Something in my voice, or maybe just the words, has him moving. He doesn’t go far though, thank God. He peers up at me in the early morning light and rasps, “You’re a virgin?”
“I was waiting for you.”
His eyes flare at that. “I swear you’re not real. I’m going to wake up and you’re not here—”
I grab his hand and shove it between my legs. It’s crass and crude, but I whisper, “Do I feel like a dream?”
“You feel like paradise,” he grinds out. I feel sure he’s going to move his hand, but he doesn’t. He just cups me there. Holding me in place.
Then his finger moves, dancing lightly over me, and I moan, unable to contain the sound, unable to contain the desire ramming me between the eyes.
For so long, I wanted this.
For so long, I’ve needed this.
And now he’s here, and I feel like he’s going to give me what I’ve been looking for.
Him.
When he rolls between my legs, I still, not wanting to scare him away. I feel like he’s the one in need of soothing. I’m the virgin, I’m the one who needs to be coddled like a fractious horse refusing to be mounted, but he’s the one who will fly away if I’m not careful.
My words reached him last night—I know they did. But in the cold light of morning, things change.
I know that just like I know I’m his.
His dick pushes against me, the thick weight settling between my spread lips with the thin shield of cotton separating us. I can feel the pressure against my clit, and it makes me want to rock my hips.
We both hiss when he presses harder into me, and he settles most of his body atop mine.
His arms go to either side of my head, and he peers down at me, surrounding me in him.
I’ve never known anything like it. It’s overwhelming, almost scary, but it’s Savio. He might be a killer, but he’s my killer.
My Savio. My sinner. My seeker of redemption.
He seems to pick up on that, because he rumbles, “You’re not scared of me at all, are you?”
I’m not sure why he sounds surprised. “You’re the one who thinks I’m crazy. Maybe you should be thankful for small mercies?”
His eyes narrow. “You’re a cheeky little thing, aren’t you?”
Tongue-in-cheek, I tell him, “In America, we say I’m a smartass.”
“Your ass is something, but I wouldn’t say it’s smart.”
“What is it then?” I pout.
“Biteable.”
I grin at him. “Okay, I can deal with that.”
“I’m not sure I can,” he whispers. His forehead pushes into mine, and his words floor me—he’s vulnerable, and I instantly want to protect him. From himself. “I’m not sure I can do this.”
“I can feel how much you want me.” And the truth of that makes me feel like I’m naked, luxuriating as I lie and writhe upon a silk sheet.
Only, nothing can feel this good.
Nothing.
No one.
“My vows... we’ll be breaking them together.”
I hum. “The vows we break... sounds like the title of a romance novel.”
He cuts me a look. “Let’s add facetious to smartass. I’m being serious.”
“I know you are. And so am I. You wouldn’t break vows for just any woman, would you? You’d break them for the woman who belongs in a romance novel with you.”
He shakes his head. “Crazy.”
“Crazy for you,” I tell him cheerfully, then, when he grunts, and the vibration seems to rattle through my body thanks to his proximity, a breathless moan escapes me. “There’s strength in owning what makes you you.” When he grows tense, I’m not sure why, so I reason that making myself vulnerable to him evens things out. “I-I’m twenty-nine years old, Savio, and I’ve been waiting for you since I was seventeen.
“I’d really, really appreciate it if you made a decision, because if you don’t, then I need to go shower.”
He blinks. “Why?”
“Well, it’s morning. That’s when you shower. But they always have cold showers in the movies, don’t they?”
“I’m a priest. I lived chastely for over a decade. Cold showers don’t work. Trust me.”
His use of the past tense has the hair on the back of my neck standing on edge.
“Did you ever touch yourself?” I ask shyly.
“No. After Algeria, sex wasn’t something I craved anymore.”
“You’re hard now,” I point out. God, is he ever. His dick is like a brand against my sex. I didn’t imagine anything could beat the feel of his arms around me, but this? It’s a close won thing, that’s for sure.
“You’re crazy. Apparently, I like that in a woman.”
“Your woman,” I correct.
He shakes his head again—he does that a lot. But he corrects himself, even though his voice is low, a rumble, a mutter even, like he can’t believe he’s saying it, “My woman.”
For a second, I want to explode with happiness, but I don’t.
I won’t until we’ve broken his vows.
Only then will I know he means it.
Only then will it be cemented that this is fated.
“You’ve really never slept with a man?”
“Never,” I tell him promptly.
“Fuck,” he rasps. “I’m so glad about that, but I want to fuck you, Andrea. I want to fuck you and devour you and—”
I lift my legs, wrapping them around his hips and holding him tightly to me. “Take what you need. I can handle it.”
“I thought you didn’t lie?” He rolls his eyes at that, so I roll them back.
“I want you however you want me. Please, don’t deny me that.”
My words affect him, and he releases a slow, shuddery breath before he lets our mouths connect.
He’s hesitant at first, but so am I. I’ve never been kissed. Never made love. Never done anything. This is all my firsts going down at once, and he’s gentle with me, like he knows that too. Maybe I’m a shit kisser, maybe I’m—
His tongue thrusts into my mouth, and all thought escapes me. I let him take charge, but he coaxes me into kissing him too.
It’s awkward and weird, but it feels really good at the same time. I didn’t know to expect that. I didn’t understand what I was missing out on, but was I missing out on anything when it wasn’t Savio I’d have been kissing?
I rock my hips up, loving the feel of his dick rubbing against my softness, and then he pulls back and begins to press kisses to my cheekbone, down my chin, to my throat, and to my ear.
As he nibbles my earlobe, he mutters, “I need to move.”
I don’t complain, just release him from my clasp, knowing he won’t go anywhere now. I can feel his resolve. Something I did or said has convinced him I’m his future.
I just know it.
He moves away and stares down at me. I wish it was midday so he could see all of me and I could see all of him.
With his hands pushing into the mattress, his weight removed, he rumbles, “I need you not to make any noise, Andrea.”
Comprehension strikes, and it’s like a hammer blow to my soul.
The women.
The last time he heard sounds of sex, it was rape. Gang rape. Of a child.
Dear God.
My pleasure sounds must be different, but he’s traumatized.
I get that.
So I nod.
Even though I know it’s going to be hard.
“Do you want me to gag you?”
My mouth trembles at the thought, and I want to say no, because I want him to kiss me, but also, I know I won’t be able to stop myself from moaning.
Now that I think about it, the reason he woke up last night was because I whimpered.
Fuck.
“O-Okay,” I rasp.
He releases a relieved breath. “Thank you.” When he clambers off the bed, I see the shirt he’s wearing is soaked through once more. I don’t understand w
hat he does to make himself bleed so much. I’ve seen things during my research. Watched a lot of BDSM porn for a book I was writing—the skin never breaks that much.
I vow to destroy whatever barb-laced whip he uses on himself, because I fear that even with me at his side, he’ll never not be able to self-harm.
But he doesn’t have to bleed so much.
I want all of him, but I prefer his blood inside him rather than on me.
Well, sometimes.
When his back is turned, and just in case he changes his mind while he’s over there, I strip off my cami and my panties. I move quick, too fast really. It makes me see spots, but when I lay back down, they soon disperse.
When he turns around, something balled in his hand, his eyes alight upon me.
And he freezes.
But his erection slips out of his boxer briefs, pushing at the elastic, throbbing until it frees itself.
My heart starts to pound at the sight, and I do as I did last night.
Touch myself.
The sight has him tensing, and his mouth snarls somehow.
For the first time, I see him as the predator he is.
And I bask in it.
I’m his willing prey.
I’m his willing victim.
I thrust a finger inside myself, unused to the touch, a little achy because of it, but I do it because I know it will incite him further.
Somehow, he looks bigger. Harder.
Meaner.
And I love it.
I want the sinner and the saint.
I want both.
In me.
On me.
I almost groan, but I remember just in time. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet. I have to be quiet—it’s a litany in my head.
I must have released a noise, though, because it pushes him into action. For a second, I fear he’ll leave me, but he doesn’t. He storms over to me and takes a seat at my side. Carefully, he raises my head, letting his fingers brush over my hair, and my scars, then as he tips it up, he bites out, “Open your mouth.”
I obey, and he pops what I see is a handkerchief into it.
The cotton feels funny against my tongue, but it’s worth it when he rumbles, “Good girl.”
I like that.
I don’t know why I do, but I do.
His hand gently lowers my head to the pillow, then he lets go and begins to trail fingers over my shoulders down to my breasts.
“What am I going to do with you?”
It isn’t the first time he’s asked me that, but I can’t answer. The fabric is thick in my mouth.
One hand moves down between my legs where he runs his fingers over my outer folds, and the other goes to my nipple.
He pinches it hard, and when I squeal, the noise is dampened by the cloth but not fully, triggering him to tap my pussy.
I jerk at that, not having anticipated it, but somehow?
It feels like fire has just combusted in my veins.
It’s roaring through my body, raging through my system.
“You like that,” he rasps. “I can see you do.”
He pats me again, and I don’t moan, but I feel how wet I am suddenly. The tap is more of a splat, and before I can be embarrassed, he rolls onto his back.
Though I see the flash of pain cross his expression, he grates out, “Sit on my face.”
Sit on his face?
What on Earth?
Before I can hesitate too long, he growls, then hauls me up.
Within seconds, I’m sitting over him, my knees on either side of his head.
This can’t be—
This isn’t—
Oh, God!
A scream throttles me, robbing me of air, choking me of breath as I struggle to contain it. His tongue lashing against my clit is like everything I never expected, and nothing I could have imagined.
It’s fire and ice, pleasure and pain. He sucks, he nips, he licks. He growls and grunts, the vibrations making me throb with delight and wonder, even as he makes me think this might be hell.
How can something be this good and hurt so bad?
How can I want it, but need something that’s so far out of reach I don’t know how to attain it?
The sounds he emits, the slickness of my flesh, it makes my head pound. The spots return, dancing in front of my eyes, only not in a bad way.
In a way that’s heaven sent.
My hands hover at my side as I try to figure out what to do with them, and in the end, I plunk them on the wall above the bed.
When I almost loosen the crucifix, I tense, but before I can worry if it’s going to plop down and smack him, he sucks on my clit and makes the most delicious noise—like I’m a fudge ice cream sundae and I’m the best he’s ever had.
I think my eyes cross, and suddenly, what I was reaching for is so close.
That I have to be silent, mute, is a torture so exquisite I don’t know if it makes this more enjoyable or not.
It’s painful not to be able to cry out, not to be able to shriek the glory of how he makes me feel, what he’s forcing me to experience.
I never expected this.
I thought the first time would be shameful for him, that he’d have sex with me and then roll away, abashed.
But he isn’t unwilling.
He’s not the priest right now. He’s the sin eater, and he’s eating me.
I almost melt into him as I’m bombarded with so many sensations I don’t know where to turn. Then, a finger slips inside me, and that’s it.
Game over.
How I don’t scream, I’ve no idea.
It throbs in my throat until I feel like I’m suffocating, and for a few seconds, maybe I am.
Maybe I’m choking on air, because the need to release all these wonderfully chaotic feelings is overwhelming me.
But then, just as it starts to overtake everything, it’s ratcheted up another level until I feel like I can fly.
When the orgasm slams into me? I crumple. My bones melt, my body turns to goo. I flop into the wall, and still, he eats at me like he’s ravenous for my pussy, and God help me, but I hope he is.
I can feel the crucifix knocking into my face, the cold gilt burning me for my sins, and I turn my face away, but not enough.
It’s there.
Just as he is.
Always.
God guiding me, forever, to Savio.
A keening sound is torn from me as I’m forced up the mount to bliss once more, but he stops the second I make that noise, and I tense as the realization I fucked up hits me square in the heart.
His fingers dig into my butt, hard enough to mark, but I like the pain. I love that he’ll have marked me.
Out of nowhere, I’m pushed off him, and just as I fear he’s going to storm off, I’m thrown over his lap. One of his legs comes over both of mine, and his hand comes down on my butt.
He delivers sharp, hard slaps that make me squirm on his knee. Nine in total, each harder than the last. Then, he leans down, takes some of my flesh between his teeth and bites down hard enough to make me squeal.
I almost choke on my tongue, but when he moves his leg, changing my position so only one of mine is held down by his, I’m not surprised that his fingers go to my cunt.
He spears me on two digits, scissoring them wide, and with his other hand, he starts spanking me once more.
The cold, hard slaps, the thrust of his fingers, it’s nothing like I thought my first time would be, and while there are tears in my eyes, it’s from happiness.
Each spank triggers a sweet release that has me creaming around his fingers.
Each hard thrust makes me squirm and rock back into his punishment.
I did the crime, I’ll more than gladly do the time.
When he pulls out, then starts tapping my pussy, I barely refrain from groaning. Staying silent is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
And I just had brain surgery.
So, yeah, tha
t tells you how impossible this feels.
I shudder instead, forcing the pleasure back inside me until my muscles turn to goo once more.
As an orgasm rips through me, I have no place to go, nowhere I’d rather be, than impaled on a part of him.
When I fall lax, limp on his lap, his hand, wet from my juices, drifts over my butt and to my back.
They trace over my wings, making me shiver, the skin pucker with goose flesh, and I arch my spine a little, needing to move as that delicate touch forces me to respond.
When I’ve stopped panting, he rights me, propping me up once more until I’m sitting on his lap, and when I am, he twists me to straddle his thighs, and I spread my legs so that his cock nudges against my pussy.
He reaches between us, all the while his eyes are on me, and grabs his dick. When he pushes it into me, I tense, because he’s thick and I’m small, but slowly, my slick pussy accepts him.
Just the tip.
I take a deep breath, force myself to open up to him in all things, then take as much of him as I can in this position.
I’ve never felt so open, so exposed until that moment, and I’ve been in surgery. I’ve had people helping me do the most menial tasks that everyone takes for granted until we’re no longer able.
This is the most vulnerable I’ve ever been in my whole life, and I could think of no other person I want to be like this with than Savio.
He stuns me by surging onto his feet, one arm banded under my butt, the other at my hips, prompting me to grip him around the waist and squeeze him tightly. When he walks us to the door, his dick moves, doing weird things inside me that have me squirming, as well as make me slide down him so I’m impaled on him more. I half expect him to walk us to the shower or something, but he doesn’t.
He goes over to the wall beside the dresser and he turns around.
Then he walks back until his spine is against it.
My brow furrows when I see pain flash over his face, and though I want to protest, the strangest wave of emotion crosses his features.
Sweet oblivion.
It’s like a high. I can see it in his eyes. The pinpricks of his pupils.
“Ride me,” he says thickly.
I want to, I love that he feels that way, that he can find freedom in my body, but I’m a frickin’ virgin.
It’s not like I’ve ever done this before.
The Vows We Break: A Twisted Taboo Tale Page 15