My Cruel Salvation (Fallen Saint # 3) - J. Kenner Page 0,40
and running his fingers through his hair. He takes off his glasses and tosses them onto the bedside table, then rubs his hands over his face as if in exhaustion.
And he is exhausted. His face is pale, making the scar that cuts down the right side of his face stand out. “I need you,” he says. “I need to dial this in.”
I nod. I need him, too. More than that, I understand what he’s saying. These last few days, the world has been unraveling around us. Around him. A man used to being in control. Used to pushing buttons and making things happen behind the scenes. A man used to saving people, not losing them. Control has slipped from his grasp, and more than anything he needs to get it back. He will, I know. Of course, he will. But he needs it now, and the world isn’t bending to his will.
But me…
I’ll bend, and willingly, too. Because I need it as much as he does. He needs to push the limits of control? Well, I need to push the danger.
I draw a breath and step closer, my heart pounding in my chest, my skin tingling with need. I start to speak, but I don’t get the chance. He takes my wrist and pulls me to him, then twists it behind me so that I’m pressed up against him, unable to move.
“I need it hard,” he says, his body pressing against mine and his erection underscoring the words. “Tell me to stop now if you want, because once I have you in that bed, I’m not stopping for anything.”
“Don’t you dare stop,” I say, then cry out when he grabs the waistband of the leggings I’m wearing and rips them right down the seam. He tumbles me back onto the bed, then tugs the remnants of the leggings off me. “Over,” he says, using his hands to indicate that he wants me on my stomach.
I do as he says, my body flat on the bed. My head is turned, and I can see him in my periphery as he undresses, then joins me on the bed. He straddles my legs, his hands on my back. He brushes my hair away, then kisses the back of my neck as his hands slip between me and the mattress to cup my breasts as his cock teases my ass.
Slowly—so deliciously slowly, he kisses his way down my spine, then urges me onto my knees. I’m nothing but greed and sensation now, and I cry out in surprised delight when he smacks my ass, not once, but twice. And then, when he slips his hand between my legs and eases his fingers inside me, I close my eyes and arch back, desperate for more, for everything.
“Christ, I need you,” he whispers, then traces his fingertip from my clit all the way to my ass. I bite my lip as he teases me there, then suck in a gasp when he slips his fingertip past the tight muscle as he eases forward to whisper in my ear, “Do you remember what I said.”
I moan, my body firing with need as he reaches over me for the lube we’ve left on the bedside table.
“My fingers in your pussy, my cock in your ass.” The words are raw. Graphic. And a huge fucking turn on.
“Yes,” I say, realizing I’m rocking in anticipation. I want this. There’s nothing I don’t want with Devlin, and tonight, I know we both need it. I need complete surrender. And so does he. He plays with me at first, teasing and touching. His fingers on my clit, his cock hard against my rear. And then, when I’m ready to beg, he thrusts his fingers inside me at the same time that his cock edges inside me, more pressure than pain, but a wonderfully sensual bite all the same.
He plays me both ways in a rhythm that drives me to the edge and back but never quite takes me over. He’s relentless, and I’m floating on the edge, not sure how I’m going to survive this pleasure when the release never seems to come.
Then what seems like, hours later—and yet all too soon—I feel his body stiffen, and then I know that I have to go with him. I have to explode in his arms. I have to lose control with him, because that is what this is all about. Us and control and trust and passion.