Page 87 of Savage Saint
"I want your cock inside me," I confess, my cheeks flushing with heat even as the words tumble out. "Deep and hard. I need to feel you stretching me, filling me completely."
He chuckles darkly, his lips brushing against my ear, sending electric shivers cascading down my spine. "You're in luck then, Butterfly. Because my cock has been weeping for you for fucking weeks."
He withdraws his fingers, and for a split second I want to cry, unable to bear the emptiness, with everything that's building inside me threatening to shatter. But then, sweet merciful God!He finally pushes inside me. Not gently or slowly. But filling me with one powerful, devastating thrust. He is big. Impossibly huge. And if I weren't so desperately turned on, I'd be genuinely worried he is splitting me in half.
But he had me balanced so precariously on the edge, I'm convulsing from my first orgasm by the time he pulls out and thrusts back in with punishing force. My body trembles violently beneath him as loud, unrestrained moans echo through the vast emptiness of his house. It's me—I'm moaning like a freaking porn star, coming apart on his cock, as he pumps into me with relentless precision, lifting my leg over his shoulder to drive even deeper, not stopping for even a heartbeat.
My first orgasm barely has time to fade before another one starts building instantly, a gathering storm of sensation that threatens to consume me entirely. The intensity of it steals my breath, making my vision blur at the edges as his powerful body moves above mine with primal determination.
"Fuck. I can't," I bite the side of my hand, desperate to muffle the sounds threatening to escape my throat. The pleasure is too intense, too overwhelming, like drowning in sensation. My body trembles beneath his, every nerve ending raw and exposed.
"You can, and you will," he demands, his voice a dark, velvet command that sends shivers through me. His thrusts become more urgent, more punishing, the sound of our bodies meeting filling the room as he drives deeper, harder. The tension inside me pulls impossibly tighter with each brutal stroke.
I bite down harder on my hand, tasting the metallic hint of blood as my body begins to quake uncontrollably. My eyes roll back, lashes fluttering against my cheeks as I fight against the approaching tidal wave.
Angelo growls, primal and possessive. His strong fingers encircle my wrist, yanking my arm away from my face with surprising gentleness despite his ferocity. His other hand gripsmy chin, forcing my gaze to his. His dark brown eyes burn into mine, pupils blown wide with lust and something deeper, something that makes my chest ache.
"Don't you fucking dare muffle your screams. They're mine. Every single one belongs to me. Understand?" His voice is rough, commanding, but there's a vulnerability there too, a need that matches my own.
"Y-eees," I attempt to answer, but the word fractures into a keening wail as another orgasm crashes through me with devastating force. My back arches off the bed, my body clenching around him so tightly it's almost painful. Pleasure radiates outward like a shockwave, leaving me gasping and shuddering.
"That's it, baby," he praises, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continues his relentless assault on my senses. My limbs feel heavy, useless, my body transformed to liquid heat around him. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me."
"Look at me," he demands, and I force my heavy eyelids open, unable to look away from the intensity in his gaze as he continues to move within me. Something passes between us, something raw and honest that terrifies me more than any physical vulnerability ever could. "So fucking perfect. Taking me so well." My nails dig crescents into the muscled plane of his back as he drives deeper, harder, continuing to whisper filthy praise against my ear, each word like a brand against my skin.
"One more," he growls against my lips, shifting his angle until I'm seeing stars, the head of his cock dragging mercilessly against that spot inside me that makes coherent thought impossible. "Give me one more."
"I can't," I gasp, tears of overstimulation gathering at the corners of my eyes. My body feels simultaneously hollow and too full, trembling on the precipice of something that might destroy me completely.
"You fucking can, Butterfly," he commands, the nickname somehow both tender and filthy on his lips. My body responds instantly to his authority, tingling all over with renewed need. When his calloused thumb finds my swollen clit and begins rubbing deliberate circles, it takes mere seconds for the third orgasm to build.
When it crashes over me, the world goes black for a moment, pleasure so intense it borders on pain, consuming me entirely. I scream his name like a prayer and a curse combined, my body convulsing around him as tears stream down my cheeks. I vaguely register his own release, the way he groans my name against my throat, his body tensing above mine before collapsing. In that moment of shared vulnerability, I feel something crack open inside me, something I've kept locked away for too long.
We lie tangled together, our breathing gradually syncing. His forehead presses against mine, and in that moment, there's perfect understanding between us. We're both killers. Both broken. Both healing.
For the first time that I can remember, I feel safe in someone's hands.
This. This feeling right here is something I could get used to.
Angelo's arms wrap around me, strong and secure. For just a moment, the world outside doesn't exist. There's just us, our bodies, our breath.
The peace lasts exactly forty-three seconds.
Angelo's phone blasts an obnoxious ringtone from somewhere on the floor, a harsh, intrusive sound that splits our bubble of serenity right down the middle.
"Fuck," Angelo mutters against my neck, his warm breath fanning across my skin. He doesn't move immediately, like he's weighing the consequences of ignoring the call.
The phone rings again, more insistent this time. With a frustrated growl, Angelo untangles himself from me and rolls off the bed in one fluid motion. I watch the muscles in his back flex as he bends to snatch the phone from the floor.
"What?" he barks into the receiver.
I pull the sheet up over my chest, suddenly cold without his body heat. The change in his posture is immediate. Shoulders tensing, jaw hardening. Whatever he's hearing, it's not good news.
"When?" Another pause. "How many?" His voice drops to that dangerous pitch that tells me someone's about to have a very bad day. "I'll be there in twenty."
He hangs up and stands motionless for a beat, his back to me.
"What's happened?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know.
