Page 142 of Savage Saint
"You," I gasp. "All of you. I need you to fuck me, Angelo. Please."
Something savage flashes in his eyes. "Since you asked so nicely."
He pulls his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and I whimper at the loss. But then he's crawling up my body, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that tastes like sex and possession.
"Taste yourself on my tongue," he commands against my lips. "Taste how fucking perfect you are."
I do, moaning into his mouth as he deepens the kiss. His cock is hard against my thigh, thick and hot and ready, and I reach down to wrap my fingers around him. He groans into my mouth, his hips bucking at my touch.
"Careful, Butterfly," he warns, his voice strained. "I'm barely holding on as it is."
"Then don't," I whisper, pumping him slowly, feeling him throb in my hand. "Don't hold on. Take me. Claim me. Make me yours in every way possible."
That breaks his control. He grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head as he positions himself at my entrance. For a moment, we just stare at each other, breathing hard, the head of his cock pressing against me teasingly.
"I love you," he says, his voice raw with emotion. "More than anything. More than life."
"I love you too," I breathe, and then he's pushing inside me, stretching me, filling me completely.
We both moan at the sensation, the fit of our bodies, the overwhelming intimacy of the moment. But this isn't gentle lovemaking. This is a claiming, pure and simple. This is marking each other in ways that go far deeper than skin.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Angelo groans, his hips snapping forward with controlled violence. "So tight, so perfect. Made for me."
"Yes," I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Made for you. Only you."
He sets a brutal pace, each thrust driving me higher, making me see stars. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by our moans and gasps and breathless words of devotion.
"Look at me," he commands, one hand leaving my wrists to grip my chin. "I want to see your face when you come. Want to watch you fall apart on my cock."
I meet his gaze, lost in the molten heat of his eyes. The fresh cuts on our hips burn where they press together, and Angelo shifts deliberately, making sure our infinity symbols align perfectly. Blood mingles between us—my blood, his blood, becoming ours.
"Feel that?" he growls, pressing our matching marks together more firmly. "Our blood mixing. Our marks touching. You're mine and I'm yours."
The sensation is everything, pain, pleasure, and completely primitive. We're literally bleeding together, sharing something deeper than just our bodies.
"Mine," Angelo pants, his rhythm becoming erratic. "Say it. Tell me you're mine."
"Yours," I cry out, feeling my orgasm building, threatening to destroy me. "Yours, always yours. For eternity."
"And I'm yours," he growls, his hand moving between us to find my clit. "Forever. Always. Until the day I fucking die."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the overwhelming sensation of him moving inside me pushes me over the edge. I come with a scream, my body arching beneath him as pleasure crashes over me in waves that seem endless.
Angelo follows seconds later, my name torn from his lips like a prayer as he buries himself deep and spills inside me. His body shudders against mine, and I hold him tight, never wanting to let him go.
But we're not done. Not even close.
As soon as we catch our breath, Angelo is moving again, his mouth trailing down my body, worshipping every inch of skin. He pays special attention to my fresh infinity symbol, his tongue tracing the bloody lines with reverent care.
"So beautiful," he murmurs against my hip. "My mark on you. My blood mixed with yours."
The sight of him licking my blood, of him worshipping the mark he put on me, sends another jolt of arousal through me. I'm still sensitive from my orgasm, but I want more. I always want more with him.
"Your turn," I gasp, pushing him onto his back despite his protests. "I want to worship you too."
I straddle his thighs, my hands roaming over his chest, his abs, the sharp lines of his hip bones. When I reach his fresh infinity symbol, I do exactly what he did to me—I trace it with my tongue, tasting copper and salt and something uniquely Angelo.
"Fuck, Kasia," he groans, his hands fisting in my hair. "You're going to kill me."
