Sinner
O nce in the privacy of the room, I strip down and step into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grime of the night. But it doesn’t wash away my thoughts of Marisol. My cock throbs with the memory of her soft, golden skin, the way her curves moved beneath her clothes today. I can't get her out of my head. Her naked body haunts me, an obsession I can't shake. I crave her. All I can think about is burying myself inside her warmth, watching her glisten with sweat as she rides me, her skin slick with my spend. The thought alone makes my cock pulse with need. Before I know it, my hand is sliding down my length, stroking with a desperate rhythm.
God, I need her.
I imagine her lips wrapped around me, her mouth warm and wet. I shudder at the thought of her tongue playing over my skin, teasing, tasting. The heat of the shower feels like it’s seeping into my bones, but it’s nothing compared to the fire she ignites in me. I picture her jaw taut with effort, her gaze locked on mine—those eyes burning with desire, with that unspoken promise. Her lips part slightly to take me in, a soft sigh escaping from the corner of her mouth.
Fuck, I want to hear that. I want to hear her moan for me.
There’s a twisted power in the way she holds me, the way her tongue traces delicate patterns over my cock, coaxing me higher and higher. I imagine her chest heaving, breasts bouncing in rhythm with the movement of her head, a soft moan vibrating through her lips, sending shivers up my spine.
I need to feel that. I need to see her like that .
I fuck my hand hard and fast, chasing the high, the rush of pleasure building with every stroke. My eyes squeeze shut as I imagine Marisol’s whimpers against me, her hot breath ghosting over my sensitive skin, adding to the delicious friction. The image of her creamy thighs straddling my waist, my hands gripping her hips as she takes all of me— fuck , it’s too much. My core tightens, and my cock jerks in my hand as I spill onto the shower floor, a growl tearing from my throat.
I need more. I need her.
After my release, I lean back against the tiled wall, panting hard, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. My hand falls away from my still half-hard length, and I turn my face into the spray of hot water, trying to regain some semblance of control.
This obsession is going to be the death of me.
I finish getting myself together and head out the door, trying to shake off the possessive thoughts that cling to me like a second skin. One more night of fun won’t hurt anybody, I reason, trying to convince myself that Marisol will still be there tomorrow, untouched and waiting for me. The thought of her burns in the back of my mind, even as I try to push it away. But it’s useless—she’s all I want, all I crave.
As I walk toward the bar, I spot a figure ahead—black hair, long tan legs, leather pants, and a white crop top exposing her back. It’s Zia. The dim streetlight accentuates her curves, drawing my eyes to the tantalizing display of skin. A tug in my stomach ignites an unfulfilled desire. But it’s not her I want. She’s not Marisol. Zia’s almond-shaped eyes meet mine, her smoky gaze enough to set my blood aflame. She wears a devil’s smirk, and I feel a pulse of need, tinged with frustration.
“Hi, stranger,” she purrs, her voice sultry.
I offer a half-smile and lean closer, my voice low. “Care to share a drink?”
“Only if I get to bring you home, pretty boy. ”
I grab her waist, pulling her flush against me. “Deal.”
As we head toward the bar, I spot Victor and his cult buddies inside. My stomach twists. I keep my hands on Zia’s waist, steering her away from the entrance. “How about we skip the drinks and get to the fun part?”
She glances inside, following my gaze to Victor and his followers. “Your idea sounds good. The bar is full of dickheads and religious filth anyway.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You know them?”
She looks over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing. “Unfortunately, yes. They’re not the kind of people I want to share my evening with.”
I nod, but my mind is still half-occupied with thoughts of Marisol. This isn’t what I want. I want her. But Zia’s body is right here, and the pull is undeniable. “Then let’s go so I can bury my cock deep inside you.”
She chuckles, low and throaty, lacing her fingers with mine. A wicked grin forms on her lips as she leads the way. The night is filled with the sound of our boots crunching on the gravel beneath us as we make our way to her motel room. We don’t speak, but I notice she’s scanning the area, her eyes darting to every shadow. Is she scared? Is she running from something? There’s definitely something bothering Zia tonight.
We pull up to her rundown motel, the flickering neon sign casting an eerie light over Zia's face. The shifting shadows make her look distant, like she's carrying a weight she won't talk about. She reaches into her pocket for the keys, her hands trembling just a little, and then she drops them. I bend down, not in a rush to grab them. I drift to thoughts of Marisol. What would it feel like? Her soft skin, her lips, her body moving beneath me. Damn it, why does she keep creeping into my head like this ?
I slowly pick up the keys, taking a moment before holding them out to Zia. “You, okay?” I ask, my voice low, sensing that something’s off but not wanting to say it.
She nods quickly, reaching for the keys, our fingers brushing. There’s something unusual in the way she’s acting. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to read her, my mind still partially occupied with thoughts of Marisol.
Zia shakes her head, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t want to talk, okay? Just fuck me until I forget everything but the feeling of your dick inside me.”
Her bluntness pulls me back to the moment. Without another word, she unlocks the door and strides into the room. I follow, closing the door behind us. The room is dimly lit by a single lamp—small and homey, decorated in warm tones, but there’s a tension in the air.
Zia starts undressing, her fingers shaky as she fumbles with the buttons on her leather pants. “I've been waiting for this all night,” she murmurs. Her breath catches as she strips off her pants and crop top, revealing her soft curves.
“All night, huh?” I tease, crossing my arms, pretending I’m surprised even though we both know damn well we made plans to meet. This was always going to happen, and I’m more than okay with that. “How’d you know I’d show up at the bar?”
She gives me that sly smile, tilting her head. “Just a hunch.”
Raising an eyebrow, trying to keep things light, but Marisol still lingers in the back of my mind. But I push the thought aside, at least for now. “A hunch, huh? You must be a pretty good guesser.”
Zia steps closer, her eyes locking onto mine with a knowing look. “Maybe I just know what you need.”
I manage a smirk, but it’s not as smooth as I’d like. “And what do you think I need?” I ask .
Her fingers brush over my chest, teasing and deliberate. “Something to take your mind off whatever is bothering you. I can be that distraction.”
“Is that so?” I murmur, pulling her closer by the hips. She's right in front of me. But I wonder how different things would feel. It’s a fleeting thought, but one I can easily push away. Zia presses her body against mine, her eyes dark with desire. “Absolutely. And trust me, you’ll like it.”
I nod, trying to focus on the sensation of her body pressing against me. “Well, let’s see if your distraction lives up to the hype.”
Zia’s fingers trail up my chest, her touch sending shivers down my spine. “Oh, it will. I promise.”
Leaning in, my breath warm against Zia’s ear. “Show me then.”
Her breath hitches as she pulls back slightly, those hazel eyes dark with desire. “Make me lose myself in you.” Gripping her tighter, my voice low and rough. “Oh, you will. I’m going to make you remember every second, every detail,” I growl.
Her body presses against mine, her touch electrifying. I push other thoughts aside, focusing entirely on Zia. “Tonight, I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
She moans, her fingers trailing down my chest, her voice sultry. “I want every part of you. Don’t hold back.” My lips brushed over her ear. “Only for tonight, I’ll fuck you like you’re mine. I’ll make you crave me forever.”
Then I continue to kiss my way down Zia’s neck, trying to stay in the moment. Her moans fill the room, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I focus on her, desperate to satisfy this gnawing hunger.
Zia gasps as I pull her closer, my hands rough and demanding. “Tell me what you want,” I growl.
Her eyes meet mine, filled with challenge and desire. “Make me forget everything but the feeling of you inside me. ”
I drag my lips across her collarbone, her moans increasing in intensity. She’s giving me everything, but the pleasure feels hollow. I push the distraction from my mind, focusing on the moment with her.
Zia arches her back, pressing closer, her breath shallow and needy. I want to lose myself in her, but the satisfaction feels incomplete.
“You think you can handle this?” I ask, testing her limits. I’m searching for something to pull me out of this obsession.
Zia nods fervently, her breath hitching. “Yes… Please, I can take it,” she pants, trembling with desire.
“I’m going to fuck you hard, Zia,” I growl, my voice laced with dominance.
She helps me shed my clothes eagerly. Wasting no time, I thrust into her, and she gasps, clutching the sheets as her pussy stretches around my cock. Fuck, I think in that moment, realizing I didn’t put on a condom. She must sense my hesitation because, in a breathy voice, she whispers, "It's okay... I'm clean and on birth control."
At this point, I’m already inside her, so I push aside the worry and begin fucking her, focusing on the heat and pleasure of the moment. I won’t cum inside her, but I might as well enjoy the ride.
“Say my name,” I command, pushing deeper. “Tell me who’s fucking your tight little pussy, Z.”
“Alex!” she cries out. Her voice, though filled with passion, still feels distant. I focus on her, trying to stay present, even though the name she calls out doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. I’m not Alex, and she isn’t Marisol.
“Louder,” I demand.
“Alex!” Zia screams, her voice breaking as she nears release. The sound of her cries brings me back to the moment, though a part of me remains unsettled .
I let out a growl of frustration as she climaxes, her release ripping through her as she clings to the bed. I pull out and guide Zia to sit on the edge of the bed, fisting my cock and brushing against her lips.
“Open, baby,” I command, my voice a low growl. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”
Zia’s eyes widen, still dazed from her climax, but she obeys. She takes me in, her pierced tongue teasing the tip. I push deeper, feeling her moans vibrate against me, heightening my pleasure.
With a final, frustrated growl, I come hard in Zia’s mouth. As she swallows, the act does little to quell the dissatisfaction inside me.
I collapse onto the bed beside Zia. She slumps back, her body warm and spent, and I instinctively pull her closer. Her skin is soft against mine as I trace my fingers up her arm.
“Have you ever been in love?” she asks, her voice low and sleepy.
I take a deep breath, trying to think. “Not sure. I wouldn’t know what love is even if it hit me in the face.”
She lets out a soft laugh, playfully smacking my chest. “Oh my god, Alex.”
I smile at her reaction, then ask, “How about you?”
Zia tenses, her playful demeanor fading. She hesitates, her voice barely a whisper when she finally answers, “Yes. Madly in love. But I left him. He didn’t agree with my choice... and I needed to do this.”
My eyebrows knit together, curiosity getting the better of me. What would bring her here, of all places? Before I can ask, she continues, her voice soft in the dim light. “Family... My brother and I were estranged for years. He reached out, wanting to make amends. My partner didn’t trust him—or my decision—and now... here we are. ”
She lets out a deep sigh, burrowing her face into my chest.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she mumbles.
I shake my head, “No, it’s just me.”
The conversation fades, and her breathing slows, becoming steady and rhythmic as sleep takes her. I wait a few moments, making sure she's fully out before slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb her.
The cool air hits my damp skin as I step outside, the chill a harsh contrast to the heat we'd just shared. The street is quiet, but something feels off. With every step, I find myself glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting to see someone lurking in the shadows. But there's nothing—just the empty night swallowing up the silence.
Still, the eerie feeling clings to me, pressing down like a weight I can’t shake. Even as I try to push it aside, the sense that something is unfinished lingers in the back of my mind.
For the first time since arriving in Taos, I step into the dim sanctuary for the first time. The familiar scent of incense and polished wood fills my lungs. The sense of being watched diminishes some. But I still feel that prickling sensation crawling up the back of my neck. I walk past rows of empty pews, their velvet cushions untouched and uninviting, heading toward my sleeping quarters near the pulpit. My footsteps echo on the marble floor, each step seeming louder, more accusing. The silent eyes of holy figures in their gilded frames track my movement, their unspoken judgment heavier than any words could convey.
As I unlock my quarters, the weight of the cross around my neck feels unbearable, anchoring me to the sins I’ve committed. The cold touch of the holy symbol against my bare chest sends a shiver through me, a chilling reminder of the damnation I carry. Entering the sparsely furnished room, I drop heavily onto the narrow cot that serves as my bed. Like every night, my thoughts immediately drift to Marisol.
I close my eyes and imagine her—her delicate features, her ethereal beauty, the way she moves with a grace that seems almost otherworldly. Marisol, the untouchable, the cult princess. I’ve never laid a hand on her, yet she consumes me. Every thought, every breath, is tainted by my obsession with her. It’s a twisted form of devotion, one that drives me to the brink of madness. I want her in ways that are both reverent and profane, a paradox that tortures me every night.
In the privacy of my room, I indulge in my thoughts of her, trying to find release. The act is a desperate attempt to escape the need and longing that consumes me. The momentary satisfaction is fleeting, leaving me with nothing but the aching void of unfulfilled desire. I imagine her lips, slightly parted, her eyes heavy with need. Yet, I know that this fantasy remains out of reach, a forbidden temptation that only deepens my yearning.
There is no sleep for the sinful, not when the ache for her is a constant throb. Guilt and lust war within me, each feeding off the other, driving me deeper into this self-imposed torment. The room is dark, save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window above my bed. I close my eyes and pray to the Lord for forgiveness, too exhausted to reach for the whip that would scourge my flesh. I lay bare my sins, my guilt, but no divine intervention comes.
The moon, a silent judge in the sky, casts its cold light into the room, illuminating the stark contrast between my spiritual solitude and my carnal desires. Marisol haunts me in these shadows—her demons beg for my touch, and mine echo with the same longing. In the confines of my mind, we are free from sin, free to indulge in the fantasies that would damn us in the waking world.
Finally, overwhelmed, I surrender to sleep. It descends upon me like a shroud, muffling the guilt and drowning out the echoes of my transgressions. But even in sleep, she is there, a ghost that haunts my dreams.