Page 105 of The Pact
“Touch me.” I take his hands and put them on my breasts.
He squeezes me, then cups them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my nipples. “So perfect.”
I roll off of him just long enough to pull my underwear off, and he removes his boxers as I take off mine.
When I settle back over him, we both groan when his dick slides between my center.
“Fuck, Doc. Grind that pussy on me. I want you soaking my cock until we can’t wait any longer. And then I’m gonna fill you up until you forget your own name.”
His words make me shiver, and I instinctively move my hips back and forth, and every time he reaches my opening, I let it slide in a little more each time. Teasing us both to the point of insanity.
We kiss, we touch, we grind against one another until I just can’t take it anymore. I glide my pussy over his cock, his crown hitting my clit, then move down until he sinks in.
Saint lets me set the pace, and I love the way he feels, stretching me, making me feel so full.
His hands are roaming over my body like he just can’t decide what he wants to touch, and he settles on my hips when he’s completely sheathed inside me.
He holds me still for a minute, thrusting up inside me slowly, once … twice.
“Saint …” I sit up, my palms resting on his chest. “You’re so deep. I can’t …”
“No, baby. I’m just getting started. This pussy is mine till the sun comes up.”
I find a rhythm that’s fluid and constant, a slow-motion slide that allows me to savor the way his breath hitches every time I grind down. And I feel like I’m hyperaware of everything—the dampness of my palms against his chest, the way the muscles in his arms cord as he holds me steady, and the relentless, searingheat building at the base of my stomach. This isn’t a race to the finish. It’s a claiming of every nerve ending in my body.
“Tell me,” he rasps, his green eyes dark and dilated, never breaking contact with mine. “Tell me how I feel inside you.”
I roll my hips seeking friction.
“Like I’m melting,” I breathe out, my voice sounding wrecked. “Like you’re the only thing in my world.”
I increase the pressure, arching my back as I find that perfect, devastating point of connection. The friction is sharp and focused, sending sparks through my entire body.
He’s shuddering beneath me, trying to hold on to the last threads of control. His hand on my waist tightens, and I know he’s right there with me.
We don’t need words. Our bodies speaking the words we aren’t brave enough to say.
The buildup is a slow-climbing fever, a heavy ache that demands more, even as I force myself to stay at this pace. But I can’t hold back anymore. And when the wave finally starts to break, it rolls over me, deep and all-consuming.
I keep my eyes locked on his, refusing to miss the way he falls apart under me. It’s the raw, stripped-bare expression on his face that finally claims us both. It’s slow, inevitable, and utterly shattering.
As we come down, everything feels quiet. Like we found a new connection to each other. This wasn’t just fucking.
And as I catch my breath, I lie with my head tucked against his shoulder, my fingers tracing lazy patterns over his damp skin. His arm is wrapped around me, holding me like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Us tucked together like this.
This wasn’t rushed, or forced, or built out of grief or desperation. It just felt right.
I let out a slow breath, then place a kiss on his chest.
“Hey,” I murmur.
His fingers start to stroke my arm. “Hi.”
There’s a softness in his voice I haven’t heard in a while, and it does something to me.
“So we should probably talk about this,” I say.
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, that sounds like a responsible thing to do.”
