Saint (A Dark Mafia Romance)(55)
I move my hands to her thighs, pushing her legs back and wide as she plays with her pussy, her eyes locked onto mine. Her other hand finds her nipples, teasing and twisting them as her moans get louder and louder.
I start to lose control. I start to move faster. I start to drive every goddamn inch of my cock deep in her impossibly tight ass on every stroke, until we’re both panting like fucking animals.
Her eyes never leave mine, and mine never leaves hers, and in some way, that alone makes this hotter than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Intimacy.
I’ve forgotten that word. That was something I played with - something like matches, or smoking, or swearing - when I was younger, back with Sheila. I dipped my toes in that water a long time ago, and when it all turned out to be poison, I never went back. I shut that out of my life and concentrated on what I was good at: structure, coldness, and being in control.
Sierra Hammond shatters all of that.
She destroys it, and somehow, that thought hits me while I’m balls deep in her ass, having the hottest, dirtiest, goddamn best sex of my life. She shatters all of that and sends my plans and my organization and my rules scattering to the winds, and I know that should scare the shit out of me, but it doesn’t at all.
“Harder,” she moans, panting, her forehead dotted with perspiration, her face flushed red.
And who am I to deny a lady?
I growl, every muscle in my body clenching tight as I start to drive in harder and deeper, our bodies coming together again and again as the inevitable begins to claw at my mind.
Her hand starts to move faster and faster over her clit, her breath starts to come staggered and heavy, and slowly, she loses control of that unbroken eye contact.
“Ohmygod, I think I’m- oh fuck, oh FUCK!”
“Come for me, princess,” I growl, feeling my own control start to crack and shatter around me.
“Make that pussy come for me while I fuck your ass like it’s mine.”
She screams.
She straight up screams her orgasm, her entire body arching off the bed like she’s been hit with high voltage, and her eyes rolling back in her head. I have never seen a woman come like this, and feeling her absolutely shatter around me is the last thing I can take.
And I fucking lose it.
I roar as I grab her hips, bury myself inside of her and just let go, holding her tight as I go crashing over that cliff along with her.
I keep my eyes open. I fight the urge to squeeze them shut with every fiber in my body, because seeing her face when she comes, and being right here in this moment with her is like discovering the part of me I buried years ago.
It’s self realization.
It’s like finding religion.
It’s sweet, beautiful redemption.
Damned if this girl might just save me from myself, and damn do I want more.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sierra
For two days, I lose track of everything. For two entire days, we lose ourselves in each other completely. Day bleeds into night, and night blurs back into day. I’m aware of guzzling water and whiskey when we’re thirsty, and giggling as Connor answers the door naked and completely casually for the pizza we order and then hungrily inhale naked in bed.
There’s a shower or two in there, and some sleep, but the rest is just him and I learning each other’s bodies like they’re our own. It’s an insatiableness that he brings out in me - a craving, a need, an addiction that I can’t seem to and have no intention of quitting. It’s a vacation from life - an escape from everything that’s been pulling me under.
It’s sweet agonizing ecstasy like I’ve never known, and it’s an escape I never want to escape from.
I’m deliciously sore when I wake up at some point on that second night. We’re not really on any sort of set sleep schedule, but I can only imagine it’s late. I raise my head from his sleeping chest, blinking in the darkness and swallowing the cotton in my mouth as I slip from the bed. I take a blanket from the foot of the bed with me as I pad downstairs and grab a glass of water from the kitchen sink.
I swallow eagerly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and glancing out the kitchen window at the beach dunes. The window’s open a crack and I can hear the surf crashing against the shore down past the sands. My feet take me out to the front porch quietly, leaving the door open and sinking into the wicker loveseat. The waves are louder out here, and suddenly, it’s like I’m back home in Shelter Harbor, listening to the rumblings of the Atlantic Ocean.
Well, home, but different, and the difference is him.
There’s a part of me that knows that there’s no scenario where this doesn’t have an end date. I mean, I’m not fixing anything by holing up here with him and forgetting the rest of the world exists, I’m only escaping from it.