16. Wrenley #2
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he breathes, his hands sliding up my thighs.
I reach for him again, needing to feel him. “Your turn. Fair’s fair.”
Saint stands, unbuckling his belt while never breaking eye contact. I push up on my elbows to watch, the metallic rasp of his zipper loud in the quiet.
When he pushes his jeans down, the outline of his cock against his black briefs makes saliva pool in my mouth.
“See something you like?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting .
“You know I do.”
He kneels between my legs, spreading them wider. Saint’s eyes gleam through the night as he lowers his mouth to my inner thigh, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that trail higher with each touch. I moan when his stubble grazes the sensitive skin there.
“I’ve thought about this non-fucking-stop,” Saint murmurs against my flesh.
When his tongue finally strokes through my folds, I cry out. He hums with satisfaction, the vibration intensifying the pleasure as he explores me with deliberate, torturous skill.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he groans, his hands gripping my thighs to hold me open for his mouth.
I thread my fingers through his dark hair, holding him against me as he finds my clit and circles it with his tongue. The pressure builds low in my belly, coiling tighter with each expert flick.
“Saint,” I gasp when he slides two fingers inside me. The stretch is delicious, his calloused fingertips curling to find that perfect spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
He works me tenaciously, his mouth never leaving my center as his fingers pump in a rhythm designed to drive me wild. I’m trembling, hovering on the edge, my thighs beginning to shake.
“Let go,” he commands. “Come for me, Wrenley.”
The sound of my name on his lips while he eats me out pushes me over. I shatter, waves of pleasure crashing through me as I cry out his name. Saint doesn’t stop, drawing out my orgasm until I’m gasping, turning into an oversensitive puddle.
When he finally raises his head, his mouth is glistening with evidence of my pleasure. The sight is so erotic I whimper .
“That’s one,” he says, his voice rough as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I want to see at least two more before we’re done.”
He rises to his knees, finally pushing his briefs down to free his cock. The size of him makes my jaw drop.
“You’re staring,” he says, echoing my earlier words with a smirk.
“I’m memorizing,” I reply, reaching for him like a kid in a candy store.
My fingers wrap around his length, feeling the velvet-soft skin over steel hardness. Saint’s breath hisses between his teeth as I stroke him, his eyes darkening to midnight.
“Condom,” he manages, voice strained.
“Not before I lick you first.”
But I take the time to drink in the sight of him, thick and hard, the head glistening. Saint’s fingers thread through my hair as I take him into my mouth, his breath audibly catching when my tongue swirls around the sensitive tip.
“Jesus, Wrenley,” he groans, his hips jerking slightly.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks as I work him with my hand and mouth together. The weight of him on my tongue, the salt-sweet taste, the way his muscles tense with each movement quickly becomes my new addiction. His exhales turn ragged when I find a rhythm that has him cursing in French.
When I glance up, Saint’s watching me with an intensity that makes my core throb. His jaw is clenched, the tendons in his neck standing out as he fights for control.
“Stop,” he finally growls, gently pulling me off him. “I’m not finishing like that. Not our first time.”
He flips me onto my back in one smooth motion, his body covering mine. The weight of him is delicious, his skin hot against mine .
“Condom,” he repeats, reaching for his discarded jeans.
I watch as he tears the packet open with his teeth, rolling it down his length. Then he’s positioning himself between my thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance.
“Say it again,” he demands. “Tell me you want this.”
I give him a deep, consuming kiss as my answer, hoping I steal both his breath and his sanity. I feel him at my entrance, teasing, the barest hint of pressure.
He pushes in, just the tip, then pulls back, making me moan.
“Saint, don’t be mean…”
His answer is to lift my ass for a better angle and keep stretching me with a slow, purposeful thrust that has us both groaning into each other’s mouths.
The initial burn gives way to exquisite fullness as he sinks deeper, filling me completely. He stills when he’s fully seated, giving me time to adjust to his size.
“Fuck,” he hisses, forehead dropping to mine. “You feel like heaven.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Move. Please. I’m going insane.”
He silences me with a kiss that’s all ownership as he loses control and goes full throttle. Saint’s hands pin mine above my head as he builds a rhythm that has me stuttering his name.
“Look at me,” Saint commands, his voice thick with need. “I want to see your face when you come around my cock.”
His order sends heat flooding through me. I meet his gaze, drowning in the blue fire of his eyes as he drives into me harder, faster. The coil of pleasure tightens again, impossibly intense after my first orgasm.
When his thumb finds my clit, circling in perfectly timed circles to match his thrusts, I’m lost. The pressure builds impossibly fast, every nerve ending alight with sensation as he drives me toward the edge.
“That’s it,” he growls when my walls begin to flutter around him. “Give in to me.”
The orgasm hits like lightning, more intense than the first, tearing a scream from my throat as pleasure pulses through every inch of my body. Saint doesn’t slow, fucking me through it, his jaw cutting through his skin as he watches me come apart beneath him.
“So fucking beautiful,” he rasps, his rhythm faltering as my body squeezes him.
He flips us suddenly, bringing me on top without breaking our connection. The new angle seats him impossibly deeper, drawing a shocked gasp from my lips.
“Ride me,” Saint commands, his hands gripping my hips.
I plant my palms on his chest, the ink beneath my fingers slick with sweat as I begin to move. His eyes eat me up, tracking the bounce of my breasts, the place where our bodies join. The power of being above him, of controlling his pleasure, is my next new addiction.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, one hand sliding up to cup my breast, pinching my nipple until I cry out. “A fucking natural rider.”
His words fuel something primal in me. I roll my hips faster, chasing that building pressure again. Saint’s fingers dig into my flesh hard enough to bruise, guiding my movements as he thrusts up to meet each downstroke.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice strained.
“I can’t—” I gasp, overwhelmed by sensation.
“You can,” Saint insists, his hips snapping up harder. “One more. Give me one more.”
He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around my waist to hold me against him as he takes control. The change in position has him hitting a spot that makes dynamite go off inside me.
I shatter a third time, my nails digging into his shoulders as I sob his name. This orgasm is different, deeper, more consuming, radiating outward until even my fingertips tingle with it.
Saint follows me over the edge with a guttural groan, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself. I feel each pulse of his release even through the condom, his body shuddering beneath mine as he buries his face in my neck.
We stay tangled together, breathing hard, neither willing to break the spell. His weight against me feels perfect, necessary.
Saint kisses me softly, then pulls out and shifts us until we’re lying down, pulling me against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat, still racing.
I start to pull away, aware that he has to get back to the main house and wanting to make this easy for him, but his arm locks around me, keeping me pressed against him.
“Don’t,” he says roughly. “I’m not—I’m not good at this part.”
“I’m not asking for explanations,” I say softly. “Or declarations. Or anything, really.”
Saint doesn’t answer. His hold tightens instead until my head returns to resting against his chest.
“Five more minutes,” he murmurs into my hair.
I smile against his skin. “Five more minutes.”
Neither of us mentions tomorrow again.