Page 87 of The Savage

Every small movement, every shift of pressure, draws a trembling sound I don’t recognise as my own as his finger glides back and forth over my swollen flesh.

As he swallows the sounds I make with a kiss against my cheek, his breath breaks as if the way I melt for him is undoing him just as much. ‘Beautiful,’ he says again, rougher now. ‘You’re… God, you’re beautiful like this. Good, ride my finger just like that. Yeah, fuck yes.’

As I move back and forth, feeling very little shame and very intense pleasure, Renzo angles his head and flicks his tongue over one pebbled nipple.

Twin streams of fireworks whistle through my blood. ‘Oh!’

I look down and the sight of his broad tongue licking me, tasting my flesh, is… dizzying. Intoxicating. As is the sight of the dark, unvarnished pleasure moving over his face as he watches me.

‘More?’

‘Yes.’

‘Say my name.’

‘Renzo…’ It tastes like the sweetest honey on my tongue. Even better than the sublime cannoli Siciliani I had last night.

He shudders as if the name itself is touch. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘I don’t know the words,’ I confess, breath catching.

‘Then show me,’ he says, and he gives me the steadiness to do it, hands sure at my hips, thigh taut beneath me, mouth at my throat, my shoulder, the curve where my breath turns to sound. At his next pass, he pauses with his finger at my entrance and his eyes intent on my face.

I know what he’s asking. What he intends to do.

My breath shudders out of my parted lips, my face flaming at the wetness I feel dripping out of me. ‘Yes, inside,’ I whisper.

He immediately presses his finger deeper. My head falls back on a moan at the feel of him, of Renzo Salvatore, inside me.

‘Fuck, yes. So tight. So fucking good. Saints take me but I’m going to enjoy fucking this tight hole.’

I moan louder but it’s nowhere near expressing the sensations ramping up inside me. My hips move, almost of their own accord, and when he encourages me, I ride him deeper, a little faster, chasing the sensation building between my legs, spreading throughout my body. Taken over my senses.

‘Oh… oh God.’

‘Normally I wouldn’t mind that, but let’s try gasping something else, hmm?’ He presses his hand deeper, grunting with satisfaction when I shudder and shake.

‘Renzo!’

‘Much better. Now, come for me, ragazza. Drench me with that sweet juice. Your man is fucking thirsty.’

Instinct tells me the only way to break this move faster is to ride that finger with everything I have. And I do.

But somewhere under the pleasure, under the heat and the startling sweetness of being wanted this deeply, a truth rises sharp as a blade.

This is too fast.

Too much.

Too powerful to be anything close to holy.

I was meant to be preparing my soul, not my body. I was meant to be stepping towards vows, towards God, not⁠—

Not this.

Not him.

A flicker of guilt hits me, bright and serrated. It must show on my face.