will.
“Yes,” I finally breathe, squeezing his hands holding mine above my head.
His green eyes flare bright with an emotion so raw, all my muscles tighten with the urge to orgasm to that look alone.
I don’t think Saint has ever looked at me so possessively.
He moves out of me and then back in, and I moan as our flesh touches with his motions. Going up on his arms, he withdraws and pumps in again, establishing a rhythm that is deep and savoring and intense, almost as if he can’t control it anymore.
He surges inside me and starts kissing my neck, as if he needs to taste me. I’m holding tight to him, clutching his bigger body to mine with my arms and legs, my mouth latching to any hard part it can. The rightness of being consumed like this and taken like this by the only man who’s ever owned me is beyond believable. It’s Sin inside me, Saint inside me, Malcolm inside me. Tension builds in me fast. He’s in me; so in me, it’s like we were never apart. We’re moving as if we never stopped.
He takes my face in his hand, and his voice textures until it’s barely discernible as he deepens his tempo. “Look into my eyes. Don’t look away until you come apart for me.”
I do.
I bite his neck, and then I do as he says and look into his eyes.
“Does that feel good?” he asks, his voice raspy on his throat.
Rasping on my skin.
My answer is one word, “perfect,” my own voice textured with my emotions.
He rubs a little harder.
He’s stroking me with his fingers over my panties as he leans over and nibbles on my lips—an innocent kiss on my lips, but I’m so raw with need, I’m slowly unraveling beneath him.
He reaches between us and tugs my panties down my legs. I’m still wearing my heels and I think they look sexy but Saint tugs one loose, then the other, dropping them to the floor.
“Saint . . .”
God, this man is going to kill me before he gets to actually fuck me.
He shifts above me, caresses one breast, bending to kiss it, wet and fast. His lips stay there, his hand curving around my hips to the curve of my ass, holding me as he sucks hard.
Pleasure slams me so hard I buck.
He murmurs tenderly, “Easy.” Then he sucks my other nipple gently into his mouth, rolls his tongue over it, then draws it into his mouth again.
I fist the sheets in my hands as the orgasm builds fast and hard, a tension knotting from the core of my body. “Saint, I can’t do foreplay right now.” I tremble beneath him.
“God, I missed you,” he rasps with a happy light in his eye, sliding his fingers up to cup my face, the look on his face so reverent I feel perfect. “You’re like a spark, Rachel, all I need is to breathe on you and you catch fire.”
I’m so undone, I’m a heartbeat away from coming. “Malcolm, please don’t let me do this alone.”
“You’re not going anywhere without me,” he says, not in the least bit worried as he pulls away to look at me with eyes that have never looked this heavy-lidded. I can’t breathe. I’m gasping, my hands trembling at my sides as he starts to undress.
He strips off his shirt and then his slacks, I feel like I’m dreaming. He’s shedding his clothes until it’s all bare, all for me.
Tan, cut muscles, over six feet of pure testosterone-primed man. His skin feels so smooth and hot and hard when he lowers himself over me.
“Say you want me . . .” he murmurs, and then he dives and sweeps my mouth with his tongue. He twirls and pushes my own tongue with his, showing it where to move, what to taste, where to go . . . with his.
“I want you,” I groan.
Reaching over his muscular shoulders as he settles between my thighs, I curl my legs around his hips and lock my ankles together. He takes my hands and draws them over my head, then he laces his fingers through mine, and drives inside.
Body-slammed. Perfection in every way. We groan once he’s inside, and our bodies stop moving and stay like this.
“Like that?” He cups my face and looks down at me.
We’re both motionless from the pleasure. We stare at each other. We’re each taking in the other’s face as if we can’t believe we’re here.
He pulses thickly inside me and it feels like every inch of my body is holding on to him. And I swear at this moment that I never ever want to let go of him, and as long as I can help it, I never will.
“Yes,” I finally breathe, squeezing his hands holding mine above my head.
His green eyes flare bright with an emotion so raw, all my muscles tighten with the urge to orgasm to that look alone.
I don’t think Saint has ever looked at me so possessively.
He moves out of me and then back in, and I moan as our flesh touches with his motions. Going up on his arms, he withdraws and pumps in again, establishing a rhythm that is deep and savoring and intense, almost as if he can’t control it anymore.
He surges inside me and starts kissing my neck, as if he needs to taste me. I’m holding tight to him, clutching his bigger body to mine with my arms and legs, my mouth latching to any hard part it can. The rightness of being consumed like this and taken like this by the only man who’s ever owned me is beyond believable. It’s Sin inside me, Saint inside me, Malcolm inside me. Tension builds in me fast. He’s in me; so in me, it’s like we were never apart. We’re moving as if we never stopped.
He takes my face in his hand, and his voice textures until it’s barely discernible as he deepens his tempo. “Look into my eyes. Don’t look away until you come apart for me.”
I do.
I bite his neck, and then I do as he says and look into his eyes.
