Page 109 of Broken Saint

He stills, and I panic that he’s about to change his mind.

But then, his grip tightens and a loud, “Mine,” rips through the air before he punches his hips forward and surges inside me.

“COLTON,” I cry as my body fights to adjust to him.

There’s a bite of pain, reminding me how my body has gone from zero to sixty in the past few days when it comes to sex. But I welcome the reminder.

He pulls out almost as fast as he thrusts inside and begins a punishing rhythm.

My legs wobble on my heels, my arms barely stopping me from plummeting headfirst into the window, but I don’t worry about it because I know for a fact that he’s not going to let me fall.

It’s not the first time I’ve put this much trust in him, but it sure is the first time I have any kind of confidence about what comes after.

“Ella,” he pants, his voice so deep, so thick with desire that it makes my head spin and my pussy clench around him.

I made him sound like that.

Me.

The woman with the flabby belly, cellulite, and scars.

His hand slips from my hip and moves up my body, squeezing my breasts when he gets to them, but he doesn’t linger. Instead, he wraps his fingers around my throat and drags me up so that my back is against his front.

“Gonna fill this pussy, Bombshell,” he warns as his other hand makes a beeline for my clit.

“Yes,” I breathe, twisting my head so I can find his lips.

But before I can claim them, my eyes snag on his.

They’re dark, his pupils blown with desire, but there is so much more. The emotion, the vulnerability that also lingers makes my breath catch.

This is the real Colton.

The playboy I used to have fun with at college was just a small part of who he really is. I knew it then, but I don’t think I ever truly appreciated just how much of himself he held back.

“Ella,” he groans, leaning forward to rest his brow against mine for a beat.

He feels it, too. This shift between us. It was always intense when we collided. But this…this is so much more.

“Not letting you go,” he whispers. It’s so quiet, I almost miss it over my heaving breaths. “Never again,” he promises himself. “Mine.”

Before I get a chance to even think about a reply, his lips are on mine and his fingers finally find my clit.

He swallows my cry of pleasure as he plays me perfectly.

And he’s still kissing me minutes later when his cock swells inside me right as he thrusts as deep as he possibly can in this position and sends me flying over the edge.

His grip on my body tightens until it’s borderline painful, but I welcome it. I want his bruises on me tomorrow. No, not want. Need.

I need to wake up tomorrow morning with the evidence of this branded into my skin as a reminder that it’s real.

Having Colt like this has been a dream for so long, sometimes it’s hard to believe this is real.

He doesn’t pull out of me when he’s done, and for the longest time we just stand there wrapped up in each other as the deep bass of the music flooding the club vibrates through our bodies.

Eventually, though, he dips his head low and brushes the tip of his nose against mine.

“I think I need to take you home now,” he whispers.