The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,56
did last night.
Touch myself.
The sight has him tensing, and his mouth snarls somehow.
For the first time, I see him as the predator he is.
And I bask in it.
I’m his willing prey.
I’m his willing victim.
I thrust a finger inside myself, unused to the touch, a little achy because of it, but I do it because I know it will incite him further.
Somehow, he looks bigger. Harder.
Meaner.
And I love it.
I want the sinner and the saint.
I want both.
In me.
On me.
I almost groan, but I remember just in time. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet—it’s a litany in my head.
I must have released a noise, though, because it pushes him into action. For a second, I fear he’ll leave me, but he doesn’t. He storms over to me and takes a seat at my side. Carefully, he raises my head, letting his fingers brush over my hair, and my scars, then as he tips it up, he bites out, “Open your mouth.”
I obey, and he pops what I see is a handkerchief into it.
The cotton feels funny against my tongue, but it’s worth it when he rumbles, “Good girl.”
I like that.
I don’t know why I do, but I do.
His hand gently lowers my head to the pillow, then he lets go and begins to trail fingers over my shoulders down to my breasts.
“What am I going to do with you?”
It isn’t the first time he’s asked me that, but I can’t answer. The fabric is thick in my mouth.
One hand moves down between my legs where he runs his fingers over my outer folds, and the other goes to my nipple.
He pinches it hard, and when I squeal, the noise is dampened by the cloth but not fully, triggering him to tap my pussy.
I jerk at that, not having anticipated it, but somehow?
It feels like fire has just combusted in my veins.
It’s roaring through my body, raging through my system.
“You like that,” he rasps. “I can see you do.”
He pats me again, and I don’t moan, but I feel how wet I am suddenly. The tap is more of a splat, and before I can be embarrassed, he rolls onto his back.
Though I see the flash of pain cross his expression, he grates out, “Sit on my face.”
Sit on his face?
What on Earth?
Before I can hesitate too long, he growls, then hauls me up.
Within seconds, I’m sitting over him, my knees on either side of his head.
This can’t be—
This isn’t—
Oh, God!
A scream throttles me, robbing me of air, choking me of breath as I struggle to contain it. His tongue lashing against my clit is like everything I never expected, and nothing I could have imagined.
It’s fire and ice, pleasure and pain. He sucks, he nips, he licks. He growls and grunts, the vibrations making me throb with delight and wonder, even as he makes me think this might be hell.
How can something be this good and hurt so bad?
How can I want it, but need something that’s so far out of reach I don’t know how to attain it?
The sounds he emits, the slickness of my flesh, it makes my head pound. The spots return, dancing in front of my eyes, only not in a bad way.
In a way that’s heaven sent.
My hands hover at my side as I try to figure out what to do with them, and in the end, I plunk them on the wall above the bed.
When I almost loosen the crucifix, I tense, but before I can worry if it’s going to plop down and smack him, he sucks on my clit and makes the most delicious noise—like I’m a fudge ice cream sundae and I’m the best he’s ever had.
I think my eyes cross, and suddenly, what I was reaching for is so close.
That I have to be silent, mute, is a torture so exquisite I don’t know if it makes this more enjoyable or not.
It’s painful not to be able to cry out, not to be able to shriek the glory of how he makes me feel, what he’s forcing me to experience.
I never expected this.
I thought the first time would be shameful for him, that he’d have sex with me and then roll away, abashed.
But he isn’t unwilling.
He’s not the priest right now. He’s the sin eater, and he’s eating me.
I almost melt into him as I’m bombarded with so many sensations I don’t know where to turn. Then, a