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 what 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.