Page 53 of Sinner (Priest 2)
“But I want to see you come,” she says from the cage of my arms. “You promised I could see you come.”
She’s too perfect not to kiss, so I kiss her. I drop my mouth to hers and I fuck her mouth with my tongue the way I want to fuck her pussy. “You’ll see me come, princess,” I murmur against her lips. “You will.”
She’s dazed by the kiss, melted and boneless in my arms, sharing breath with me, tentatively sliding her tongue against mine, her hands flexing and fisting at my bare chest like a kitten kneading her paws. “I want you to come now,” she finally manages. “Now.”
“One thing first.” And if I enjoyed having this body because of the way Zenny looked at me before, I extra enjoy it now, being able to effortlessly move with her cradled in my arms, being able to drape her over the edge of the bed with her face down and her ass and cunt available for me to eat.
And then I show her the thing I promised on the night of the gala.
She squeaks again at the first lick—right up to the pleated aperture between her cheeks—and I have to band an arm over top of her hips to keep her still. She squirms and gasps, one of her legs kicking up at me in an instinctive move to hide herself.
“Sean,” she pants. I can actually hear the scratches of her fingers against the covers. “It’s…I’m…”
I know what she is. I stop eating her, running the tip of my nose in the divot between her cheeks, very close to that entrance that she’s embarrassed of. “Don’t worry, darling.”
“I know, but you can see everything like this,” she protests, a hand reaching back as if to block me.
“I know, and I can smell and taste everything too. That’s why I like it.” I catch the hand and guide it to my hair instead. “Here. Whenever you think you can’t bear it, you pull my hair instead of trying to pull away.”
She gives my locks a gentle yank. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“It would be worth it,” I say and then lean forward again, letting her feel it all—the bump of my nose against her ass as I devour her cunt, the stubble of my jaw as I work, even the light scrapes of my teeth. It’s messy and delicious and she’s all over my lips and my face, she’s on my tongue, she’s the slick combination of sweet and salt and earth. She may be shy, embarrassed, inexperienced from her navel up, but down here, she is all woman. Her cunt knows what it needs, growing wetter and softer, her clit getting plumper like a little needy berry, and even as she still makes noises of flustered, uncertain pleasure, her hips grind back into my face and her legs spread more and more, letting me deeper, lower, letting me suckle on her clit. Her hand still snatches at my hair; like a good student, she’s done as she’s told and pulled on my hair whenever the surge of shame or awkwardness rolls over her. But the yanking has changed from the simple tugs on my hair to practically tearing at it to get me closer to her, to get my mouth on her harder, faster, more—
“More,” she gasps. “Oh my God, more, more, more, more…”
Shit, I want to fuck her right now. Right here, bent over my bed, with her so wet and begging. I’d squeeze into that tight hole and show her how good it feels to come around a cock.
In fact, I even get so far as standing up before I remember myself, before I remember THE PLAN, SEAN, THE FUCKING PLAN, and instead I smooth a gentling hand up her back and press a single finger inside her. I easily find the spot that drove her so wild before, and I press down in massaging caresses that make her moan into the bed. I lean my body over hers, savoring the feel of her smooth legs against my hair-rough ones, the delicate wings of shoulder blades against my chest. The firm plumpness of her ass against my hips as I replace my finger with my thumb and start rubbing at her clit with my middle and pointer fingers together.
She cries out in jumbles and moans, she arches and bucks under my body, and it’s so delicious, so very delicious, especially hearing my name in those jumbled noises, sean oh sean oh God keep going keep going more more more sean more—she’s an ocean whipped into a restless froth, storming and pitching and nothing but a tempest ignic with lightning and electric tension. I kiss everywhere as I coax her over the edge; I bury my face in her curls and smell her hair, I nip at the nape of her neck, I drop my lips on her cheek and the shell of her ear and the edge of her jaw. And then as I kiss and suck on her neck, she comes underneath me, an ocean out of control, a tempest beyond reckoning. A noise tears out of her throat, something like keening, something delirious and violent and helpless all at once.
All her bucking and rocking under me has me in agony, not only because it’s insanely hot, but because her ass is grinding hard against my cock. I can still smell and taste her, and her pussy is all flutters and clutches in that addictive way that pussies flutter and clutch when they’re happy. And it takes a superhuman act of strength to keep from pressing harder against her ass and coming right then and there—screw chasing snakes out of Ireland and stigmata, this is an actual miracle, that I’m able to keep myself sewn together while Zenny rides out her joy on my hand.
By the time she’s finished, she’s utterly limp, goose bumps everywhere and a faint sparkle of sweat misting her forehead. Her eyes are closed and her breathing slowly evens out, and I take the opportunity to scoop her into my arms and crawl back onto the bed so that I’m sitting with my back against the headboard with her nestled snugly against my chest.
I kiss her head and leave my lips there because it feels nice, because I want to kiss her forever, and she reaches up to trace idle shapes on my chest, eyes still shut. The lashes are long and thick and curved against her cheeks.
“It’s your turn,” she says sleepily.
“I’m fine, Zenny-bug.” It’s a lie, I’m dying, but I also feel like I might die if I have to stop holding her, so maybe it’s not too much of a lie. I’d be content to stay here forever too.
She wrinkles her nose at the childhood nickname. “I’m not a kid anymore, you know.”
“Oh, I’m aware.”
She opens her eyes, her hand sliding over the bevel of my collarbone and up the corded length of my neck, and curving to fit the cut of my jaw. With her peering up at me with those copper-ringed eyes and her hand so warm and lovely-feeling against my face, I can’t help but to want to taste her mouth again, and we kiss for a long moment before she sits up in my arms.
“Seriously, though,” she says impatiently. “Your turn.”
There’s a moment when I almost feel guilty, but it dies as soon as it’s born. Or rather, it dies the moment Zenny arranges herself at my left side and puts my right hand on my cock. I wrap an arm around her and snug her close, and she rests her head on my chest as she watches me fuck my own
fist. There’s something strangely erotic about having her cuddling me as she watches me beat off; it’s different than the normal performance these acts usually turn into. It’s intimate and real. Nothing but itself—which is frenzied, near-painful release.
Her fingers wander over my happy trail as I pull on my cock, she makes maddening little circles around the base and then down to my balls, which are drawn up so tight that it almost hurts.
“When you orgasm—”
“Say come,” I say breathlessly, roughly.
