You know what? This might actually help clear my mind.
He works his way down my chest, yanking my sports bra down and latching on to my nipple whilst I moan his name, fingers digging into his hips.
Impatience corrupts me, and I tug his T-shirt, and he pulls it off with one swift hand movement, and my breathing feels non-existent.
He’s covered in artwork, and I map the various patterns of ink, my fingers following the dip of his V.
My touch makes him shudder beneath my fingertips. My heart rate is thumping against my chest, core coiling painfully tight as each of his muscles flex, rendering me infatuated.
His lips find mine, forcing the most needy whimper from me as he drags my shorts down my legs, the coolness from the mirror against my ass causing me to gasp.
His feet knock my legs apart, a thick finger glides along my slit, and I know I’m soaked, allowing him to slide it inside me with ease.
Six years since we last did this, and the sensation has me shuddering like it’s my first time, until he abruptly stops.
I know the exact reason why.
My hands palm either side of his face, pulling him to look at me so we’re eye to eye.
“Don’t hold back,” I breathe.
He hesitates before continuing the torturous movements, going so slow my inner walls feel like they might snap with the intensity.
“Why?” he says on a strangled breath, adding another but not increasing the pace; it’s driving me fucking insane.
I lose myself in the movements, feeling that bubble about to burst.
One of the first things Saint enticed out of me was the hidden confidence, and I’ve worked hard to get it back, but I also wasn’t joking when I said I was a monster, one he helped feed.
One I’ve reserved solely for him.
“You never did before. I want you to fuck me like you hate the sight of me. For all the pain I caused you. To us.” I wet my lips. “Serve me my punishment, Saint. Make me pay for all the years we lost.”
As soon as the last word comes out of my mouth, something snaps inside him.
He snatches my jaw harshly, sending a tremor down my spine.
This.
This is how he always was with me; he never treated me like I was a delicate flower, as if a slight breeze would cause the petals to collapse.
He was possessive, almost animalistic. That’s what I crave.
What I need.
Only he can supply me with this kind of desire.
Only he arouses a fusion of fear and desire that never makes me question my safety. Because that’s what Saint is to me.
He’s my personal asylum. I foolishly breached his walls, running towards one thing he could have protected me from.
The hairs along my arms rise as he cocks his head, gently brushing my hair over my shoulder.
“No. I’m your salvation, Indie, darling. Now get on your knees. I want to hear you moan my name like a prayer around my cock.”
A sick, wicked thrill buzzes through my body.
And without a hint of hesitation, I slink to my knees, dragging his boxers with me, watching his thick cock spring free.
