Chapter 24 And It Was Good #3
He rocks against me again, the thick head of his cock sliding through my wetness, teasing my entrance without pushing in. The friction is maddening, perfect and not enough all at once.
"Please," I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Cain, please."
His eyes flash with that dangerous mix of reverence and possession I've come to crave. In one swift motion, he captures both my wrists in his large hand, pinning them above my head against the pillows. The sudden restraint makes me gasp, my back arching instinctively.
"Be my little sinner," he growls against my throat, teeth grazing my pulse point. "Tell me what you want, Mags."
I whimper as he holds me there, completely at his mercy, his free hand trailing down between our bodies to tease me where I'm already slick and sensitive.
"You," I breathe, straining against his grip. "Just you."
"Not good enough," he murmurs, circling his thumb lazily around my most sensitive spot, making my hips buck. "Be specific. I want to hear those filthy prayers fall from those pretty lips."
His grip on my wrists tightens slightly, a delicious reminder of who's in control. The weight of him hovering above me, the heat of his skin against mine—it's intoxicating.
"I want you inside me," I finally confess, my voice breaking with need. "I want you to fuck me hard," I tell him, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I want to feel you stretch me open. I want you so deep inside me that I forget where I end and you begin."
His eyes darken, pupils blown wide with desire as I continue, gaining confidence with each word.
"I want your hands marking my hips, your teeth on my neck. I want everyone to know I'm yours tomorrow. I want to feel you for days."
Cain groans, a primal sound that vibrates through his chest and into mine. His control snaps like a frayed rope, his fingers tightening around my wrists.
"Fuck, Mags," he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "The mouth on you…"
He slides into me in one powerful thrust, filling me completely. We both gasp—me from the delicious stretch, him from the tight heat enveloping him. My back arches off the bed as he buries himself to the hilt, my body yielding to him like it was made for this purpose alone.
"So perfect," he murmurs against my neck, holding still for a moment to let me adjust. "So perfect just for me.”
His forehead presses against mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us. He doesn't move—doesn't thrust or rock or seek release. He just holds himself there, buried deep, trembling slightly with the effort of his restraint.
"Do you feel that?" he whispers, his lips ghosting over mine. "Feel how perfectly you take me? Like you were made for this. For me."
I nod, unable to form words as emotion clogs my throat. His weight above me feels like sanctuary, like home. His hands cradle my face now, thumbs stroking my cheekbones with such tenderness it makes my eyes sting.
"Look at me," he whispers, and I open my eyes to find his gaze burning into mine, dark and fathomless.
Something shifts in his expression—a shadow crossing his features as he moves inside me. His rhythm is measured, deliberate, each thrust driving deeper than the last.
"Sometimes I think God made you just to test me," he murmurs against my throat, his voice roughened with something that sounds like reverence and damnation twisted together. "A temptation wrapped in salvation."
His fingers tighten on my hips, hard enough to leave marks, before softening again. Like he's fighting himself, torn between worship and possession.
"I want to break you apart," he confesses, his breath hot against my ear as his pace quickens slightly. "Want to wreck you so thoroughly that no one else could ever put you back together."
I gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside me, my back arching involuntarily.
"But then—" His voice catches, almost vulnerable, as his movements slow to something achingly gentle. "Then I want to cradle you like something holy. Something untouched."
His hands are everywhere at once, worshipping my skin as if it were sacred scripture. They slide up my neck, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls my head back to expose my throat to his hungry mouth. I gasp as his teeth graze my pulse point, my body arching into his touch.
"God, you're beautiful when you come undone," he whispers against my skin, his voice rough with desire.
His grip tightens on my thighs, fingers digging into flesh as he pulls me closer, angling my hips to take him deeper.
The new position has me seeing stars, every thrust hitting that perfect spot inside me.
My nails rake down his back as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each powerful movement of his hips.
"I can feel you getting close," he growls, one hand sliding between us to circle my most sensitive spot. "Let me feel you come, little rabbit. Let me feel these walls shake for me."
I'm trembling beneath him now, suspended on the edge of something magnificent and terrifying. His rhythm grows more insistent, more demanding, as his fingers work their magic against my slick flesh.
"Please," I whimper, barely recognizing my own voice as it breaks around his name. "Cain, I'm so close—"
The words dissolve into a cry as everything inside me shatters. My back arches off the bed, my body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me. I'm floating, drowning, burning from the inside out as he holds me through it, his rhythm never faltering.
"That's it," he growls against my neck, his voice rough with pride and desire. "So fucking beautiful when you come for me. My good girl. My perfect little sinner."
His praise washes over me like holy water, each word sinking into my skin as the aftershocks ripple through my body. I cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he drives deeper, chasing his own release.
"You're mine," he groans, his movements growing erratic, more desperate. "Say it. Tell me who you belong to."
"Yours," I gasp, the word a sacred vow between us. "Only yours, Cain. Always."
His entire body tenses above me, muscles coiling tight as a bowstring about to snap. His rhythm falters, grows desperate, and I feel myself climbing again, impossibly fast, impossibly high.
"Look at me," he commands, voice strained. "I want to see your eyes when you fall apart."
I force my heavy lids open, lock my gaze with his. The vulnerability in those dark depths steals my breath—the raw need, the worship, the possession.
"Come with me, little rabbit," he growls, his thumb circling where we're joined. "One more time. Be my good girl."
The pressure builds, white-hot and overwhelming. I'm trembling, gasping, clawing at his shoulders. My body tightens around him, drawing him deeper.
"Cain—I can't—"
"You can," he insists, his voice a dark benediction. "You will. For me."
His fingers work their magic, and I shatter, screaming his name like it's the only prayer I've ever known. My entire body convulses, walls clenching around him in desperate pulses.
"Fuck—Mags—" he groans, his voice breaking as he comes undone inside me.
I feel the heat of him pulsing deep, filling me completely as my own release washes over me in waves. The intensity of it steals my breath, my vision blurring at the edges as pleasure ricochets through every nerve ending. My body clenches around him, milking every last drop as we shatter together.
"That's it, little rabbit," he praises, his voice thick with reverence. "So perfect for me. So divine when you come."
I'm trembling beneath him, aftershocks rippling through me as he continues to whisper against my skin. His praise washes over me like holy water, cleansing, purifying, making me whole again.
"My good girl," he murmurs, pressing his lips to my temple. "My salvation. My perfect little saint."
Tears spring to my eyes, unexpected but welcome. It's not sadness—it's something deeper, more profound. Like being seen completely, worshipped entirely, loved without reservation.
"You're crying," he whispers, thumbs gently wiping away the moisture on my cheeks.
I’m crying and smiling all at once, clinging to him like he’s the only real thing I’ve ever known.
“I love you,” I whisper, voice wrecked and raw. “God, I love you so much, Cain.”
His hand cups the back of my head, pulling me into the curve of his chest. His lips brush my hairline, then my forehead, then my cheek. Everywhere he kisses me feels sanctified.
“I know, little rabbit,” he murmurs. “I know. I feel it in every breath you take next to me. Every time you let me touch you like this. Every second you choose to stay. I never thought I could be loved by somebody as perfect as you.”
He shifts, not pulling away but tucking me tighter beneath him, one arm under my back, one hand cradling my face like I might break—like I’m precious. Eternal. Fucking holy.
“I’d burn the world down for you,” he says. “Brick by goddamn brick. I’d raze it all and rebuild it from their bones if that’s what it took to keep you safe—because I love you so goddamn much.”
Tears slip from the corners of my eyes and soak into his skin. He doesn’t flinch.
“I used to think I was too far gone to be anything but a weapon,” he says softly. “But you—Mags, you turned me into a prayer.”
I sob then. Not because I’m sad. Because it’s too much and not enough. Because it’s everything I ever wanted and never thought I’d get. Because this broken, brutal, beautiful man loves me like I’m sacred.
“You’re not a weapon,” I whisper, clutching his ringed hand in mine. “You’re salvation.”
Cain exhales shakily, then presses his lips to mine, slow and deep, like a vow.
“We save each other, trouble,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Every fucking day.”
He wraps the blanket around us, pulls me against his chest until my heartbeat syncs with his.
“Sleep now, little rabbit,” he says. “You’re home. You’re safe. And you’re mine.”
I fall asleep in his arms, wrapped in warmth and worship, his heartbeat steady beneath my cheek.
And for the first time in my life, I believe I’m worthy of every goddamn bit of it. Because I wasn’t saved by God. I was saved by wrath. By love. By Cain. This is my resurrection. My reckoning. My hallelujah.
The saints may be silent—but I’m not.
Not anymore.