Road To Fire (Broken Crown Trilogy #1) - Maria Luis Page 0,89
you know what I regret or not.”
Jaw cinched tight, he searches my eyes, as if looking for any lingering doubt. Then finds the crease of my hips to hold me steady—and drives himself home. I cry out, my head falling back. I feel him move, his hips pistoning sharply, his mouth landing on the underside of my jawline. His grip never loosens. Faster. Harder. He thrusts into me like he has a point to prove—or maybe like he’s determined to make me regret nothing at all.
Either way, my skin burns and my lungs squeeze and I glance down to watch his thick length fuck me, again and again. No condom. I should panic at the realization, but I’m too far gone to care.
I cling to Saxon’s broad frame. Accept his hard, punishing thrusts like they’re my due. Each one belongs to me, each one catapults me higher, until I’m quivering and moaning and cupping the side of his face and forcing him to look at me.
There’s nothing cold about this man.
He’s stripped down.
Stripped bare.
Groaning deep in his chest. Hips churning faster and faster, hitting me in just the right spot that I feel the drag of him against my clit on every forward stroke. Scarred mouth parted and gasping for air.
Welcome to the fire, Saxon Priest.
“Please.”
It’s all I say, all I ask, and his broad shoulders tense while his thrusting hips slow to an excruciatingly devastating pace. His unholy gaze fixes on my mouth, and I see the want there, the craving for what I’m offering him.
“Steal it,” I whisper, running my eyes over his stiff, uncertain features. “I breathe, you inhale, and we both go up in flames. Remember?”
Something in him implodes then.
I feel it in the way his arms bind around my back, securing me to him. In the way his mouth curls, but instead of snarling—or clamping his mouth shut before storming away—he confesses, “You’re my first, Isla Quinn. And, more than likely, my only.”
Then his mouth, ragged scar and all, crashes down on mine.
And I was wrong. So very wrong.
The rest of him may be taking me ruthlessly, as savagely as I once perceived him, but his mouth is the sweetest torture I’ve ever felt. He sips from my lips, drawing out a swallowed gasp from me, before taking full advantage of my surprise. His tongue plunges into my mouth to tangle with mine, and I feel myself squeeze around his length.
We both groan.
I frame his face with my hands, holding him still.
Show him with my lips how to segue the kiss from passionate to teasing to all-destroying. Because that’s what this is: something more than sex, more than casual shagging. We’re burning together, willingly, and chasing the flames with everything that we are.
He cants my head to the side. Presses deeper.
I open my eyes, only to find green already blazing a trail of heat. He’s watching me. Studying me. Devouring me with his gaze and his mouth on mine and his cock that’s hitting me just right, just so, until I feel the familiar spark of fire tingling in my belly.
Ripping my mouth from his, I pant, “I’m going to come.”
“Not yet. Not until I ruin you more.”
His teeth graze my bottom lip, sucking the sensitive flesh into his mouth. He bites. I claw my fingers down the front of his bare chest, over the scars and the gruesome reminders of his past. He tempts me into another kiss, this one so soul ravaging that I feel the prick of tears. And then there are his fingers, claiming my clit and rubbing in tight circles designed to drive me wild.
I come, just like that.
My mouth claimed by his.
My core throbbing.
My heart—utterly and completely ruined.
He thrusts again, deeper, rougher, his breathing ragged in my ear. When he comes, it’s still him, still Saxon. Not overtly loud or vocal, but he groans deep in his chest, as if he’s being tortured. He pulls out of me, one hand locked around the base of his cock, and releases all over my stomach. White jets of come land on my pelvis, the soft swell of my belly.
Slowly, the seconds tick by.
And then he meets my gaze, a stark vulnerability in those green-yellow depths that wraps around my heart like a knotted rope I have no hope of ever untying.
“I liked it,” he rasps, as if surprised.
Reflexively, my legs tighten around his hips. “The sex?”
“Yes, but no.” A small shake of his head. “Your kiss, Isla. I liked your kiss.”