Pestilence (The Four Horsemen #1)(76)

He releases a shuddering breath, then lifts his head once more to stare at my face as he enters me, his expression one of rapture. His gaze continues to brighten until he’s fully seated inside of me.

“This is suffering,” he says. “Exquisite suffering.”

God is he right. This is that place where pain and pleasure meet.

I reach for him. My fingers brush his crown, which somehow managed to stay on his head this entire time. Gently, I set it aside.

He tracks my every movement but doesn’t protest.

Can’t believe he’s inside me.

If he was breathtaking before, now, this close to me, he’s almost unbearable to look at—like trying to stare down the sun.

Slowly he pulls out of me, then thrusts forward. A groan slips out of him. “Cannot unknow this sensation … surely it will haunt me for all my days.”

He starts out slow, savoring each stroke of his hips like I do good chocolate. But like good chocolate, the savoring gives way to indulgence. His pace picks up, and soon he’s not gently stroking me, but fucking me in a frenzy, his hands finding my hips and pulling me closer, closer.

He stares at me like he’s never experienced anything so wonderul. “Sara, I am … I am in you. A part of you.”

I swallow thickly.

The idea that Pestilence can reach inside me and touch something deep and intimate—if only in the most physical sense—should bother me, but I am decidedly not bothered.

In fact, everything about this feels painfully right, as though this is where he’s always belonged.

I cup his cheek. “You are.”

I bite back a moan as his thick girth slides in and out of me, our bodies making slick sounds as they come together.

He leans his head against mine. “I’ve wanted to be this close to you,” he says. “Close enough to feel your heart beating against my skin.”

I press my hand to his chest, right over his own heart. Beneath my palm I feel it pounding away.

He closes his eyes at the sensation. When he opens them, they glint with so many emotions. “Never want to leave.”

I don’t want you to either.

I give him a soft smile. “You don’t have to yet.”

He marvels at me as I writhe beneath him. I clutch him tight, forcing each one of his strokes to go deeper as my core clenches around him.

Pestilence groans at the sensation, the deep sound heightening my pleasure.

I feel myself building, building …

“Oh my God,” I breathe. Meant to hold out longer. “Oh my God, oh my God.”

The horseman pauses, staring down at me with concern.

“Don’t—stop,” I plead.

He resumes with thrust after powerful thrust and—

Oh—my—God.

I cry out as my orgasm takes me suddenly. My back arches as it lashes through me, blinding me briefly.

Pestilence’s strokes deepen, until he’s slamming himself home. His eyebrows hike up, staring at me in glorious shock as he’s pulled towards his own climax.

I feel his cock thicken, and with a deep groan, he’s coming inside me. My body quakes at the sensation.

He stares down at me, entranced, as his strokes gradually slow. “That was …” He says a word that breathes along my skin, and it’s like God is in the room with us for a brief moment.

Angelic—whatever the word was, it was spoken in Angelic.

“What does that mean?” I ask, aware of how reluctant he’s been to share his native tongue with me.

Pestilence gives me a deep look. “Heavenly. That was heavenly.”





Chapter 39


Note to self: Pestilence doesn’t do casual sex.

Quick flings clearly aren’t a thing for him. Though, to be fair, sex in any of its forms really isn’t a thing for him. At least not until I fucking corrupted him. I can’t decide if that makes me feel particularly proud of myself, or a bit despicable.

I think, if I’m being truthful, I’m feeling a bit of both.

He’s not going to be chill about it either, I can already tell.

After we finished last night, he took me to bed. I don’t remember much except the warm press of his body behind mine, holding me close. He woke me up twice to his roving lips, and after a bit more exploration, he fit himself inside me and screwed me until I was calling out his name.

That wasn’t what was bad. I have no complaints at all about bumping uglies. It’s everything that’s happened since then.

Like bringing me breakfast in bed—breakfast that he most definitely lifted from someone else’s house because this homeowner didn’t have bacon and eggs. Also, I didn’t know Pestilence could cook.

He could’ve forced someone else to cook this breakfast for you.

I shut that thought down before I can imagine just what sort of scenario could’ve led to that outcome.

He’s also been pulling me aside all morning to steal quick kisses, or confess all those things he’d already admitted to me that night I was “asleep.”

Don’t get me wrong, they’re nice gestures, gestures that make my heart soar and fill my stomach with those idiotic butterflies, but last night was simply a bout of quick and dirty sex and nothing more.

Absolutely nothing more.

Long after we’ve left the bachelor-pad-turned-love-shack behind, after I’ve quoted Pestilence some Poe (Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?), I think the worst of his adoration has blown over.