Page 50 of Sullied Saints

His words send a sharp bolt of electricity down to my thighs, centering where I’m tingling and aching at once. Capturing both of my hands once again, Dirk flicks his thumb over my nipple, the nub pulled taught and oversensitive to the stimulation from how he pins my arms. I swallow the noise that threatens to gasp from the back of my throat. “I liked that noise. Make it again,” he orders, low and dangerous.

I try not to, but when he pinches my nipple, rolling it between his finger and thumb, my mouth falls open. Fast enough to elicit a squeak from me, Dirk’s hand snaps up, catching my chin instead, thumb sliding between my lips and teeth. He’s salty against my tongue, and I bite down until he uses the hold to tilt my head up. “Now, not too hard. Be good.”

I feel so utterly open, exposed to him, at the mercy of his body and his desires, and I want more. My breath hisses out fast around his thumb, into his palm, my hips arching, finding the hard rod of him against my pubic bone. I suck his thumb and am rewarded by the sound of his breath faltering.

By his hips alone, he guides his cock against my opening, lingering there, almost tickling against my wetness as his head brushes me.

“Still don’t want it?” He tilts his lips against my ear.

My heel slides on the bed as I lift my hips towards him, inviting. And I shake my head.

“Mmm, good.”

Dirk thrusts into me, filling me so completely and so suddenly that I’m glad for his thumb in my mouth, as I’m sure the noise I make could wake up even the neighbours otherwise. My knee hitches over his hip, arms tense where he holds them still, and he presses deep inside me, sliding his thumb from my mouth. Lips brushing mine as he whispers, “Shh now,” again, against my mouth.

I think my eyes roll back in my head as he starts moving, grating against me, slowly at first, his soft curse sifting through my hair as he buries his face in the side of my neck. “Fuck, you’re so hot around me. That’s good, good girl, taking me so well…”

Whimpering, head tipped back, my lip is caught between my teeth as I suppress all the noises he knows I want to make.

I’m left deprived when he pulls out for long enough to put a condom on one-handed, never relieving his hold on my hands. He wants me pinned, helpless, almost as much as I want to be pinned and helpless. I could get my ire up that he’d planned to have sex tonight all along, evidenced by the presence of the condom, but I’m not even mad. And besides, right now, all I want is him back inside me.

The angle of him hits me again as he slides back deep, his thrusting immediately rubbing me on the inside and the out. It’s going to drive me mad. “Dirk, God, fuck…” I’m not sure what I wanted to say, but that’s what comes out.

“You want it now, huh?” there’s a sharpness to his voice, cruel, on his own edge, which makes me tighten around him.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I’m gasping, forgetting it all, the noises I can’t make, the game we were playing, as the promise of orgasm looms.

His movements roughen, more needy as my legs widen, hips jolting up to meet him, forcing the climax to hit me. That’s his cue, at last, to release as well, breathing out a curse, thrusting harder and rougher into me, his free hand gripping my ass hard enough to bruise.

Pouring through me, his pleasure heightens my own, as his groans mingle with my cries of release. Everything falls away, and for these blissful moments, we’re conscious of nothing but each other’s body, the point where we’re connected.

We climax together, heightened by each other’s ecstasy, and come back down together in the afterburn of pleasure, still wrapped around each other, to fall asleep.

***

We leave before dawn. May apparently doesn’t generally wake up until around midday, so we’d made our goodbyes last night, to leave in time to get back to work this morning. The sun is glowing golden through the passenger side window, a brief morning respite before the sleet and snow close over again. The roads are mostly empty at this time of morning, and we make good time back into the dark looming hulk of Tregam.

We stop by Dirk’s apartment for a change of clothes.

Sitting at the kitchen bar for a minute while he downs a coffee—neither of us got much sleep—I comment, "You know, we're not exactly meeting in the middle on this 'whose place to go to' thing."

"My place is fancier," he says, putting his cup down. He's shirtless, making him harder to argue with.

"Not by that much."

He looks me in the eye, much too alert compared to me. "My place wasn't once home to bitch-crazy killer."

I grimace.

"Doesn't it give you the creeps?"

"Well," I shrug, "I guess, but it’s cheap. If I moved, it'd have to be with another roommate, and that would give me the creeps even more.” I could afford to live alone, like Dirk. But barely. We may work the same job, but he never took a three-year hiatus and so the dip in his pay, and on top of that, I’m still paying off the remains of the mortgage I got with Caleb, the part that the house reclaim didn’t cover.

It’s shit, sure, but considering what Caleb really was, how things could have ended up, I’ll take the repayments for something I don’t even own. Soon, another year, and I’ll be clear.

Pulling a face, Dirk serves me an egg on toast, then braces his hands on the benchtop. "I don't want you to have a roommate."

Giving him a look, I ask, "Why? Because that would make sex on the couch awkward?"

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