Saint (A Dark Mafia Romance)(32)

I cry out again, and this time, as I raise my head and open my eyes, I catch my own reflection in the mirror - my face twisted in sweet, sweet agony of release. I lock eyes with myself, watching my brow crumble and watching my jaw go slack, and watching the fire roar to a blaze behind those eyes.

And I might not recognize this girl looking back at me.

But I like her.

The pressure builds, my toes start to curl, my face falls, and I can’t even keep my eyes open anymore as the orgasm starts to blaze through me. Connor’s tongue swirls over my clit again and again, his strong hands gripping my thighs tight and my own still spreading myself for him. His lips fasten around my little bud, and when he sucks gently and flicks his tongue back and forth across it, I shatter.

It’s not a cry, it’s not a whimper, and it’s not a moan. It’s a scream of pleasure - a guttural, soul-cleansing, all-encompassing scream when the man who kidnapped me and made me his captive makes me come. The whole world goes white, and every single nerve in my body blazes with heat as I go crashing over that edge.

I’m still gasping for air when he spins me around, my shorts still at my ankles and my shirt still pushed up over my breasts. He kisses me roughly, holding me tight and claiming my mouth and my moans. I can taste myself on his lips, and I don’t care. In fact, it’s just fuel to the fire roaring inside of me - only fanning the flames higher.

I kick away the boxers, and he tears the undershirt the rest of the way off of me. His hands drop to my still-stinging ass, grabbing me tight and making me yelp as he lifts me up into his arms. My legs go around his chiseled waist, my nipples dragging over the hair on his thick chest as he spins us around and starts to stalk across his loft.

“I’m not done with you by a fucking mile,” he growls, kissing me hungrily as his fingers dig into my skin.

He pushed me onto his couch, stalking and crawling over me, his mouth attacking my neck.

“I’m not going to be gentle,” he growls into my ear, biting the skin of my neck sharply as if to drive it home.

The moan drips from my lips.

“I know.”

“I won’t be sweet.”

“I don’t want sweet,” I hiss through clenched teeth, feeling him pressing rock hard between my spread thighs and gasping as I feel his fingers tighten in the hair at the back of my neck.

“You’re going to remember this.”

“Make me forget everything else.”





Chapter Eighteen





Connor




This is such bad news.

This has gone from bad to off the fucking rails, and I know there’s no way for me to even think about stopping it now.

The hostage - the girl I brought here and tied up in my trunk with the thought in the back of my mind to kill, is the same hot little thing squirming beneath me, moaning into my kiss, panting as I grind my cock against her.

I should say no.

I should stop this.

I should send her away, or drop her some place in fucking North Dakota where she can just disappear.

She moans, and the rest of my restraint shatters.

Nothing is going to keep me from claiming her though. Nothing is going to stop me from sinking my cock into that sweet pussy that I could taste for days.

I won’t be gentle.

I said it half to make her gasp like she did, but half to level with her. I’m not that guy. I’m not going to make love to her and be all tender.

I’m going to fuck her.

I’m going to make her come harder than she’s ever come before. Forget her running away again, I’m going to make her come so hard she can’t even walk. I’m going to have her shattering on my cock, begging me for more.

And then I’m really going to give it to her.

My mouth devours her neck, lips and teeth sucking and biting hard on her neck.

Marking her as mine.

She whimpers urgently beneath me, her body undulating and arching against me. I can feel how soaking wet and hot she is, her pussy pressed right against the length of my cock through my boxer-briefs. I grind into her, making her feel every inch of me.

A promise of what’s to come.

I don’t just want her panting for this. I don’t just want her wet. I want her begging. I want her so dripping wet that she leaves a fucking puddle on my couch.

I want to tattoo the memory of me filling her for the first time inside her head. I want any man that comes after me to feel like a pale imitation.

She rocks her hips to meet mine, hands clawing down my back as I grind my thick erection against her. Her legs are spread and wide, clamped around my hips as I feel her pussy soaking my cock through the cotton of my briefs.

But I want to feel her.

I pull away and stand, watching her chest rising and falling with her breath - her neck and her collarbone peppered red and purple from my lips and my teeth.