Page 102 of Wicked Vile King
I shove them into her mouth, letting her taste her orgasm. As she comes back down, she licks them clean.
I can't wait anymore. I untangle myself from my jeans and kick off my boots. I throw my shirt off last, and I manage one stroke, root to tip, before I'm on the verge of coming, and I can't, not yet.
I climb over her, biting her lip as I bottom out inside of her. Her chest is slick with blood, and her nails rake across my back.
"Fuck," I grit from between my teeth. "You're tight."
I clench my ass and start to move, thrusting in and pulling back out. I'm not slow, but five strokes in, and I'm rutting her like a goddamned animal. We slip in the blood and slide across the floor until we're both covered in it, and when we kiss, there's the zing of copper pennies.
"Saint," she mewls as I ravage her, pounding into her pussy hard and fast, crushing her breasts to my chest.
The air smells like death and her cum.
I hope Cross can see us from hell fucking each other like heathens.
"Fuck," I groan again, gripping her hips tight to drive in deeper when my balls tighten, and I clench my ass even harder, trying to stave off my release.
Thrust.
"Fuck."
Thrust.
"Fuck."
I grab her leg behind her thigh and hike it up between us. It's so deep this way, and my balls hit her ass as she starts to shake.
I stare down at her, my blue eyes locked on her brown, blood painting her skin, and explode, pinning her to the blood-stained floor as I thrust deep and defile her perfect walls with my cum.
28
WILLOW
Ican feel his heart beating in his chest as he lies on top of me, taking most of his weight on his forearms.
Tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
It's proof that he has one, not that I need proof.
He killed for me. He saved me. He loves me in his own way, and that's enough. It has to be.
"Willow," he murmurs, lifting a hand to wipe my matted hair away from my forehead. He looks down at me, and his eyes pierce straight through me, bright blue against the inky black of his hair and the crimson of the blood smeared across his cheeks and nose.
"Are you okay?" he asks. It's not a question about me, and we both know it. Am I okay with him? Am Iafraidof him?
"I'm okay," I answer.
Something I haven't seen before crosses over his face, relief and another thing, something that feels like . . . more.
I kiss him, hard and without warning. I throw everything into it, my love, my fear, my damn desperation. He deepens the kiss, his tongue swiping inside my mouth. He tastes like clove cigarettes and blood, and it ignites a burning inside of me as dark and depraved as what we just did. I hold onto him like I never want him to get up because I don't.
I want to stay here forever. Tucked away in his arms. Safe and warm.
I feel him growing hard again between my legs, and I plant a foot to the floor and tilt my hips, rolling him over. He lets me do it and watches me as I give him what he needs. I slap the floor near his head, bloodying my hand, and drag it over me, across my breasts, over my nipples, down my stomach, sullying myself even more for him.
His mouth falls open as he watches before I reach down between us and grab him. Between my legs, I stroke his cock, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth and spurring me on.
"What are you doing?" he asks, throwing his head back, his hips coming up off the floor to meet my touch.
