My thighs were burning, muscles screaming from holding myself up and controlling the pace. I tried to keep going, but my legs gave out, and I collapsed down onto him hard. The sudden depth punched the air out of my lungs.
"I can't—" My voice broke. "My legs—"
"Then let me." His hands tightened on my hips, and he started lifting and lowering me, fucking me like I weighed nothing. To someone his size, I probably did.
And it was perfect.
Every time he pulled me down, wet, obscene sounds filled the room. My cock bounced between us, dripping. I couldn't control the high, broken noises coming out of me anymore.
"All these years," Rafael said, voice rough with wonder. “All these years, and this is what I was missing. All this…and it still doesn’t feel like enough. Why isn’t it enough?”
My hand slipped, and I found myself staring down at where my palm rested over the bite mark scar I’d given him all those years ago.
And suddenly, I had an idea. A terrible, perfect idead.
“Bite me,” I said.
He looked at me like I’d lost my damn mind.
I offered him my arm. “Bite me like I bit you in the warehouse. Just do it.”
Rafael grabbed my forearm and pulled it down to his mouth, but he was being too gentle.
“Harder,” I demanded, and when it still wasn’t enough, “Harder, Rafael. Make it hurt.”
Finally, he broke skin. Blood welled up around his lips, but he didn't notice. His eyes were closed, and he was groaning, fucking up into me like a man possessed.
The pain was sharp and immediate, radiating up my arm. My free hand fisted in his hair, holding him there, making sure he went deep enough to be permanent.
Blood ran down my arm, dripping onto his chest, mixing with the sweat already there. He was still moving inside me, his hips snapping up harder now, faster, like the taste of my blood was driving him insane.
Then he bit down even harder, and his entire body went rigid beneath me. He made a sound against my arm that was half-growl, half-moan, and I felt him come inside me.
Holy shit.
When he finally released my arm, his mouth was covered in blood and his eyes were unfocused, glazed. He looked drunk on it.
"I—" His voice was wrecked. "That was—I don't know what—"
"You just discovered you have a biting kink," I said, staring at my arm. The crescents were deep. This was definitely going to scar.
"Welcome to your sexuality, priest." I shifted on top of him and winced. He was starting to soften inside me, but I was still rock hard, my cock throbbing between us. "Also, you came but I didn't, and I'm dying here."
His hands immediately went to my hips. "Show me. Tell me what you need."
"Just—" I wrapped my bloody hand around my cock and started stroking. The visual of my own blood smearing across my length while I sat on his cock made my vision blur. "Keep talking. Keep your hands on me. I'm close."
"You're bleeding on your own cock," Rafael said, his voice rough with wonder. "God, Lorenzo, look at you. Covered in blood and cum and mine. All mine."
That did it. Three more strokes and I was coming hard across his chest, my body clenching around him, pulling a groan from deep in his throat.
When it was over, I collapsed forward onto him. We were both wrecked, both covered in blood and cum, both shaking.
"Holy shit," I managed.
"I made you bleed, and it made me come," Rafael said, like he was still trying to process it. "What does that say about me?"
"That you're human?" I tried to lift my head but gave up. "Also, pretty sure most of the saints were into some kinky shit. You're in good company."
