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I can, I can, I can.
It’s a litany,a prayeras I shove the handkerchief back into her mouth and, simultaneously, slide deeper into her.
Yet for all that she’s bringing me to my knees, I can’t handle her voice, the sounds she makes. Thankfully, the gag silences her. Deep in her eyes, however, I sense her distaste for it.
Guilt piles onto me, emphasized when I reach her innocence, which cleaves me in two.
This is wrong. So wrong. Despite what she says, this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
She yelps when I jerk us upright.
I know she thinks I’m going to leave her, but I don’t. Can’t. Sheismine. Instead, I do what I know: I band an arm under her butt, hold on to her hips, then stride over to the door.
As I jostle her, she releases a muffled cry, but she clings to me as I knew she would, proving that I will be her shepherd in this.
Each step thrusts her onto me, impaling her deeper and deeper. I pause beside the dresser, turn around, then retreat until my spine collides with the wall.
The agony is blissful.
As blissful as finding my home in her.
Her brow furrows as she studies me, asking a garbled, “Why?”
“Penance,” I croak out.
Her face crumples as her hand hovers over my features, tracing my expression in a way that’s both maternal but not. The last time I experienced such a touch was, after all, when my mother was brought into the ward when I was repatriated to France.
The high of the pain brings with it the sweetest oblivion.
“Ride me,” I plead.
Confusion has her staring blankly at me, and the reminder of her innocence shatters some of my delirium.
She deserves roses and candles—not blood and to be made to ride me.
But this is the only way I can continue.
My blood for her blood.
Mon ange divine.
A muffled “How?” hits my ears.
I shift my hold on her, grabbing her thighs to provide her with some leverage.
It takes her a while to ease into the rhythm, but nothing in my life has ever been more glorious than the sight of her right now.
Her arousal and blood coat my cock as she sinks onto me. Lips parted, I take deep breaths as the excruciating contact with the wall collides with pleasure, making my mind delirious.
Behind her, I can see her wings.
For the first time, they’re there.
Hovering over her.
“Mon ange divine,” I repeat, but this time out loud.
A garbled cry escapes her, her pussyclamping down around me, pulsating and tormenting me further as her release draws mine ever nearer.