Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

“Jesse…”

I didn’t answer, licking my lips as I brushed my fingertips up and down my slit. I did it a few times, then opened my palm and offered it to him from across the room. He stared at my fingers, glistening with my need for him.

“I’m ready,” I whispered.

He shook his head, but didn’t have it in him to utter the rejection aloud.

“Fine. I’m sure Hale will do what you are hesitant to.”

I didn’t know where it came from. Maybe it stemmed from the fact I saw Bane’s jaw jerking every time Gail mentioned Hale’s name. In all honesty, I knew I would never date or lead Hale on, but I felt like all Bane needed was a push. If he really didn’t want me, he’d be happy for me to move on with his friend.

But if he wanted me for himself…

“It’s okay if you don’t want to touch me, Roman.” I dipped a third finger into myself, rolling my head against the wall behind me. “I can already feel you everywhere.”

Bane straightened up, pushed his surf shorts down, just enough to take out his cock, and squeezed it hard. Something glinted, and I almost fell off the crate. He was pierced. The Prince Albert on the tip twinkled like a royal diamond. He began to pump himself punishingly, and I noticed how his shaft was fat and big everywhere. And beautiful. Jesus, he was beautiful. I wanted it in my mouth, and I didn’t even care that I’d never agreed to do that to Emery. I didn’t care about anything at all other than Bane.

“Let’s start over. Take your fingers out, and push one in very. Fucking. Slowly. Now.” His voice changed from pissed off to commanding and cruel. I did as I was told, pushing one finger into myself and rubbing my clit back and forth with my thumb.

“No one said anything about your clit. Fuck yourself for me, but not enough to come. Because this is how I feel, Jesse, when you torture me.”

“I don’t enjoy torturing you.” Our eyes met and what passed between them was pure magic, like fireworks exploding all at once in multi-colors. I was going back to watching his beautiful cock being milked in his iron fist in just a second, but I needed this message to hit home. “I’m inviting you to do anything you want to with my body.”

“Fuck.” He pumped harder, squeezing his eyes shut. “How wet are you?”

“Soaking.”

“Show me.”

He opened his eyes, and I pulled my finger out slowly. It was coated with my heat.

“Suck on it.”

“You suck on it.”

“If I come over there, I’ll bite it off. Just—” he sucked in a sharp breath, nearly begging, “for once in your life, do something you’re asked to do, Jesse.”

I did, but only because it felt good to see him like that, dangling off the cliff of self-control, ready to crash and burn with me.

“Oh, Snowflake. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Pounding me like the pavement would be a good start.” I grinned, and he let out a tortured laugh. The base of my spine tingled at the sound of his coarse voice. This man could slice you into ribbons with his words alone. I wanted so badly to know what he could do with his hands and arms and teeth. With his entire gorgeous body.

“Three fingers,” he ordered. I complied, dipping three fingers into myself, the stretch painful and delicious at the same time. He pumped himself harder, one hand bracing the table—the coffee capsules on top of it dancing in rhythm with his thrusts—and the bulgy bicep of his other arm flexing with every stroke.

I bit down on my lower lip and pushed four fingers into myself, knuckle-deep, teasing the hell out of him.

“Jesse.” I saw his resolve not to touch me as it unraveled, string by string, tattered between us on the floor.

“I’m so wet.” I arched my back until it hurt, fingers still inside me, the base of my palm squeezing into my sex.

He darted toward me, still stroking himself furiously. I loved seeing him this way, vulnerable with need. And it was when he showed me his weakness for the very first time that I realized I was already halfway in love with him. With us. That the only thing I needed to push me off the edge and into the arms of complete obsession was for him to just…touch me. Feel me. Claim me.

Bane positioned himself between my legs, stroking his cock inches from my hand, plastering his sticky forehead to my damp one. His fine blond hair mixed with my thick raven locks, and the tips of our noses brushed, but we didn’t kiss. We wouldn’t kiss. Not because I couldn’t bring him to it, but because I chose not to break him all the way.