Page 91 of Savage Saint

“Impatient little thing.” Hooking a finger beneath the gusset, I give the material a sharp tug, and it snaps, baring her to me. She’s soaked, her juices clinging to her labia, and I watch her hole clench around nothing a second before I drag the flat of my tongue from her entrance to her clit, my shoulders pushing her thighs farther apart until her knees almost touch the canvas.

Then I bury my face in her cunt, sealing my mouth over her and suck hard, earning a scream. She bucks and thrashes, nails digging into the back of my neck as I push my tongue inside her, fucking her with rough, firm strokes while my nose nudges her clit. Genesis gasps at that, and I watch as my dirty girl cups her tits, plucks and pulls on her nipples.

I growl at the sight, my tongue moving to her clit before I pull the swollen nub between my teeth and slam two fingers inside her, curling them against her front wall. Immediately, her thighs shake—try to close around my head—but I bite a little harder, causing her to yelp. Her hooded eyes narrow, her lips open, and I can almost see the protest sitting on her tongue, but I soothe the ache with a few fast pumps of my fingers, the squelching of her slickness filling the room.

My face drips with her.

The canvas beneath us is a mess.

Beads of pre-come cling to the head of my swollen cock.

It’s the tightness surrounding my fingers I focus on. With each pump, she grows tighter until I’m fighting against the flutter of her walls. Still, I don’t stop. Instead, I finger fuck her harder, her wetness splattering between us, and I almost stop and admire the beads on my chest.

Almost. Because then I feel it.

Her body changes, stomach drawing tight while her hips lose their rhythm, and her breathing turns sharp and uneven. Then there’s the way her fingers dig into the mat, back bowing beneath me before going perfectly still.

Such a beautiful sight.

“You were made for me, Genesis. Only me.” I pull back, spit dripping from my mouth to her clit before tapping it twice with the head of my cock. “Say it. Say you’re mine. That you want this.”

“Don’t stop, Santos. I’m so close.”

“Say it,” I growl out. The slit on the engorged head kisses her clit, and I rub and spread her juices and my spit over the throbbing bud. “Give us what we both need.”

“I’m yours.” Low moan. Her admission and truth. One I reward with a brutal thrust, burying myself to the hilt. Motherfuck, she’s tight and so wet. I’m surrounded by her heat, and the sight of her small pussy stretched around my thickness, mouth open on a soundless scream, is one I’ll never forget.

Her back bows, thighs wrapping around me, but I don’t give her time to adjust. I thrust in and out with long, punishing strokes as her first orgasm crests on my cock.

“That’s it, bebe. Soak my fucking cock.” Another snap of my hips moves her up the canvas, but I yank her back, riding her fast and hard without pause. And the tighter she gets, her orgasm trying to push me out, I grind in deep while she clamps down, unable to do anything but massage me with her walls. “Look at you taking me so well. Made for me.”

“Oh, Dios. Santos, I’m⁠—”

“Not a God, Genesis. I’m your Saint. You worship me.” At my words, she clenches so hard it’s near painful—she’s keeping me buried deep—but I pull out roughly, leaving her empty and clenching around nothing. My Pocket Doc whines, especially when a second later I’m hauling her up, one arm wrapped around her waist. Then we’re moving; I drag her to the ropes and with one hand grab a thigh, lifting it high enough her ankle sits on the top rope, leaving her in a somewhat vertical split.

Genesis reaches for the rope to her left for stability, her dark brown eyes narrowing, but then they glaze over when I bend my knees, line up, and drive upward, spearing her on my cock. And the sound that leaves her is broken because she knows there’s no going back after this.

For her. For me.

My hands are on her hips, gripping hard enough there will be bruises, as I drive in and out of her pussy. Each stroke is hard and punishing while my mouth kisses and licks any inch of skin I can reach. There will be marks on her skin from the back of her neck to her shoulders and across her collarbones, little purple spots that cement my ownership of her.

“How is…” she trails off, and I feel it. Genesis is tightening again, legs shaking. Fuck, I close my eyes for a second, slamming in deep and holding still so I can savor the tightness and heat. Then I bend her forward just a bit, lifting her a few inches off the ground as I stare down at the woman in my arms.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Mark me.” The new angle hits deeper, the ring ropes creaking with each stroke as I pull her on and off my length. She’s mine. A prized possession. The thought should bother me. I’m not a man built for commitment; my life will never be picket fences or quiet normalcy, but this—she—feels right, and I’ve never second-guessed myself.

Sweat drips from my chest onto her spine, and I lean over her, biting the junction of her neck and shoulders, causing her to stiffen. She sobs something out I can’t quite understand, but two words are clear: don’t stop.

She’s coming again as my balls smack her ass, bouncing off with each hard stroke, and I have to fight to keep moving against her tight clamp. I’m close as she drips down the base of my dick and over the piercing there, fucking her now to chase my own release. And the harder I pound, the more she babbles words that make no sense because I’m lost to the feel of her tight, wet heat. How her hands reach for mine on her hips, fingernails breaking the skin of my wrists, and it’s that slight sting of pain—how mine she is in that moment—that causes my cock to swell, and I flood her pretty little cunt with thick ropes of come, pumping it in deep with my continuous strokes.

Our combined mess spills out around my shaft as I lift her off the rope before lowering us down with her curled in my lap. I’m still semi-hard; one time will never be enough, but for now, I continue to pump lazily. Enjoy the feel of my spend being pushed out, some sliding back in, with each slow roll of my hips.

Genesis doesn’t complain. Her sweaty little body is limp against mine, breathing slowing and eyelids heavy. Reminds me of her first visit to the compound. How tired she was then.

“Rest, little Pocket Doc. I got you,” I murmur against her temple, pressing a kiss there. In response, she makes a small, tired sound and lets her eyes fully close. A sign that she trusts me, and I won’t let her down. “I’ll order dinner. You won.”

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