25. Savio
CHAPTER 25
Savio
Skin and Bones - David Kushner
S he looks at me with stars in her eyes.
She’s mad, bad, and likely dangerous to know, but as I shackle her, holding her in place so she can’t distract me, she feels like a gift from God Himself.
A mate.
“You are chimerical,” I rasp in Italian, tugging the handkerchief from her lips. “But effervescent. I feel your soul. Why can I feel it?” The latter is torn from me. Words poured to God, not to her.
But, like the quixotic pixie she is, she understands, breathing in perfect Italian, “Our souls were torn apart at birth, Savio. This is our rejoining.”
“No, mon ange , this is our rejoining,” I rumble, reaching between us, eyes locked on hers, my dick in my hand as I press the tip to her slit.
When she tenses, it reminds me of her purity.
Shame fills me that I have no such gift to share with her, but her whimper has me retreating to rub her clitoris with my…
The words are like poison.
Dirty and filthy—they fill my mind with memories of the past. When this wasn’t a sin. When they were statements of love and adoration and hunger. Passion. Life.
I release a breath as she squirms, bucking into me so that every nudge collides with her clit.
My sex aches, pre-cum spurting from the tip, coating her in my seed. In me. The pearly liquid combines with her pussy juices, and I swallow down a groan at the sight.
I need to be inside her.
I need her .
“Oh, Savio, please, please, please! I need you!”
Her plea is divine and I bathe in its majesty as, eyes closed, I find her entrance and begin the journey home.
“Is that what Heaven feels like?” I rasp, blurring languages, broken Italian and Frenglish somehow combining into six words that form a question.
“It has to be.” She sobs as her molten heat accepts the head of my cock.
The guttural groan that drifts from my lips is tormented.
She torments me.
Her wetness. Her tightness. Her generosity.
This gift.
For me.
She waited.
For me.
It’s madness. She is madness. But she is warmth and love and pure and?—
“ Mon ange , I can’t…” I lean into her, resting my head against her chest. “You are temptation reborn.”
“I cannot tempt what was always mine. There is no sin between us,” she mewls. “Only love. We are meant to be, Savio. Can’t you feel it?”
I can, I can, I can.
It’s a litany, a prayer as I shove the handkerchief back into her mouth and, simultaneously, slide deeper into her.
Yet for all that she’s bringing me to my knees, I can’t handle her voice, the sounds she makes. Thankfully, the gag silences her. Deep in her eyes, however, I sense her distaste for it.
Guilt piles onto me, emphasized when I reach her innocence, which cleaves me in two.
This is wrong. So wrong. Despite what she says, this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
She yelps when I jerk us upright.
I know she thinks I’m going to leave her, but I don’t. Can’t. She is mine. Instead, I do what I know: I band an arm under her butt, hold on to her hips, then stride over to the door.
As I jostle her, she releases a muffled cry, but she clings to me as I knew she would, proving that I will be her shepherd in this.
Each step thrusts her onto me, impaling her deeper and deeper. I pause beside the dresser, turn around, then retreat until my spine collides with the wall.
The agony is blissful.
As blissful as finding my home in her.
Her brow furrows as she studies me, asking a garbled, “Why?”
“Penance,” I croak out.
Her face crumples as her hand hovers over my features, tracing my expression in a way that’s both maternal but not. The last time I experienced such a touch was, after all, when my mother was brought into the ward when I was repatriated to France.
The high of the pain brings with it the sweetest oblivion.
“Ride me,” I plead.
Confusion has her staring blankly at me, and the reminder of her innocence shatters some of my delirium.
She deserves roses and candles—not blood and to be made to ride me.
But this is the only way I can continue.
My blood for her blood.
Mon ange divine.
A muffled “How?” hits my ears.
I shift my hold on her, grabbing her thighs to provide her with some leverage.
It takes her a while to ease into the rhythm, but nothing in my life has ever been more glorious than the sight of her right now.
Her arousal and blood coat my cock as she sinks onto me. Lips parted, I take deep breaths as the excruciating contact with the wall collides with pleasure, making my mind delirious.
Behind her, I can see her wings.
For the first time, they’re there.
Hovering over her.
“ Mon ange divine, ” I repeat, but this time out loud.
A garbled cry escapes her, her pussy clamping down around me, pulsating and tormenting me further as her release draws mine ever nearer.
I grab her ass, part her cheeks then buck into her, hard and fast until my seed pours free, filling her up. And that triggers another in her.
Her head tilts back, face angled toward the heavens, a sweet yet silent benediction on her tongue as we find ecstasy together, united as we are in blood, tears, and cum .