Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)(94)

When I slide my hands to grip the sides of her underwear, I find lace. Having to see the way her body looks in it, I push her shirt up her stomach and look down to find the tiniest scrap of material covering the swollen lips of her *. “Fuck, baby.”

I slowly pull them away from her, revealing the part of her my mouth and my cock crave. Her knees fall open further, and I now have a view of the soft, pink flesh that is wet and desperately awaiting my touch. My thumbs spread her wider, exposing her more as I run my finger up and down the length of her *. I can’t even pull my eyes away from the sight of its perfection. Even when Saylor moans and calls out my name.

“You have the prettiest *,” I tell her, and when she squirms, I know my words embarrass her, but they make her horny as hell too.

“Please, Dirk. Please.” Even now, she still can’t ask. And I still won’t make her. I lower my head between her legs, putting my hands beneath her ass and lifting it so my tongue has access to all of her. She struggles slightly, but when I tell her to relax, my breath blows over all her most intimate and sensitive areas, and she stops fighting me. Nothing about this moment should embarrass her. There is not a part of Saylor’s body I don’t want to devour, and when I do, there won’t be a moment where she don’t enjoy it.

My tongue makes long, circular strokes between her lips—drinking the wetness of her arousal and replacing it with my saliva, which builds from its taste. She is the sweetest, most satisfying thing I have ever put in my mouth. When she sinks further into the mattress and I feel her pulsing, ready for release, I move my tongue further south—invading the forbidden area.

When she screams in pleasure and convulses around me, my tongue pushes deeper inside her, prolonging her orgasm and flooding my face with her sweet release. While she’s still trembling with the aftershocks, I move my tongue to the entrance of her *, pausing to swirl it inside her before working my way up to her clit, then her stomach, until I reach the swollen peaks on her chest. I lift her up, removing my T-shirt from her body and placing a kiss on top of her head before lowering her back down and letting my gaze fall to her chest.

I torture her small, hard, pink nipples with my tongue until her hips buck in demand of my rock-hard cock that’s pressed against her *. I balance my weight on my arms, covering her body with mine but not enough to hurt her.

“I love you, Saylor Samson,” I tell her, fighting back the tears that I feel burning in the back of my eyes. This time, making love to Saylor—my heart, my reason, my property—has more meaning than any other time I’ve been with her. It’s not because it might be the last. It’s because this time, I feel like I’m making love to my wife. It’s like that patch she wore so proudly today sealed some holy matrimony between us.

“I love you, Dirk Dixon,” she tells me, and when she runs her hands up my arms and neck to curl her fingers in my hair, I feel the heat of fire in their wake. “I want you inside me,” she says, lifting her hips to me once again.

I place a hand between us, positioning myself, then rest my forehead on top of hers. With a slow pace I didn’t know I was capable of, I push inside the tight, hot confines of her *. Just the heat is almost enough to make me come, but I dig deep and find the control to give her what she asks for. I’m halfway in when her eyes close and her breathing becomes heavy.

“You okay, baby?” I ask, as breathless as she is. I start to back out of her, when her hands tighten in my hair.

“It’s perfect. Don’t stop.” She pants against my lips, and I kiss her before I move deeper. When I’m buried deep, all the way inside her, I swivel my hips, catching her moan with my mouth until her hips jerk in anticipation for more.

I make love to Saylor for what could have been forever. Our bodies separated then joined again every time I drove slowly inside her. But my eyes never left hers. The feeling was too much. For both of us.

When Saylor’s eyes fill with tears, I watch my own fall on her cheeks. I don’t know why I’m crying. There is nothing sad about this moment. Some people cry because they’re upset, some because they’re happy, and I guess some cry when there is so much to say that you don’t have words to say it.

“I want you to come with me, baby. I need you to,” I tell her, because we have to stop. It’s not the burning in my arms from holding myself over her. It’s not the soreness of my stomach muscles from the countless strokes I’ve delivered. It’s the overwhelming feeling of everything all at one time. Love, desire, want, need . . . It’s a soul-shattering, heart-wrenching, burning passion that I can’t stand to experience anymore. I’ve never had a feeling as intense as this one. It’s just too f*cking strong. And Saylor agrees.

I quicken my pace, slightly change my position, and drive harder into her. It’s exactly what she needs. My name fills the room in a cry of passion, and I feel her walls as they clamp down hard on my cock. And then I’m filling her. The sound that rips through my chest echoes off the walls in the room, and soon Saylor is comforting me as I cling to her and weep.

—

The following Monday, Saylor sleeps well past noon. When I ask her if she is all right, she smiles that sleepy smile I love so much and just tells me she’s tired. It’s enough to worry me and I call Dr. Zi, who offers no support.

“Honestly, Dirk, I don’t know what to say. She handled the treatments with fewer problems than I anticipated, and her miraculous recovery still has me confused. At this point, I don’t know what to expect. It seems everything that happens is just so unpredictable. My advice is just to let her rest.”