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

Before I have the time to take a breath, he dives in again. He does the same to my other tit before going for nipples. Those throbbing, painful things that have needed his attention for ages now.

And then he moves lower.

To my ribs, my waist, my belly.

That I have also decorated for him, with a belly chain — the only piece of jewelry that I thought would be appropriate. I didn’t want anything on me except his name.

He tugs at the chain now. He pulls at it as he goes down to my belly button.

Meanwhile, I’m writhing under him, moaning, getting wetter and wetter.

All steaming and hot.

But when he hits my lower belly and I feel his shoulders rubbing against my thighs, when I feel his chin rubbing against the top of my very wet mound, I fist his hair.

I pull at it and twist against him as I say, “Conrad, wait…”

He doesn’t.

He’s busy painting my skin with his teeth and giving me love bites.

“C-Conrad.” I pull at his hair again, going up on my trembling elbows. “What are you… What are you doing?”

At last, he looks up and what I see makes my elbows slip and sends me back down on the bed.

What I see is a man possessed.

With dark eyes — pitch black — and a harsh face.

A face with so many sharp, thorny edges that if he hadn’t said that, back at my house, if he hadn’t claimed me as his flower, I’d still feel like one.

I’d still feel all velvety and soft and feminine in the face of his sheer masculinity. His sharp and intense possessiveness.

Even his hands are possessive and masculine the way they’re holding my thighs open for him.

I can see his chest going up and down against the bed as I ask again, “What are you doing?”

He licks his dark red lips. “Apologizing.”

“What?”

“For lying to you again.” He runs his eyes up the length of my body. “For making you hide from me.”

My heart twists at the reminder. That he did, in fact, lie to me again.

“You looked for me.”

“Yes.”

“You came to my house,” I whisper. “You wanted me. All this time.” I fist his hair some more. “But you pretended not to.”

Regret flashes through his features. “I did.”

I shake my head, my nails digging into his scalp. “You’re a jerk.” Then with narrowed eyes, I say, “Coach Thorne.”

At my ‘Coach Thorne’ something happens to him.

Right in front of my eyes, he expands and becomes larger. His muscles bulge out and the hollows of his face become sharper. He becomes more beautiful, more lethal.

Somehow more mine.

As he clenches his jaw and growls, “Yeah, and now I’m going to fucking apologize for it.”

With that, he goes back to my pussy.

He rubs his nose over my creamy lips, smelling them. Taking in their scent. Almost snorting my scent in. And then he licks.

God, does he lick.

He licks my whole snatch, sucks it into his mouth and makes me come.

It’s embarrassing how easy I am.

How slutty that one lick and I’m there. I’m coming in his mouth but I can’t hate myself for that. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long and he had me all revved up.

He had me on the edge so my rose just bursts in his mouth and he drinks it all down.

He even thrusts his tongue inside and I feel a pressure. Very little, but it’s there. It tells me that something is inside of me, making me fist the sheets as I writhe on his mouth, my belly chain jiggling and making soft noises.

Conrad is making noises too but they aren’t soft.

God, no.

They’re growly and horny and I swear I feel them in my pussy. And Jesus, I come again.

For the second time.

Or is that the third, I don’t know.

And I don’t have the brain power to count because as soon as he makes me come, he rises from between my thighs.

Like a Greek god of some kind, a Viking warrior with his long, dark blond hair in his eyes, and he gets up on his knees, his mouth all wet.

And swollen.

Then like the day I painted him and asked him to take his sweater off, he reaches over and snags the back of his sweater before pulling it off his body and throwing it away somewhere.

But what gets my breaths wild and crazy and makes my stomach tremble is the fact that, staring down at me, he begins to unbutton his shirt. Actually, he starts with his cuffs, which somehow makes everything even hotter.

Because for some reason, it makes him look so mature and grown up, starting at the cuffs, revealing his big silver watch.

Then he moves on to his top button and right in front of my eyes, he goes through them so gracefully, so fast and yet so slow that by the time he’s done and he’s pulling the shirttails out of his jeans, I’m a mess.