Page 88 of Pack Me Up

“Saint—” I gasp, but he covers my mouth with his palm.

He works me with slow, punishing precision. His fingers are circling, but never letting me get all the way there. I bite down on his hand, desperate for something to hold onto. He grunts, pushes two fingers inside me, and I cry out against his palm.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pumping in and out, thumb never stopping.

I shatter, legs trembling, whole body convulsing around his hand. He doesn’t stop as he keeps working me through the aftershocks until I go limp against him.

He turns me, bends me over the table, and hikes my skirt up to bare my ass. His pants hit the floor with a soft thud, and he lines up, the heat of his cock teasing at my entrance.

“Are you ready for me, honey? Because I’m about to fuck you to the edge of your life,” he asks.

I nod, mouth open, breathing in gasps.

He pushes in, slow but steady, filling me to the hilt. The stretch is perfect, the burn exactly what I need. He sets a brutal pace, each thrust slamming me into the cold metal of the table. I brace myself, fingers gripping the edge so hard my knuckles go white.

Saint’s hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back. “You like being used, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I manage, tears streaming down my face from the pleasure.

He slams harder, cock hitting deep, and I feel myself start to come again. He reaches around, finds my clit, and rubs in tight circles until I break apart, screaming his name.

Saint slams into me, setting a pace that’s pure punishment. Each thrust rocks me against the table, the thud echoing in the tiny room. He buries his face in my neck, biting hard enough to bruise, his hands bruising my ass as he fucks me.

“Look at you,” he pants, “taking it so well. So needy for your alpha. You want everyone to hear, don’t you? Want them to know who you belong to.”

“Yes,” I sob, the pleasure coiling tight, ready to snap.

He slams into me one last time as his knot swells, locking us together, heat flooding me inside and out.

His knot slots into place perfectly inside me, filling me as it presses against all the perfect nerve endings. I come again, screaming his name.

He holds me there, both of us shaking with sweat slicking our bodies. The world narrows to just Saint inside me, the pulse of his cock, and our bond vibrating in my chest.

When my vision clears, I realize we’ve left an actual dent in the metal table. Saint lets out a shaky laugh, arms trembling with the effort of holding both of us up.

“Chair,” he grunts, managing to stagger over and collapse with me still impaled on his knot. The upholstery is disgusting, but I don’t care. I curl against him, boneless, still quaking.

We stay like that, Saint’s arms wrapped tight, his mouth buried in my hair. He nuzzles my bond mark, breath hot against the bruised skin, and it sends aftershocks through my whole nervous system.

“You’re perfect,” he says, voice gone soft, like the rage has burned itself out and left nothing but love.

I press my face to his chest, listening to the wild gallop of his heart.

“I love you,” I say, barely a whisper.

He laughs, the sound pure and real. “I couldn’t stop loving you, not even if you wanted me to.”

We sit there, tied together, basking in each other’s presence.

The afterglow is thick and endless. Saint strokes my back in slow, steady lines.

The room smells like sweat and sex and him, the best combination in the world. The ache in my body is a badge of honor. Every time I move, I feel his knot in me, and I want more, always more.

We’re still knotted, but Saint shifts us so my head is pillowed on his arm, his hand petting my hair. The aftershocks keep coming, smaller each time, but each one is a tiny echo of the explosion before.

I think of the way he stood up to that man and claimed me in front of a hundred witnesses.

“You’re mine, too,” I say. “Just so you know.”