Page 95 of Savior

I move quickly to seal my lips over his cock and capture each pulse of cum, eyes on him as I swallow all of it down like his good girl.

The thought leaves a pang of guilt and shame behind, but I shove it to the side as his loud, drawn-out moans make my pussy throb for more.

But there can’t be more.

Even the things we’ve done are wrong.

I can never touch him the way I want to. I can’t be the one who makes him fall from grace.

I won’t be.

When he comes to, he tugs his cock from my mouth and moves to the edge of the bed.

He’s hanging his head in his hands, breathing like he’s heading toward a panic attack.

I move behind him, wrapping my arms around him the best I can and laying my head on his back.

“No one will know,” I say, telling him repeatedly until I hear his breathing even out, panic washing away under my comfort.

“No one will know,” he finally repeats.

When he leaves the room, it’s all I can do not to shatter along with his footsteps that draw away from where I’m breaking to bits of myself on my bed. He’s untouchable, and I knew that from the moment I met him.

The things that we’ve done, the moments we’ve both allowed, are a cardinal sin, and we need to erect stronger walls against letting the Devil in. Taller ones.

Or it’s going to ruin us both.

After takinga long shower and getting dressed, the clock on the wall tells me it’s past noon. Luca is nowhere to be found. After cleaning up my half-eaten plate of food and cold coffeefrom my room, I make a fresh cup from the pot that’s still warming and stand before the open door that leads out into the yard.

A breathtaking chill is breezing past, and the rain has slowed to a steady drip that hits the trees surrounding the cabin and leaves behind a melody that soothes my nervous soul.

“Godforsaken animal!” I hear Luca shout, and I startle.

Leaning forward, I peek out of the cabin and see him slamming the door on the chicken coop, scowling at whatever creature has vexed him.

He looks so unguarded when he’s like this. Alone and unknowing.

“What happened?” I call, and he turns us, eyes peppering with awareness.

He scrubs his hand through his silver hair as a blush fills his cheeks.

“There’s a rooster in there that could guard the gates of hell if he ever tires of his day job.”

I smile.

I know nothing about chickens or animals because I grew up in the city. Slumming it on the sidewalk with the vagrants of Brooklyn doesn’t earn you much firsthand knowledge of roosters. Other than the general awareness one gets from my limited education before I dropped out.

“Aren’t roosters supposed to be mean?” I shout back.

He shuffles over, boots covered in mud and anger still reeling on his beautiful face.

He’s got a bucket in one hand that likely has all the eggs he could get before the rooster chased him off. The other hand points back to the coop.

“He’s more of an ass than I think is required,” he counters.

I fight a smirk, not wanting him to feel as though I’m mocking him. Even though I wholeheartedly am. His faceis etched with severe lines denoting how much the rooster’s behavior has genuinely affected him.

“He’s protecting his ladies,” I offer.

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