Page 40 of Priest (Priest 1)
“I know I shouldn’t be,” I said, “that’s not the point. I don’t hold your past life against you. But this—” I let my hand slide down to cup her pussy, which was hot and swollen and wet “—I’m taking this tonight. I’m making it mine. Which makes you a bad girl to be so reckless with it today.”
I spanked her again, and she moaned against her arm. “I don’t know what it is about you,” I told her, leaning close to her ear. “But you bring out the fucking caveman in me. Look at me, Poppy.”
She did, one beautiful hazel eye peeping up over her tied arm. I squeezed her pussy, and she was so slippery against my palm, it took everything I had not to show how wild that made me, that she could get this turned on by the spanking and the submission. But I had to check this one box, settle this final question, because I didn’t want to go to feminist ally hell on top of the other hells I was destined for.
I squeezed her again and she struggled to keep her gaze on me. “Poppy, I…I want to be like this with you. Rough. Possessive. But you have to tell me it’s okay.” I rested my head on her back, rolling my face into her neck. “Tell me it’s okay, Poppy. Say those words.”
God, that lavender smell and the silky brush of her hair against my cheek and the feeling of her wet cunt pulsing in my hand. “Just…fuck.”
“Yes,” she said, and her voice was urgent, clear, loud. “Yes, please.”
“Please what?” I had to be sure. Because the things I wanted to do to this woman—Leviticus had not even come close to covering all the ways I wanted to defile her.
I could hear the smile in her voice along with the neediness. “Tyler, you are exactly what I want. Use me. Be rough. Leave marks.” She paused. “Please.”
That was all I needed. I kissed the back of her neck and then straightened so I could smack her ass again, rubbing the spot right afterw
ards to soothe away the burn. “Stand up and turn around,” I ordered, and she complied right away. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to make me come on its own—she looked like she would do anything, anything, to be fucked just then, and I had a lot of things in mind for her to do.
But first.
I untied her wrists, kissing the faint indentations left behind by the rope, and then I reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to her feet, leaving her completely naked with the exception of her heels. I took a minute to stare at her, at the ripe teardrops of her breasts, big enough to squeeze, small enough to support themselves. Her supple stomach, slender and soft and slightly rounded, with the kind of hips you could dig your fingers into. The naked V of her pussy, smoothly delicate, and the irresistible curve of her ass.
“I just realized you aren’t wearing your…” she gestured at her throat.
“Day off,” I said, my voice hoarser than I expected. I reached behind my neck and grabbed the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and off my body, relishing the way her lips parted and her hand drifted to her mouth as she stared at me. I unbuckled my belt, sliding the leather through the loops of my jeans and dropping it on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and took off my jeans.
I normally liked to stay at least partly clothed during sex, but I wanted to give her this, my nakedness, as a gift. And selfishly, I wanted to feel every inch of her skin against mine. This was my first fuck in three years and I refused to miss a single thing.
“Come here,” I said. “And kneel.”
She did, her breath audible now, kneeling in front of me and crossing her ankles behind her, taunting me with those heels.
“Take them off,” I said, jerking my chin down to indicate my black boxer briefs. She did, impatiently tugging them off my hips, and I groaned as my erection was finally, finally let free.
She pressed soft, red lips to the silky skin of my cock. “Let me suck you,” she breathed up at me. “Let me make you feel good.”
I found her lips with my thumb, running it along her lower one and pulling it down to open her up more. “Hold still,” I told her, and then I guided my cock into her waiting mouth.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, that felt good.
It had only been since Saturday, and yet I’d forgotten that this woman’s mouth was like a slice of heaven, warm and wet and with that flicking, fluttering tongue that danced along the underside of my dick.
I laced my hands through her hair—fucking up whatever adorable hairstyle she’d had it in—and then slowly withdrew, savoring every single second as her lips and tongue kissed against my skin. And then I slid in again, less gently this time, my eyes darting from her lips to her heels to the way her hand circled her clit as I slowly fucked her mouth.
She kept her eyes pinned to mine, peering up at me through those long dark eyelashes, and I thought about all the times they’d distracted the hell out of me and all the times that I’d wanted to fuck her brains out (and then paddle her sweet ass for making me so goddamned crazy about her.)
I tightened my grip in her hair. I wanted to go hard, I wanted to make her eyes water, I wanted to thrust until I reached the point where I could barely hold back from shooting down her throat. “Ready?” I whispered to her, still wanting to tread on the side of consent and caution.
And then she groaned a frustrated groan, as if annoyed that I was asking again.
“Bad lamb,” I said and thrust hard into her mouth. I heard her choke as I hit the back of her throat, but I only gave her a minute before I pushed in again, and again. I knew I was longer and wider than most men, I knew I was harder to take, but I wasn’t going to cut her any slack unless she asked for it, not after that stunt.
“You like being bad? You like making me punish you?”
She managed to nod, her watery eyes blinking up at me in this honest, impeaching way, and I knew it was true.
