Page 57 of Broken Saint
Fuck, this is going to hurt tomorrow.
“Right there. Right?—”
The pressure on my hip disappears and instead, there’s a sharp sting on the back of my head as Colt pulls me upright.
“Oh shit,” I cry as the angle changes again. “Oh fuck. Shit. Yes. Oh, Jesus.”
“He’s not going to help you right now, Bombshell,” he rasps in my ear as his other hand slides down my belly in search of my clit.
“Fuck,” I gasp when he finds the sensitive nub and rubs just the way I like.
“It’s like no time has passed, isn’t it?” he groans, his breath racing over my hyper-sensitive skin, making me tremble and my nipples harden.
Yes. Yes, it is.
The words get stuck in my throat.
Everything he’s doing. The way he talks to me, whether it’s soft words of support, telling me that I’m beautiful, or filthy in a way I remember all too vividly…all of it. It’s everything.
“Yes,” I finally force out around the emotion clogging my throat as he picks up his pace once more.
His fingers rub against me as his cock moves inside me. My head spins and my body burns as pleasure begins to coil tight.
“Come for me, bombshell. Show me how much you love my cock.”
Dragging my head back farther, his lips latch onto my neck and he sucks that perfect spot beneath my ear that makes me cry out. The bite of pain added to the pleasure pushes me into another release.
“Colton,” I scream as my body quakes.
Every single muscle in my body turns to mush, but he doesn’t let me fall. Instead, his grip on me tightens, holding me up, holding me together as he continues to pound into me for a few more seconds before he stills and the most incredible groan fills the room.
Goosebumps cover my entire body and my need for another round returns as he booms “Ella,” through his penthouse apartment and his cock jerks inside me.
The second he’s spent, we go crashing onto the bed in a messy heap of sweaty limbs and heaving chests.
“Never been as good as you, Bombshell. Never.”
With both of his thick arms wrapped around me, holding me captive against him as if he thinks I’m about to run, he peppers kisses along my shoulder.
“I was beginning to think it was a myth. A lie I told myself. A figment of my imagination.”
“What?” I whisper, frowning as I try to understand his words.
“You, Ella.”
My chest tightens and my stomach tumbles.
“This.” His arms squeeze me tighter. “I thought I’d built up in my head how amazing you were to the point it was no longer a memory of us, just my imagination.”
“Stop, please,” I beg as tears fill my eyes again.
It’s bad enough that he’s already caught me crying once. He doesn’t need to do it a second time in one night. I don’t need to show him again what a mess I am. What a broken-down, ugly mess.
“It’s the truth. It’s what you deserve.”
A sob breaks free, and I hate myself for it.
“Bombshell?” he whispers, somehow magically rolling us so I end up on his chest with my legs spread across his waist.