Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(29)

“Come here,” I tell Saylor, and I watch her bite the corner of her bottom lip. Her face flushes red and she has a hunger in her eyes. A hunger for me. She walks to where I’m still laying and wastes no time straddling my hips. And she’s not wearing panties. And I can feel the wetness of her arousal and the sticky remnants of mine between her legs. Fuck.

I see her arms cross, grabbing the hem of my shirt to remove it. “Leave it,” I command. And she does. Her hands fall to her waist and I sit up, taking her face between my hands. Her lips are pink and full. Her small, perfect nose is dotted with just a few tiny freckles. Her eyes are wide and yesterday’s mascara still sits on them.

She is, without question, the sexiest f*cking thing I have ever seen. And I remind myself to thank her one day for teaching me the real definition of sexy. It isn’t long legs, high heels, fake tits, red lips, and flawless hair. It’s tanned legs with scars, bare feet, tits that fit perfectly in my hand and mouth, lips that have been kissed too hard, and hair that is a perfect mess—all the time.

Everything seems average compared to Saylor, because she is anything but. I kiss her lips, softly. I taste the morning on her breath, and it’s delicious just because it’s hers. I kiss her slow, taking my time running my tongue through her mouth because I want her to taste just like me. Just like she smells. I know she is sore. I know I’m an *. And I don’t care about either. I want her, and by the way her hands are knotted in my hair, she wants me too.

I feel her hand between us, looking for what she wants. When she finds it, I’m hard and thick in her hand. She lifts her body and centers the head of my cock against her slick *. It’s hot and inviting, and I feel her heat sucking me in. I watch as she lowers herself onto me, taking me inch by inch. I’m saying something, a string of cuss words, maybe. I don’t f*cking know. All I know is that she feels good. Great. Fucking amazing. And she looks just like she feels.

I see her eyebrows come together. I see her nose scrunch up slightly. I see her mouth gaped open and I feel her heavy breathing across my face. She is pushing through the pain, and my mind f*cking thanks her. And so does my cock.

“Just give me a minute.” That’s my girl. Yeah, I f*cking said it. My girl. I kiss her. I concentrate on f*cking her mouth with mine so my hips don’t jerk and hurt her. Or make her feel rushed. Or show her my weakness of impatience.

I slide my hands under the shirt she is wearing. My shirt. And I find her tits that were molded for my hands. I rub them, squeezing them gently, rubbing my thumbs over her nipples—and it’s just what she needed.

I feel her relax and when she does, she moves. Only a little at first, and then faster. She is inexperienced and I don’t care. I feel her tensing and I think she is uncomfortable doing this. Maybe she doesn’t want to disappoint me. But there is no way she can. I slide my hands to her waist and hold her still, then pull away from her mouth.

“Just rock your hips. Like you’re dancing.” My voice is soft, and I like that I get to use it on her. She does as I say, and it’s better, but she still hasn’t relaxed. She is forcing this and I want her to like this as much as I do. I tighten my hold on her waist and she stops. She is avoiding my eyes and I know she is embarrassed, so I bury my face in her hair and whisper to her.

“Think of a song, baby. A slow song. Move to that rhythm. Don’t worry about what will make me feel good. Do what makes that sweet * feel good.” I keep my face buried in her hair, noticing how she sighed when I called her baby. She really likes that. I kinda like it too.

She sits on me, unmoving—thinking I suppose. She can take all the time she wants. As long as I am inside her, she doesn’t even have to move. I push her hair away from her neck and lick the soft flesh. It’s tender and smooth just like her *. I continue to lick up her neck, across her jaw and to her ear.

By the time I make it there, she is moving. And I know it’s to the beat of a song. She is working my cock with the perfection of a stripper—but better. Any man who has ever had a lap dance has dreamed of what it would feel like if she rode his cock while she danced. I’m one of those men, but I’m no longer dreaming. Saylor Samson is dancing on my cock that is buried inside her while the lyrics of some song are in her head.

I feel my balls tighten and I’m hoping she releases soon, or I’m going to explode. My thumb finds her clit and it moves in time with her. She works me faster, and I know she is close. I pull my head out of her neck so I can watch her face. Her eyes are closed and she is moaning, her mouth hanging open. She has to look at me.

I’m fixing to tell her to open her eyes, but she reads my mind, like the f*cking witch she is. Her eyes open wide and I’m lost in a deep sea of green as she comes around me. That’s all I need.

I’m pulsing inside of her, and her moans are so pleasing to my ears that I bite my lip to keep my own from interrupting. Her head falls to my shoulder as we both try to catch our breath. Fucking feels good. Coming feels better. But this is a different feeling. It’s more. I don’t know what that more is, but I like it.

—

We need food, a shower, and I need coffee, but I have a job. So, we head out toward Nevada, where a bigger problem than last night awaits. Like what in the hell I’ll do with Saylor when I get there. I glance at her in my mirror and she is looking to the left. I wish I could read her thoughts.