Page 38 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
"Okay," I whisper, wiggling back against his cock and getting this low, half-pained growl in response. "But are you sure you only want me to stitch you up?" I wiggle again, and West's hands clamp down hard on my hips. His face is all sweaty, his dark green hair plastered to his forehead, but there's nothing wrong with the rigid length of his cock.
"If that's all I wanted …" he begins, spearing me with a harsh look at the same time I lift up off his lap and push my already slick pussy back against the head of his dick. "Then I wouldn't have asked Mace and Colt to leave."
As soon as I'm in place, Weston pushes my hips down and impales me on his shaft, drawing this pathetic little mewling sound from my throat. Blood bubbles up and out of the wound on his shoulder, crimson liquid trickling down the front of his hard chest. I smear it with my hand as I move to grab hold of his muscular upper arms, fingers curling over the beautiful ink etched into his skin.
There's a dragon on one side, and several lines of kanji on the other. But that's not the most remarkable part of Weston in that moment. Instead, I can feel several piercings rubbing all the right places inside of me, bits of metal enhancing the wide, thick warmth of his cock.
Once again, I forgot to have an adult conversation before foregoing a condom.
Shit, whatever, I like to live dangerously. And my life … I don't expect to keep living it for much longer. Maybe I'm not at all sure that I want to? No, I'll take pleasure wherever I can get it.
"You're pierced," I whisper as I push even further down the length of him. "In multiple spots," I add with a small, choking laugh. The squeezing of my inner muscles makes West grunt as he reaches down to my hand and puts my fingers back on his wound. Apparently, I'm still holding the needle.
"Do it," he coughs, "while I'm still riding the high of being inside of you."
I swallow hard and take another look at the GSW, my head spinning from the pleasure of being stretched taut, filled, fucked. I should stitch this wound up as fast as I can, so I can ride Weston … or see if he's feeling okay enough to flip me over and ride me.
Before I can question my own mettle, I shove the needle into his skin and his breath hisses out in a rush. I aim to make tight, narrow stitches, sealing the flesh back together without getting too close to the edges. I don't want them to tear out down the road. As I work, West clenches and unclenches his hands on my hips, his breathing ragged and broken, rife with pain.
As I do my work, he grabs a bottle of booze from the side table and takes a long, hearty sip, passing it to me. I take it in my right hand and drink my fair share, totally loving this moment. There's the metallic copper scent of blood, the fiery burn of the whiskey, and the thick heat of Weston's shaft. It's a blur of strangely beautiful sensations, made so real and crisp by the lack of drugs in my system. Where I'm at in my life, a little bit of booze isn't going to do shit but calm my nerves.
"There," I say, tying off the thread and setting the needle aside. "All done."
"Fuck, that's tight," West says, giving me a sly look that says he's not just talking about the stitches. "So much better than if Mace did it. Hurt less, quicker, and I might not even have a scar."
"So, I deserve a reward then?" I ask, sweeping his hair off his sweaty forehead. He looks tired, but okay, not like he's about to keel over anytime soon. Good thing that, since he's buried deep inside of me. I rock my hips experimentally and West groans, bucking up and slamming our pelvises together.
"You're the one who's supposed to be nursing me back to health?" West whispers, his voice low and thick with sex. "How about you take care of me now and as soon as I'm feeling up to it, I'll come and show you what I can do?" He reaches up and takes a handful of my brunette hair and the fabric of my habit, wrapping it around his fist and making me yelp as he jerks me toward him and takes my mouth, his piercings bumping my lip as he thrusts his tongue between them.
I can't help the sounds that escape me, these wild noises of abandon that pour out like a symphonic sound of sin, tainting the walls of the church. I'm not a quiet girl, never have been, and I wonder if any of these noises are leaking out into the hall, teasing the other boys, or drifting through the walls and tainting the ears of poor old church ladies.
