Chapter 38 #2
Ours was a brain-body-soul connection—all three at once at an intensity that consumed me in the most poignant way.
At the next block, he escorted me into a fancy building with gold doors and uniformed doormen. I glanced up at the awning.
Kensington Hotel.
Just one of the hundreds of Kensington luxury hotels across the world.
“You own this.” I laughed, shaking my head.
“I own a great many things.” He ushered me inside with a possessive hand on my lower back.
The busy foyer parted for him. Not because he was the owner. No one knew that. Everyone moved out of the way because he carried himself like a boss, a ruler of men, radiating take-charge vibes with a profound sense of duty and strength.
He stopped at the bay of elevators and pulled me close, bringing us face to face. “Anything else before we head up?”
Once we stepped onto a lift, there would be no more talking. Not until we took the edge off this need burning between us. That could take hours. Days.
“The last time I saw you, in the church, you told me to choose you.” I drew in a shaky breath. “I did. I chose you the best way I knew how.”
“Tinsley,” he said gruffly, sliding a hand around my neck. “I know, baby.”
“I love you,” I whispered, tasting the ache in the back of my throat.
“I love you maddeningly.” He brushed the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear and keeping his touch there.
“I loved you then, too. So much.”
His hand tensed in my hair. “You’re killing me, princess.”
“You told me to take a leap of faith. I should’ve done that. I should’ve trusted you to take care of everything from the beginning.”
“Leap with me now.”
I hit the button that called the elevator. A ding sounded. The door opened, and I backed into the empty lift with excitement thrumming through my circulation.
He prowled in after me, the heat in his eyes feeding the physical chemistry we shared.
The instant the doors shut, he surged forward. I stumbled back, colliding with the wall. He kept coming, and the weight of his body bore down upon me. Then his mouth was on my lips. His hands on my face, in my hair, and still on the move, frantic in his quest to touch every part of me.
As the elevator shot upward, he lifted me up the wall and wrapped my legs around his hips. Our lips fused, tongues rubbing together in the updrafts of our hunger, spiraling, soaring, two sinners in love, reaching for heaven.
“Forgive me, Father,” I gasped against his mouth, “for I have sinned.”
His fingers slipped beneath my panties and found me wet.
I moaned. “It’s been six months since my last confession.”
“Tell me.” He licked my tongue as his hand glided along my drenched heat.
“I’ve had my fingers in my pussy for six months while fantasizing about my favorite priest.”
A long, deep groan resounded in his chest. “Killing me.”
“What’s my penance?”
“A lifetime with me.”
“Fine. I’ll stay with you for an eternity and not a day more.”
He angled his head, devouring my lips while sinking his fingers between my legs. Pleasure ignited. Passion blazed. The hard length of him strained behind his trousers, pressing against my core, desperate to get out.
When the elevator arrived at the top floor, he carried me out without separating our lips. I caught glimpses of a penthouse—dark woods, crystal sconces, velvet fabrics. I didn’t give a fuck about the luxurious space, only about the man who occupied it.
He had to put me down to strip our clothes. We did it in record time, stumbling toward the master suite, bumping into walls, never losing eye contact or breaking our kiss.
Then we stood beside the bed, both naked and panting. And in my veins, I felt only love. Scorching, savage, immeasurable love.
Our six-month separation hadn’t just made our hearts grow fonder. It had stress-tested our connection and forged our bond in hardship. I felt the flames of that fusion as we stepped forward together, our bodies sliding, arms clinging, lips joining, and heartbeats falling in sync.
He spread me out on the bed and took his time reacquainting his mouth with every inch of me. He was gentle at first. Patient. Loving. Then his true nature took over.
His kisses turned to bites, his caresses to stinging slaps and bruises. By the time he bent me over his lap and rained open-palmed strikes upon my ass, he was groaning, rabid, and harder than steel.
I thrashed and moaned, fighting to escape the ungodly burn. And I loved it. I’d missed it. Nothing matched this man’s voracious intensity, passion, and stamina.
For the next hour, he edged us toward release over and over and over again. When he finally tossed me onto the bed and pressed himself against my pussy, I was shivering, gasping, clawing at the claw marks I’d painted across his chest.
“Magnus.” I bucked, clutching his rock-hard buttocks, trying to work him into my body. “You hateful son of a bitch. Fuck me. Please, give me your cock.”
He thrust, and we groaned as one. Then he moved, plunging, claiming, owning. He fucked me like a beast, primal and unhinged. Then he made love to me like a defender, attentive and tender.
He gave me the teacher and the priest, the sinner and the sadist, the greatest of lovers and the staunch protector.
Our bond was eternal, and that was the grand prize, the best gift this universe had to offer.
He was my freedom.
My journey.
My destination.
My one great passion.
My choice.
My love.
My lessons in sin.