Page 89 of Sinner (Priest 2)
Her hand tangles hard in my hair and yanks, I can hear the rasp of her knee sock against the waffle-weave of my henley and it drives me crazy, I swear to fucking God.
“I’ll miss your fingers,” she moans, as my hands get to work.
“The scruff on your jaw,” she says, as I leave her rough scruff-kisses on the inside of her thighs.
“The way you look at me when you’re eating my cunt, like you want to eat my heart.” And sure enough, I’m looking up at her from between her legs, making sure she sees how wet my mouth is every time I pull away for a breath.
“What else?” I rasp against her flesh. “What else?”
She hesitates and then plunges ahead. “Feeling you come inside me. For real.”
That makes me pause. Think. Stand up.
“Keep going,” I order.
“Wondering if you made me pregnant.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Being pregnant.”
Oh my God, this woman. This woman and my poor, aching cock, hard all over again for her. Because of her.
I splay my hand across her tummy, low and insistent and selfish. “My baby here?” I ask, in a dangerous purr. “You’d miss feeling my baby grow inside you?”
“Yes,” she confesses. “Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t
you miss it?”
“Of course I would. Of course I do.” I keep my hand large and demanding at her belly while I kiss her until she can barely breathe. “I think about it all the time. Every waking moment and then it’s in my dreams too. You carrying my baby. You nursing my baby.”
At the word nursing, I pluck gently at one of her nipples, and it’s as if I’ve struck a gong somewhere inside her. The tiny movement seems to reverberate through her body, sending goose bumps hurry-scurry all over her flesh.
“Fuck,” she mumbles, and I have to smile because she sounds like me. I bend down and lick at the furl I’ve just touched, opening my mouth and running my tongue along her areola, across the tip of her nipple in gentle flickers.
Then I stand up. “What else?”
“Marrying you,” she whispers, and then she looks away like she can’t bear her own words.
My heartbeat is threatening to vault right out of my chest. Could she actually love me back? Babies and marrying—those are love actions, love words, surely she means that she misses the chance to do them with me and not just in general—
I’m going to tell her. Right now, when our hearts are full and honest and raw with appetite. I’m going to tell her.
But she beats me to speaking. “I want you to fuck me,” she says, voice growing shy. “…back there.”
I’m so tangled up in practicing my declaration of love that I very nearly miss this. “Pardon me?”
“I mean…anally,” she says, and the kitchen light is too dim for me to see the reddish hue at the apples of her cheeks, but I know it’s there. “I want to try it at least once before…”
Before she leaves me.
God. How can that idea still hurt so much? How can it hurt more and more and more, like a train rolling over you, like being stretched on a rack, like being crucified?
Tell her now. Tell her so she knows.
I open my mouth again, but she is already taking my hand in hers, guiding it over the firmly plump curve of her ass. “Please,” she murmurs. “I don’t want anything left undone. Not a single thing.”
My heart hammers at my chest and my objections hammer at my skull and my cock—well, my cock is just as hard as a hammer, pushing against the teeth of my zipper like a cellmate trying to break free.
“I—”
“Sean,” she begs, spinning in my arms and leaning forward on the counter. The act turns her body into a buffet of tight curves and narrow lines, showing the clear dip of her waist and the edible swell of her hips. It also displays that firm, sweet ass. And the shadowed well between her legs.
