Page 17 of His Sinner

Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me? How did I go from a boring, celibate, assistant professor to a captive who allows her stalker to make her come with his weapons?

I’m not sure if I’m just as crazy as Saint or crazier.

“You like my knife on your swollen, throbbing clit, don’t you, muse?” His voice is distorted by the mask, slipped back into place.

“Yes,” I breathe. There’s no point in me denying it when he can clearly see and feel the evidence right in front of him.

“Do you think you’ll love my gun in your pussy just as much?”

I stiffen. “Wait?—”

But the tip of the barrel nudges at my entrance again, still slick with my saliva. “You said you know how to handle a gun. Let’s find out how true that is.”

“Don’t put your fucking gun inside me,” I snap.

“Or what?” he purrs. “You’ll come all over it?”

I grit my teeth knowing he’s right. “Or I’ll knee you in the balls once I get out of these restraints.”

“Then perhaps I’ll keep you tied here forever.”

No wonder he blindfolded me. If looks could kill, he’d be dead. “You ass?—”

Without warning, Saint pushes the barrel of his gun into my pussy. I cry out at the stretch, the barrel hard and unforgiving. At the same time, the pressure from the butt of the knife on my clit increases, and tears pool at the confusing and overwhelming mix of pleasure and pain.

Saint keeps the gun still as the handle of the knife continues to work me, and the pain from the stretch quickly subsides and gives way to pleasure.

In awe, he murmurs, “My little sinner.” Like it’s the highest level of praise.

My thighs relax as his words and awestruck tone take their effect, my praise kink making me want to earn more from his lips.

Saint pulls the gun back a little, but keeps it inside me, thrusting the barrel into me once more. I drop my head back and moan. I’m done fighting. I allow the pleasure to consume me.

“How does that feel, muse?” Saint pushes the gun inside me again, the suction of my soaked pussy around the gun turning obscene.

“Amazing,” I gasp. “You’re going to make me come.”

“That’s all I ever want. To hear your cries of ecstasy. To make you lose your mind on my tongue, my fingers, my cock, my gun.”

The knife handle presses down harder, making my vision go dark as he thrusts the gun faster inside me. My heart pounds so hard, I would believe him if he told me he could hear it.

“Saint—” I warn, just before the orgasm unexpectedly crashes over me.

I scream as he pounds the gun into me, the knife handle wriggling wildly over my aching, pulsing clit.

Sweat coats my naked skin as wave after wave threatens to drown me in ecstasy.

His murmurs of praise are drowned out by my cries and the buzzing in my ears.

At last, Saint removes the blindfold. His mask fills my vision, his bare biceps flexed as he braces his hands on the arms of my chair. The sight makes my pussy clench. God, every inch of him is perfection.

He removes the mask, finally revealing the glinting irises and the smirk I knew would be awaiting me.

“And what,” I pant, “lesson was that?”

“To teach you how to control your fear when you’re in real danger.” His voice is smooth as silk. “And how to relinquish your control when you’re with me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

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