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

His chest is scraping and scraping against my nipples, starting up an ache down below.

In my pelvis. In between my thighs.

And I so want to stop talking about this. I so want to put my mouth on him. Kiss him, soothe him.

But I know he won’t let me.

My apology needs to be on his terms.

“So she wants to pimp you out,” he says, his voice thick, his fingers digging into the wood. “To the highest bidder. To the man who will pay your dad the most money to own you. Own your milkmaid tits and your stripper ass.”

I shudder at his dirty words.

I shudder and spasm.

I also arch my spine up because the ache in my body, in my throbbing nipples, in my pussy, is at its highest. I’m all swollen and engorged and everything hurts at his filthy words, at his dark and dangerous presence.

“Conrad.”

I use his name as a plea. A plea to stop this, to stop torturing himself and his furious eyes shift.

They move away from my face and go to my craned neck, my crazily fluttering pulse. Before moving down to my outthrust chest, my hard nipples, the outlines of which are clearly visible through my dress.

He mashes his teeth at the sight of them.

“She isn’t wrong though, is she? Your mom,” he says, his voice rough. “Guys do like big tits. And like your magic pussy, your tits are magic too. Your tits are what men jerk off to. What they fantasize about fucking when they’re fucking their fist.”

I let go of his shirt and grab his face at this. Cradle it, making him look up. “Conrad, I –”

His eyes are all dark and shiny. “Tell me something.”

“What?”

“What if that man was me?”

“That man?”

He glances down at my tits for a second before focusing back on my face. “Yeah. What if I liked your tits? What if I liked them enough to pay for them? Your mom would let me?”

“Oh God, please, I’m sorry. I’m —”

“What if I pulled you inside a bathroom, pushed down your dress and stuck my dick between them? How much is that going to cost? What’s the price of fucking your tits, Bronwyn?”

I bite my lip at the vicious current that rolls through me.

But he isn’t done yet.

He isn’t done jolting me with currents of lust as he continues, “What about your dad, huh? Your famous celebrity of a dad. Is he going to let me tit-fuck his daughter? While he’s out there drinking champagne, celebrating his useless fucking life.” He licks his lips, his eyes sweeping over my face. “If I had enough money, Bronwyn, would he let me buy you from him? Would he let me keep you?”

Keep me.

He’s never said that before.

He’s never even wanted that before.

And something about his question, the way he says keep you, in his guttural voice, makes my eyes sting. It makes me press my fingers on his sharp, thorn-y cheeks as I whisper, “No.” He growls and I continue, “Because I’m already yours.”

He goes still for a second at my frank reply. At my honest reply.

Of course I’m his.

He doesn’t need to do anything to keep me.

That’s not even the problem, is it?

The problem is that he doesn’t want to. That’s what he said in the beginning. That’s why it all started, because he doesn’t want to keep me. And that’s why over the past weeks, I’ve never forgotten.

I’ve never forgotten who he loves.

Who he wants.

All my thoughts scatter when he comes for my mouth. When he captures it, traps it, sucks on it. When he assaults my mouth with his own and violates it with his tongue. When he makes love to it with his teeth.

And I’m not letting him go either.

I can’t.

Finally I get to soothe him. Finally I get to take his frustration away and I can’t wait.

I don’t even care where we are.

I don’t even care that we should be more cautious, more careful of our surroundings.

Because I have to apologize to him.

I have to give him my tits so he can fuck them. Because like me they are his.

So that’s what I do.

I push him away and drop down at his feet. The place that I’ve come to love in the past weeks, to be on my knees for him, looking up. Looking at how my eagerness affects him, how he shudders and his features go dark and crimson. How his eyes become so horny and pretty with his hair hanging in them.

I scramble to unzip my dress and pull it down, baring my trembling rosy tits.

Staring up at his madly breathing, towering body, I palm my heavy mounds and offer them to him. “Look, they’re yours too. I wrote your name on them, see? Because I had to erase it from other parts of my body. Will you fuck them? My tits.”