After the Fall (The Fallen Men 4)

“Could spend my life inside you and never get enough,” he admitted and then impaled me on a long, smooth stroke that made every inch of me quake. “Love this sweet, snug cunt.”

“Yes,” I agreed as he started pumping slowly, achingly tender inside me. “Love the feel of you inside me.”

And then we were just hushed, stuttering breath, jagged moans, and the soft, wet slide of flesh against damp flesh. The ocean air went warm between our arching bodies, skin steaming in the cold morning light. The sun finally burst over the edge of the horizon and doused us in champagne gold as if nature herself was blessing our union.

A coil in the base of my belly twisted tighter, tension higher, until I felt taut as a wire held over a flame, about to fray apart.

“Come for me,” King urged, face twisted into painful pleasure as he moved quicker, harder inside me, tugging my leg up and under his shoulder so I was utterly exposed to the ferocity of his movements. “You come for me, Cress, and I’ll come deep inside this tight pussy.”

“Fuck,” I cried, back bowing as pleasure arrowed down my spine and burst through my tender sex, pulsing through so hard that tears leaked from my eyes, mumbled words of thanks and broken prayers tumbled from my slack mouth as I came and came and came for my King.

“Mine, mine, mine,” he chanted on each thrust as he wrung every ounce of pleasure from me in search of his own. Fuck yeah, Cress, givin’ you my cum.”

And then he groaned, head tipped back, throat exposed for me to nibble and suck on as his cock kicked inside me, and the hot flood of his cum warmed my insides. I held him close, felt the climax move through him like a tsunami, the tension before the flood, the devastation it wrought on his body until he was limp and satiated, damp and panting in my arms. He gave me his full weight, knowing I loved the gentle crush, and pressed lazy, easy kisses against my cheek. As we spiraled down from the heights of our pleasure, I felt conjoined with him, flesh fused, hearted tangled so tight I couldn’t dream of even an inch between our chests. I coveted the closeness because my whole life I’d yearned for someone to know me, the darkest corners of my sexed brain and morally ambiguous heart, the brightest echelons of my wisest thoughts and deepest dreams. There wasn’t a part of me this man didn’t love and to be so wholly consumed by someone as beautiful straight through to the soul as King was, was better than anything else.

When he shifted to the side, I murmured in protest, half-asleep, half-drunk on the warming sunlight and the new satisfaction in my previously restless soul.

He hushed me, reaching for his back, and then hauling me over his chest so that I could watch as he slid something onto the base of my left ring finger.

I gaped at the huge emerald, square cut and regal between a frame of diamonds as clear as mirrors flashing in the sun.

“Fallen colours for my Fallen girl,” he explained, kissing the ring before resting our tangled hands against his heart.

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Nah, not really. But don’t care much for perfection, in general. Only gotta be perfect for you.”

I rubbed my cheek into his sternum like a cat and arched under the hand that stroked down my back.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed this,” I admitted. “Not that I wasn’t happy, but I was so ready to take the next step.”

King made a grunting noise of distress. “Sorry, babe, it took me a beat to work my way around to it. Didn’t want you to feel like you were makin’ a mistake.”

“How could you ever believe I’d think that?”

“Worried, I guess. I’m Fallen now and don’t much like the thought of my woman with a husband in jail or dead.”

And there it was, that secret sliver of insecurity that pierced King straight through to his heart. I blamed his evil mother for never loving him the way she should have, and it made me want to weep to know he’d bear those scars for life.

“You’re not your mother or your father, King. Even if you don’t believe you’ll make good choices, I do. And I hope you know by now, I’ve grown into the type of woman who wouldn’t blink at visiting you in prison if I had to, that wouldn’t ever turn her back on you just because we decided on a life of freedom and rebellion. Remember, it was Eve who made the decision to leave Eden, not Adam.”

He chuckled as he played with my hair between his fingers, watching the strands catch the light. “I form’d them free, and free they must remain,” I quoted from Paradise Lost.