Page 18 of The Bane of a Sinner
I wasn’t melting; I was dissolving, every muscle surrendering to the hard planes of his body, the stark contrast of his strength against my trembling vulnerability. He tasted of salt and something darker, something primal.
This wasn’t the gentle adoration of a lover; it was a possession, thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
But I craved it.
I needed it.
My fingers tangled in his hair, the rough texture a stark counterpoint to the silken heat of his skin, and I pulled him down, deeper into the intoxicating chasm between us. He was dangerous, breathtakingly so, and in his arms, I wasn’t precious; I was conquered. And I loved it.
My mouth devoured his, a savage hunger driving my tongue deep, a brutal invasion. His skin, his breath, the faint metallic tang of fear and arousal mingling together sent a jolt of pure, electric need through me. I felt the brutal, thrilling hardness of his cock pressed against my hip, a pulse of raw power vibrating against my own frantic rhythm. His response was instantaneous, primal; a stark contrast to the carefully constructed façade he presented to the world. With me, he was a volcano, dormant only for a heartbeat before erupting in a torrent of raw, unfiltered desire. It had been this way from the first stolen glance, a wildfire igniting that threatened to consume us both, and I knew, with chilling certainty, it would burn until the very end. There was a dark, magnetic pull between us, a terrifying, exquisite need that defied logic, defied reason, defied everything but itself.
I ached for him, a visceral craving that clawed at my insides. One touch, a single brush of his calloused fingers against my skin, and I ceased to belong to myself. My body became hisinstrument, a vessel for his pleasure, a landscape he mapped with an almost brutal precision. The need was a consuming fire, a slow, agonizing burn that ignited into a raging inferno with the pressure of his lips, an explosion of heat and sensation that left me breathless, desperate, and utterly, irrevocably his.
The assault on his mouth was ravenous. My tongue, a predatory thing, invaded, then retreated to trace the brutal line of his lips. His fingers, digging into my flesh, tightened like a vise, the growl rumbling low in his chest a promise of surrender and domination all at once. The gentle pressure he exerted was a deceptive lie; the inexorable force behind it stole my breath and my will. I stumbled back, a desperate, useless retreat. He spun me, a predator claiming its prey, pinning me against the slick, cold tiles of the shower wall. The chill of the porcelain seeped into my skin, a stark contrast to the fire that consumed me. As I tried to lift my leg, a desperate plea for purchase, he caught it, hoisting it high, the sharp pressure of his hip a searing brand. His other hand found my breast, a possessive caress that sent shivers down my spine even as his mouth devoured mine—a frantic kiss that tasted of desperation and surrender, a consuming vortex swallowing us both.
The rasp of his beard against my skin was a shocking counterpoint to the feather-light touch of his hand, kneading my breast with a power that both thrilled and terrified me. I arched into him, desperate, a wild animal offering itself. His hands, vast and capable, felt like branding irons on my flesh, leaving me trembling, raw, impossibly vulnerable. And yet, cherished. He possessed a strange, terrifying power—the ability to make me feel utterly fragile and adored simultaneously.
It wasn’t just physical; it was the way he saw me, a knowing glance that pierced through my carefully constructed defenses. Even in our rare disagreements—a single, incandescent flare of conflict that ended, not with resolution, but with a desperate,almost frantic reunion—I felt this same potent adoration. That fight, a tempest of barely suppressed fury and simmering desire, now felt like a distant memory, a hazy dream overshadowed by the searing heat of his touch. The memory of our entwined bodies, the taste of him still lingering on my tongue, sent a wave of pure, unadulterated need surging through me.
Just the scent of his skin, the musky undercurrent of his cologne, was enough to ignite a fire in my belly. My breath hitched. I could taste the impending climax, a bittersweet tang building in my mouth, a throbbing pressure building between my legs. I wanted him, needed him, with a ferocity that frightened and exhilarated me in equal measure. This wasn’t just desire; it was an addiction, a desperate clinging to something both beautiful and completely consuming.
The grinding of his hips against mine was a brutal rhythm, a primal pulse that commanded my surrender. A low moan escaped me, a sound swallowed by the urgent pressure of his rigid length against my stomach. His hand, calloused and possessive, abandoned the tender exploration of my chest, descending with a deliberate slowness that ignited a fire trail down my skin. Then he shifted, a calculated movement that sent a jolt of anticipation through me, creating space for the invasion to come. My push away was a desperate, fragile attempt at control, a fleeting moment of rebellion against the intoxicating surrender blossoming in my soul. Our kiss broke, a gasp of stolen air before the storm, leaving him inches from the precipice. His hold on my leg—a cruel and tender grip—remained firm. As his hand finally neared the burning ache between my legs, a low groan escaped me, a sound I couldn’t contain, and he raised my leg higher, a gesture both domineering and exquisitely intimate. The anticipation was a physical weight, almost unbearable.
“Please,” I breathed, the word a ragged whisper lost in the roar of the showerhead. His hand, a predator poised above, sent a jolt of anticipation through me, a stark contrast to the icy chill of the tile against my back. My weight, a desperate offering, pressed into the unforgiving surface, legs splayed, a canvas for his touch. My arms, useless appendages, hung limp as I stared up at him, a silent plea etched on my face, my breath catching in my throat.
His fingers, ghost-light at first, grazed me. A cruel caress. I arched, desperate, trying to force the connection, to shatter the delicate tension, to drown in his touch. But he moved with me, a phantom mirroring my frantic dance, his game a cruel masterpiece of delayed gratification. The smile that tugged at my lips wasn’t one of pleasure, not entirely. It was a flicker of defiance, a recognition of our twisted choreography, a silent acknowledgment of the power we held, and wielded over each other. This wasn’t simple desire; it was a battle of wills fought on the slippery arena of skin and breath.
His smile was a predacious thing, a slow curl of his lip that promised both exquisite torment and exquisite release. He waited, a coiled viper, for my retreat. The moment I faltered, his hand tightened, a searing brand against my lips, slickened with the urgent heat of my own arousal. The taste of my surrender was a potent drug to him.
His touch, a deliberate caress, danced across the silken skin of my mound, igniting fires where there were only embers a moment before. His eyes, dark and fathomless pools of lust, traced a path from my flushed face, down the valley between my breasts, to where each pulse of my racing heart thumped a drumbeat against the taut silk of my skin. My breath hitched, ragged and shallow, each rise and fall of my breasts a desperate plea for the touch I knew he withheld with cruel calculation. The aching hardness of my nipples was a constant torment, asilent scream against the tantalizing distance. I saw the hunger in his eyes, a primal need to devour them, to taste the exquisite sweetness of my surrender.
I couldn’t bear it any longer. My fingers trembling, found the peaks of my breasts, rolling them with a desperate need, feeling their exquisite sensitivity. His eyes, I swear, devoured me. The raw intensity of his gaze was like a physical force, pinning me, holding me suspended in a thrall of desire and complete surrender. He was captivated, possessed by the spectacle of my need, and the knowledge sent a shiver of power through me, a dark, delicious thrill.
His gaze, a molten brand, remained fixed as my fingers, ghost-light against my skin, began to knead the fullness of my breasts. The scent of my arousal, sharp and sweet, hung heavy in the air. Without conscious thought, his hands mirrored mine, a brutal mimicry. One finger, impossibly bold, found purchase within the slick warmth of my lips, a violation that ignited a wildfire within. My chest, a caged bird desperate for flight, heaved with a breath stolen mid-gasp, held captive as his finger, slick with my own desire, finally plunged into the aching cavern of my core.
The precipice of release slammed into me, a tidal wave threatening to shatter my composure. It wasn’t just pleasure; it was a primal, visceral eruption, a raw, untamed force that left me breathless. His touch—a forbidden promise—was devastatingly good.
The slick heat of his hand against my flesh—a branding iron against my thighs—urged me lower. His finger, a brazen invader, sought deeper purchase. My nails dug into my breasts, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the burgeoning need, a desperate offering to fuel the fire I’d ignited. The taste of copper bloomed on my tongue as the pleasure built, its onslaught threatening to consume me.
Then the release, just as his mouth, hot and hungry, devoured my breast, the suction a brutal caress that stole my breath. A guttural cry escaped me as another finger joined its brethren inside, a violation that sent shivers of pure ecstasy tearing through me. His teeth grazed my nipple, a sharp, exquisite pain that twisted into pleasure. The rhythm of his fingers—a relentless, pounding pulse—echoed the frantic beat of my heart. His breath, hot and ragged, mingled with the scent of my own sweat, a heady perfume of surrender and desire. The taste of him, the feel of him, the sheer overwhelming intensity—it was a maelstrom of sensation that consumed me, leaving me wrecked and breathless in its wake.
The seconds melted into a suffocating heat. His head was a vise in my grip, his mouth a desperate branding iron against my skin, the pressure of my hips a brutal counterpoint to the frantic drumming of my heart. His hand, a relentless predator, found its mark. My eyes slammed shut, a silent scream trapped behind a throat constricted by need. Then, his mouth possessed mine. The kiss was brutal, a primal claim. I met his hunger with a ferocity that mirrored his, a desperate echoing of his intensity even as his fingers continued their ruthless dance. He wasn’t merely touching me; he was consuming me. The fragile hope I’d offered him in the beginning had shattered, leaving only a raw, incandescent craving. This wasn’t comfort; it was a battle, a desperate surrender to a need so profound, so ancient, it transcended words. This wasn’t consolation. It was annihilation.
The grip on my thigh, a vise of steel-hard muscle, defied my attempts to pull away. His mouth devoured mine, a hungry, possessive kiss that stole my breath. His fingers, relentless and knowing, found my clitoris again. Forget escape. I arched into him, my need a raw, desperate thing, pressing his head against mine, our mouths a battlefield of desperate need and forbidden pleasure. My other hand, trembling but insistent, sought thebrutal hardness of his erection, the heat of it shocking against my palm as I began to stroke, the friction a primal, escalating current.
His groan, thick with need, vibrated against my lips as my hand, slick with his arousal, plunged into the frantic rhythm. Each kiss was a desperate claim, a silent battle fought with tongues and teeth, a feverish attempt to consume him entirely. My fingers tightened around his throbbing length, the taut muscles corded beneath my skin, a pulse beating against my palm like a captive bird. The gentle stroke was a lie; my touch was a calculated torment, meant to drive him wild before I claimed him completely. Then, a brutal yank. His sudden withdrawal tore at the fragile connection between us, a violent interruption to the symphony of our coupling, leaving me gasping, wanting, and enraged by his cruel mastery.
A disorienting grin twisted his lips, a predatory flash of teeth before his mouth found the sensitive skin of my nose, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver down my spine. The kiss trailed a burning path down my neck, each brush of his lips igniting a fresh wave of heat. A moan ripped from my throat, raw and involuntary, as his kisses descended like a relentless storm. The taste of him—sharp, musky, intoxicating—clung to my skin. My leg, heavy with a sudden, overwhelming languor, abandoned its perch on his hip, falling across his shoulder, a surrender as complete as my breath.
Looking down, I saw it—the gleam in his eyes, a wicked delight mirroring the turmoil in my own soul. He wasn’t just kissing; he was consuming. His head lowered, a slow, deliberate movement that stretched the anticipation to breaking point. Then, his tongue, hot and insistent, found its mark at my core. The air thrummed with the raw power of his touch. He tasted my lips, a fleeting caress that still managed to fuel the fire within, parting me with the subtle pressure of his tongue, a teasinginvasion. My arms, leaden and useless, abandoned their futile attempt at control.Let him have his way, I thought.Let him have everything. This wasn’t just desire; it was a surrender to the overwhelming force of him, a reckless abandon to the storm that raged within.
His touch, feather-light yet scorching, grazed my sex. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the exquisite agony of pleasure, the raw, untamed power of him consuming me. The sheer, breathtaking height of his touch, the way he built me to the precipice of oblivion—it was an addiction I craved, a darkness I willingly embraced. My fingers tangled in his slick, dark hair, the strands cool against my skin. The sight of him, impossibly beautiful and vulnerable between my legs, sent a fresh wave of heat pulsing through me; a primal, untamed hunger that left me breathless.
The image seared itself onto my mind: him, watching me, the frantic rhythm of my head bobbing, the slick gleam of his flesh. That vision, brutal in its clarity, gave me a glimpse into the savage hunger that drove him, a hunger that mirrored my own. Then, his tongue—a hot, invasive probe against the tender bud of my clitoris—erased all pretense of understanding. Gone. And finally, the brutal thrust of his tongue plunging deep into the cavern of my heat obliterated all thought.
“Oh God, yes. Please,” I gasped, the word a ragged prayer torn from a throat choked with need. My body pulsed, a frantic drumbeat threatening to shatter me from the inside out. As his rhythm quickened, the pressure intensified, building to a suffocating crescendo with each brutal lick. His tongue, a sinuous serpent, explored every hidden crevice, igniting a fire that scorched my insides. A strangled moan escaped my lips, his name a ragged whisper lost in the rising storm of sensation. I was drowning, utterly consumed. My body, a taut, quivering bowstring, threatened to snap under the relentless onslaught.My palms slammed against the wall as the world narrowed to the hypnotic dance of his mouth, a whirlwind against my aching flesh. I was no longer me, merely a vessel for his exquisite, agonizing torment.
“Oh God,” I breathed, the exclamation a ragged whisper lost in the rising tide of need. “Make me come, baby. Please. I need to come so fucking bad.” The words clawed their way out, raw and impatient, a desperate plea etched into the air itself.
