“Tell me you’re mine,” I demand. My hand moves from her hair around to grasp the front of her throat, her back rubbing against my chest and creating a delicious friction. I thrust my hips forward, my eager cock throbbing.
“I’m a desperate man, Sara.” My fingers tighten around her throat, my other hand wrapping around her waist and sliding down until I find her center, my thumb pressing against that perfect sweet, swollen bundle of nerves that’s begging for me to rub against it until she blacks out from the pleasure.
“Tell me,” I repeat. “And I’ll make you come so hard you’ll need me to piece you back together.”
She sucks in a breath, and even the sound of her sigh sends arousal racing through me so fiercely that I bite my cheek until it bleeds.
“Yours,” she whispers.
I slide inside of her with one solid thrust.
Both of us groan, and I start a punishing pace, my balls slapping against her cunt and my hips clapping against the red and tender cheeks of her ass. My eyes drink her up, and heat coils around my entire body, making me wild with the need to come inside of her, just a little, just to know what it’s like.
My balls draw up until they’re almost level with the base of my shaft, and I lean forward, rutting into her like an animal, my knees scraping against the stone floor until they bleed.
“Oh my god,” she cries out, her body vibrating.
Is it possible to be jealous of God? Because when His name leaves her lips, I want to slit my wrists and fly up to his kingdom, just to burn it to the ground.
My hand cracks against the flesh again, harder this time, enraged that she would dare call His name when it’s me breaking her apart. Angry that she would think to kill me before she gave me the pleasure of diving into her sweet cunt one last time. “You say my name when you’re coming around my dick, ma petite menteuse. No one else’s.”
I wrap my arm around her waist, squeezing tightly and running the tips of my fingers down until they slip through her core, pinching her clitoris until she screams.
“Tristan!” she cries out again, her walls slicking with her cum as she tenses around my cock.
“That’s right, little doe. It’s me making you crazy. Only me. Only ever me.”
And then she explodes, my name pouring from her lips, and that’s all I can handle, my muscles coiling tight and my vision blanking out as thick jets of cum spew from my tip, pulsing as I coat the inside of her. My fingers dig into her hips, and I glance down, watching as thick white gobs seep out of her pussy and glide back down the shaft of my dick.
It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.
Panting and spent, I collapse on top of her back, leaving lazy kisses along her spine, and knowing, without a doubt, that she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered, and the only thing that ever will.
CHAPTER 46
Sara B.
Tristan’s fingers trail up my arms, his front pressed against my naked back as we lie in his bed. It’s the first time I’ve been in his room, but it’s exactly as I imagined it would be; rich burgundy furniture and black silk sheets. Remnants of his cum sticks to the inside of my thighs, but I’m too exhausted to clean it up, my mind and body waging a war inside of me, collecting the last particles of my energy and grinding it to dust. My ass is raw and my emotions are spread thin. And I still feel unsettled.
But I won’t lie to myself. I can’t kill him, even though I know I should.
Whether that makes me a selfish woman or a weak one, I’m not sure.
Maybe it makes me both.
“What happened to Timothy…” he blurts.
My lungs cramp up tight.
“I didn’t send them there,” he continues. “I expressly forbade them to touch you.”
His words trickle through me and root around in my chest, trying to find a place to settle. I believe him, and that probably makes me the stupidest woman to ever live, but if he feels even a fraction of what I feel for him, then I don’t doubt for a moment he never meant to harm me.
I held a blade to his jugular and still couldn’t follow through.
“My father was my best friend,” I blurt out, rolling on my back until I’m caged between his arms. “He taught me from a young age that just because I was a girl, that didn’t mean I needed to be meek and mild.”
Tristan smirks. “He taught you well.”
I narrow my eyes, swallowing around the sickness that talking about my father causes in the depths of my gut.
“Yeah, well. He was a duke. Did you know that?”