These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

“You looked for m-me?”

“Yeah.” He leans even closer to me, tugging my neck, my face back so he can really look at me and make me look at him. “And the reason I wouldn’t kiss you if you were older is because I’m going to kiss you now. Not when you’re nineteen or twenty or twenty-one. I’m going to kiss your eighteen-year-old-mouth right fucking now because I’m done not kissing it. And you might hate me for it. You might hate me because I’m going to do it like I’m pissed off at your mouth. Like I’m fucking angry at it. But that’s only because you’ve got a criminal mouth, Bronwyn. Your pouting, plump, pinky mouth is a sexy little criminal for saying sexy little things to me. For torturing me. For driving me in-fucking-sane. And for being the star of my every X-rated thought.”

And then he does it.

He kisses me.

He’s kissing me.

His mouth is on me. And it’s warm and wet and soft.

So, so soft.

But it’s also commanding, his mouth.

So commanding and dominating. Possessive and punishing.

But.

But.

He can’t kiss me. Not now. Not here.

And I should tell him that too. I should tell him that he can’t kiss me here.

That someone might see. That we might get caught.

But as it turns out, I don’t have to say anything to him. He gets it all by himself. He gets it because he wants to protect me as much as I want to protect him.

We’re two peas in a pod, aren’t we?

And so like he always does in his office, he hauls me up. He puts his hands on my waist and gives me the boost that he gives every morning. And since my body is so used to his actions, it goes up.

My feet leave the ground and my thighs settle around his hips, spreading.

Settling my pussy on his stomach and lighting me up.

And when he’s settled me on himself, he begins to move. He begins to take me somewhere and I wonder where, in the back of my head, as I twist in his arms, my fingers clutching his sweater, his mouth moving over mine.

Turns out it’s not very far.

He comes to a halt after only a few steps and then things shift a little. I tighten my thighs around his when I feel him going down.

When I feel him lowering himself to his knees and laying me down on the ground.

On soft grass.

Like I’m his bed of roses, his bed of pretty little wallflowers, and he lies down over me.

And I sigh in his kiss.

I sigh because now I can kiss him back. Now that we’re hidden and safe and secure, I can kiss him with all the love in my heart. My kisses won’t ruin things for him.

So I do.

I kiss him back.

And soon as I do, he comes alive.

His mouth becomes aggressive, like he was waiting for me to participate. He was waiting for me to kiss him and now that I am, he forces me to open it, my mouth.

Like a flower.

So he can get inside.

So he can pierce me like a sharp thorn. And when he does, I move against him. I bloom like my mouth is blooming.

I wind my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

To pull him all over me. To give me his weight, to press down on me, while I wind my thighs around his waist and rub my pussy on his stomach. Because I can’t imagine not being pressed down by him. I can’t imagine not being his wallflower and getting crushed under his weight.

And I guess he thinks the same way.

Because his grip tightens around me at my actions. His grip becomes crushing and pervasive.

As if he’s everywhere, all at once.

His mouth is gripping mine all possessively. His fingers are gripping my cheek, squeezing to open my mouth wider. They’re somehow also gripping the back of my head to pull me even closer to him.

To his harshly breathing body, to his expertly kissing mouth.

And I moan.

I moan so very loudly. Because this is what I wanted.

This is what I needed.

To be laid on the ground and spread out like this. To rub my swollen bruise of a pussy on his stomach like I do every day. To hump my wet and weeping and soppy pussy on the ridges of his abs so I can leave tear stains on his shirt.

And from the looks of it, he needed that too.

He needed it badly.

He might have needed it for weeks now.

And then I feel something else.

Something between my thighs. That something is rubbing and pushing into me through the layers of clothing for the first time ever and I don’t know what to do except push against it.

His cock.

His big, hard cock that he said would cover me from chin to forehead if I ever put my face under it.