Page 31 of Preacher

One slick finger pressed in, and I swore, loud and ugly, my back bowing. He worked it in to the knuckle and held it there, watching me twitch around him.

“More,” I begged.

He obliged, a second finger splitting me open alongside the first, the burn spreading wide and deep. I pushed back onto his hand, chasing it, and he let me fuck myself on his fingers until he curled them forward and hit the spot that turned my vision into static.

“There, fuck, right there, don’t you dare—” My hips stuttered, cock drooling onto my stomach, thighs shaking hard. “Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

By the time that third finger sank in beside the others, my thighs were shaking like I’d been running uphill, cock so hard it ached, pre-cum slicking a cold stripe down my stomach. Every time his knuckles grazed that swollen spot inside me, lightning shot up my spine and my balls drew up tight, the pressure coiling so sharp I had to bite my lip to keep from coming right then. My hole clenched around him, greedy, trying to pull him deeper, but he just twisted his wrist and pegged the spot again, slow and merciless, until my vision blurred at the edges.

When he finally slid his fingers free, the emptiness was a physical ache. My ass pulsed, clenching on nothing. A whine clawed its way out of me, my hips jerking uselessly against the air.

He lubed his cock, fist stroking slowly, eyes never leaving mine. The blunt head pressed against my hole, teasing, not yet pushing in.

“You want this?” His voice was low, frayed with need. “Beg me for it, Trent. Beg me to fuck your sweet ass.”

“Do it,” I demanded through gritted teeth. “Fuck me…hard. I won’t break.”

He thrust in to the hilt, one long punishing slide, and the sound that came out of me wasn’t pretty. He bottomed out and held there, cock throbbing deep inside me, both of us slick with sweat and not moving.

“Careful with that mouth.” He pulled back slow, slow, slow—then drove forward and the breath left my body entirely. “I don’t disappoint.”

“Prove it,” I panted. “Stop holding back.”

Preacher searched my eyes, then he fucked me steady and deep, each thrust punching the air from my lungs. His hand was slick around my cock, stroking in time. The fullness was obscene. I was leaking all over his knuckles, thighs shaking, unable to do anything but take it.

“Squeezing me so fucking tight,” he groaned, hips snapping forward. “Want to ruin you.”

The rhythm got faster, fiercer. Every thrust hit my prostate, shooting pleasure straight up my spine. The friction, the stretch, the pure need obliterated everything but the need to come.

His teeth broke skin at the junction of my neck and shoulder. The sharp bloom of pain tipped me over. I came hard, my cum spilling hot between us, my whole body seizing as the orgasm tore through me. Preacher followed seconds later, hips driving forward one last time, cock pulsing deep inside me as he groaned my name into the bite.

We stayed tangled together, chests heaving, sweat going cold between our skin. When he finally lifted his mouth, he dragged his tongue slow across the mark, then went still.

“I should’ve warned you,” he finally said. “No excuse.”

I didn’t answer. His cock was still inside me, softening, and I could feel the throb of my pulse in the bite. I already knew what it meant.

He pulled out slow. The emptiness was immediate. I lay there while he disappeared, came back, ran a warm cloth over my stomach and thighs with the same hands that had held me down minutes ago—unhurried, almost careful.

Then he was behind me, one arm hooked around my chest, pulling me back against him.

“Sleep.” His lips moved against my hair. “Kill me when we wake up.”

I could feel the bite throbbing in time with my pulse. I let my eyes close. Tomorrow I’d think about what it meant to be marked by a man like this, about wolves, about brothers who used you as currency. Tonight there was just the slow drag of his breathing and the warmth of his chest against my back.

Chapter Nine

Preacher

I slowly woke up, reaching for the warmth of Trent’s body, but found the bed empty. We’d fallen asleep cuddled last night. So where was he? I sat up and rubbed the last remaining sleep from my eyes, feeling a part of me missing without Trent in my arms.

Last night had felt like a dream. My wolf’s desire for dominance had clashed with my human will. I’d bitten Trent without warning, and I was now wondering if the male would actually try to remove my balls.

It was shocking my animal hadn’t tried to break free when I’d gotten my mate off last night. God, he’d been so gorgeous, falling apart on the very bed I was sitting on.

The rich aroma of coffee pulled me out of my thoughts, followed by off-key singing. I got up and walked into the kitchen then paused.

Trent stood in front of the stove, oblivious to my presence. His back was turned toward me, earbuds in his ears. With one hand resting on the counter, he bounced his hips back and forth in time with whatever music was playing, scrambling some eggs in a fry pan.