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Fuck. Me.
“Your blood.”
She doesn’t flinch. “My blood?”
“Yup.” I pop the letter at the end.
“Now I want yours.”
I pause, intertwining her fingers with mine and bringing them up to my mouth. I bite down on her index finger. “That’s not even the worst part.”
“I assumed so,” she said, her eyes glassing over as she watches my tongue flick over her finger.
“Can you guess where this blood is from, Dea?”
She licks the bottom of her lip and my stomach drops to the ground. If this turns her on, I’m going to fucking pass out. “Probably.”
I chuckle, grazing one of my canines down the inside of her finger. “Still love me?”
“Worse,” she says, her throat flexing when she swallows. “I want you to fuck me.” I see fucking red. I pick her up from the backs of her thighs and she wraps them around my waist as I back her up to sit on the headstone behind her. My mouth is on hers in an instant, because fuck, who would have thought I’d love kissing so much. With her, it’s different. She raises her hips up and grinds against the swell in my pants. “Brantley. Hard and fast. Please,” she begs into my mouth. Between her sweet kisses and the gentleness of her tongue, she whispers something fucking gnarly and I Eat. It. Up.
“Hard and fast, huh?” I say, grabbing at the waistband of her pants and yanking them down. She raises her hips up quickly, while forcing the button of my jeans off and pulling down the zipper. She rubs her hand over my cock and I groan, biting her bottom lip as my fingers find their way to her middle. I brush my thumb over her clit, down her slit, and increase pressured circles.
Her head falls forward onto my chest. “Brantley. Fuck me. I’m serious.”
I grab my cock and direct it over her wet slit while my other hand tangles in her hair, tugging it back so she looks at me. “Seeing your virginity on my neck turns you on?”
She bites down on her lip.
“Admit what it made you feel like and I’ll fuck you so hard my cock will think it has a new home.” I rub the tip against her clit, ignoring how wet she’s dripping off me. “Truth, Saint.”
She moans. “Yes! Okay! Yes! It turns me on.”
I squeeze the back of her neck and force her lips to mine. “Why?”
“Oh my God, Brantley,” she whimpers, directing herself closer to my cock. I’m going to fucking explode if I carry on, but what can I say, I’m a masochist.
“Why?” I repeat, teasing the entrance of her tight gap.
“Because I’ve marked you! You’re mine. Just mine.”
Sweat spills from my temples and drips down my neck, over the pulsing veins that are prodding through my skin. I grab her by her ass cheeks and slam inside so fast she screams. “Good answer.” Pulling out, I drive into her hard and fast, just as she wanted, biting down on her neck to silence my own groans. I’m fucking obsessed with her. Everything she is I will always be. I know this. I fucking married her. She’s mine. I grab onto her throat and squeeze as I pick up the pace. Her body bounces off mine hard as cries of pleasure leave her soft lips. Her walls clench around my throbbing cock, licking the rim like a fucking suction vise. I know my obsession with her is deadly. I’ll kill people. My friends. The old fucking lady walking down the street. Suddenly, my kill code is faulty when it comes to her safety. If anyone so much as breathes near her in a threatening way, I’ll fucking kill them. Her legs tighten around my waist as I lick the blood on her neck.
She lets out one more soft whimper as she throbs around my dick. Just as she’s coming down, I pull out slowly and slam into her so hard her teeth clatter. And then again. Tears pool in the corner of her eyes when I unleash all of my anger, my resentment, my fucking feelings for her until the intoxicating explosion erupts around my balls, shooting through my veins.
We stay like this for a few more seconds, until we catch our breath, then I slowly, and not willingly, pull out of her, tossing her pants to her first before tugging up mine.
“I’m obsessed with you,” I say, keeping my eyes on hers while tucking my still hard dick back into my jeans. “And that should terrify you.”
Saint
There was an old clock in the center of the room. I couldn’t see it. But I could hear it. The distinct sound of time running out. A reminder that no matter how untouchable we thought we were, time was the one thing that could reach through at any given moment and take us. Like a Grim Reaper, gliding through purgatory and choosing his next victims.
