Page 38 of Saint Valentine

She settled back next to me, face to face.

She didn’t wait for me to make the first move. Her lips crashed into mine, her tongue sliding into my mouth like she owned it, and I groaned, low and deep, as I pressed my body against hers, craving the heat of her skin. She was everywhere—her hands tangled in my hair, nails scraping my scalp, her fingers trailing down my chest, leaving fire in their wake. Her hips ground against mine, her breath hot and ragged against my neck as she whispered my name like a prayer.

I let her take the lead, let her set the pace, because if I took control now, I’d ruin it. I’d lose myself in her, fuck her raw, and she’d stop. I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

But then her hand wrapped around mine, guiding it between her legs, and fuck—she was soaked. Slick and hot, her pussy clenched around my fingers as I slid them inside her, and I nearly lost it right then. She was so tight, so fucking wet, and the way she moaned my name, her head falling back, her body arching into my touch—it was too much. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

I flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath me, my hand gripping her jaw as I kissed her hard, deep, like I was trying to devour her. Her moan vibrated against my lips, sending a shiver down my spine, straight to my cock, which was so hard it hurt. I was already gone, lost in her, every inch of me aching to be inside her, to feel her wrapped around me.

She spread her legs wider, inviting me in, and I hooked one over my arm, pressing into her. I had to grit my teeth, my eyes slamming shut as I felt her—so fucking tight, so warm, so perfect. She gasped my name, her nails digging into my shoulders, her hips lifting to meet mine, and I knew I was done for.

“Saint,” she breathed, her voice trembling, her body shaking beneath me.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when she was looking at me like that—like I was everything, like she needed me as much as I needed her. I started slow, savoring the way she felt around me, the way her pussy gripped me like she never wanted to let go. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed all of her.

I gripped her hips, pulling her closer as I thrust deeper, harder, until she was gasping, her head thrashing against the pillows, her fingers clawing at the sheets. Her moans were like music, her body a fucking masterpiece, and I was completely consumed by her, by the way she felt, the way she sounded, the way she looked—her eyes dark with pleasure, her lips swollen from my kisses, her skin glistening with sweat.

“Look at me,” I growled, my voice rough, desperate. I needed to see her eyes, needed her to see me, to know who was fucking her, who owned her.

Her eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused. I kissed her again, swallowing her cries as I pushed her closer to the edge, my own release building with every thrust.

“Grip me, tighter. I’m about to cum,” she whined, her voice breaking, her body trembling beneath me.

I tightened my embrace, holding her close as I fucked her harder, deeper, until she came undone, her pussy clenching around me, screamed my name.

“Tell me you love me,” I demanded, my voice low, rough, as I felt my own release building, ready to spill inside her.

She was trembling, her body slick with sweat, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She was lost, completely gone, and I wasn’t sure she even knew what she was saying.

“I love you,” she parroted, a reflex. Her nails cut into my back, dragging through my flesh, leaving behind a sting.

Say it, again. "I want to hear you say it while you I cum in you.”

She gasped, her legs tightening around my waist, and when she finally whispered it—"I love you,"

"Eyes on me," I snapped, dragging my hand down her body, My hand found her neck. My fingers flexed around her throat.

Her eyes flew open.

"Saint..." she gasped, and fuck, the way she said my name made my dick twitch.

"Tell me how good I make you feel."

"You do—" she did as I said, but I needed more.

"No," I rasped. "Tell me you fucking love me again."

"I love you," she moaned,

I exhaled hard.

"That’s my good girl," I praised, pushing deeper, gripping her waist.

“I Love you, Saint.”

My heart stuttered. Those four words from her lips without me telling her to say them—whether she meant them or not—sent me over the edge, my vision blurred as I buried myself deep inside her, my breath ragged against her skin.

For a moment, neither of us moved. The only sound in the room was our breathing, harsh and uneven. I rolled off of her. She moved so her head rested on my chest.

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