Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Rowan claws at the plastic, clenching it in his hands, but he’s not going anywhere.
“Saint!” he cries out. “God. Just like that!”
His ass tightens around me, and I feel his pulse quicken as his body goes rigid. Rubbing his dick against plastic must have been enough to finish him off, because he’s coming.
When I still, just to tease him, he rocks back onto my cock, fucking himself on it needily, like a cat in heat. The little shivers going through his body are a thrill, and I lean forward, kissing his cheekbone as I slam into him faster, driven by the insistent urge to plant my seed inside him.
He whimpers, reaches back to grab at me but doesn’t protest, his insides hot as lava when my brain switches off.
It feels so good to finish inside him, right here, on the floor, next to a man who hurt him so badly but whom we dispatched as partners. It’s a beautiful moment, and as I slide out of him and collapse, the desire to still hold him doesn’t let up.
“Come here.”
He can’t catch his breath long enough to answer, but crawls into my arms with his eyes closed. The way he looks now, with a post-orgasmic flush blooming on his cheeks is for me only. Everyone else gets the polite version of Rowan, but with me, he can be himself.
We found each other after years of being lost, and I nuzzle his face, longing for gentleness, even though I enjoyed the delicious roughness of our sex. I need to know that he wants to be around me, not just lose himself in me. And I want him to know I feel the same about him.
“You’re so intense,” I whisper.
When he opens his eyes, they overflow with fondness. He seems almost shy, even though I know what a horny boy he really is. I slide my hand to his ass and tease the slippery hole, which so easily responds to my touch now that it’s been thoroughly stretched.
Rowan is still catching his breath as he hugs me. “I… I… what a fucking day…” He chokes out a laugh, looking at his bloodstained fingers.
Air is trapped in my throat as I kiss each one, cuddling up to his copper-scented hands. The storm of lust tends to be over fast, but I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed the aftermath as much as this.
He might be afraid of what we decided to do together but sees the wolf in me and still chooses to embrace it.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Yeah. I was so tense. You fucked it out of me,” he says and leans in for a kiss.
Pride bubbles up in me. I gave him what he needs. But as he lies so sweetly in my arms, it’s obvious that I don’t want to stop at this, so I kiss him. Slowly. Gently. Until he sighs, submitting to me again.
“You might need a warm bath after this.”
Rowan glances back at the dead man. “I don’t want to leave you with everything.”
But I’ve been doing this on my own for years. I’m just happy he’s mine. “My treat. You can help with the next one. I just want you to relax.”
He smiles and gives me one more kiss that I end up deepening because I just can’t get enough of him.
Chapter 20
Rowan
There’s something wrong with me.
I don’t know if I was born this way, if it was caused by the attack on my family, or if Saint triggered it in me, but I know what we’re doing isn’t right. I should be terrified of the killer I’m living with, worried about the murder I took part in, and definitely not aroused enough to have sex next to a dead body.
But when I entered the bathroom, my head was full of pragmatic thoughts rather than regret. I decided to wash my hands before entering the tub, so I don’t bathe in Galanis blood soup. And once that was done, I opted for a lovely cherry bath bomb. In hindsight, that might not have been such a great idea, because it tinted the water a reddish pink, which makes me feel like I am in fact bathing in Patrick Galanis’s blood.
And yet it wasn’t enough to put me off. I’m not freaked out after not only witnessing but also actively participating in someone’s death, and I think it’s sweet Saint offered to deal with the body.
Sweet.
Like he’s not a stone-cold killer who held me down so hard I have bruises. But the truth is that before stepping into the bathtub, I studied my body in the large mirror on the wall, and got a thrill from seeing all the marks and love bites.
Is it because he’s my first, and he’s shaping my experience of sex, or do I like it ‘cause I’m messed up?