chapter 31
Decca
I stretched my hand out next to me between the sheets.
Cold, but rumpled and slept in.
Well, maybe not slept, but Gus had stayed in our bed last night. He’d woken me again and again during the night and this morning, to fuck, and feel, and kiss, and cuddle all the parts of a woman that had been forbidden to him for so long.
All the parts of me.
His celibacy had been a levee, holding back his desire, but only just. Once he’d cracked its walls, the storm couldn’t be stopped. He couldn’t get enough. And I drowned on each swell, just as insatiable.
This was why people went away on honeymoons. Humans were useless once they how good fucking could be. I’d need at least a month before I would want to do anything else.
Gus’s deep baritone floated up, along with the ambient noises of the kitchen, and I slipped a vintage negligee over my head, practically shivering from the feel of the silk slipping against my breasts and floating over my thighs.
I was pleasantly sore between my legs, my every movement a reminder—a reward—that Gus has finally given himself to me completely. On top of that, my body was floating inside a tiny slip of gossamer that tickled my senses and soothed them at the same time, and my husband was baking homemade bread on the floor below. Nothing was better than this.
No wonder Gus had felt the need to repress it for so long.
I brushed my teeth and splashed cool water on my face, failing to regain my composure. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. So what if the water dripped down my chest and stained this expensive silk? Today I didn’t care.
I tiptoed down the steps, listening to Gus’s prayers floating up to me.
“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he intoned in Greek. Certain things were repeated often enough in church and his prayers for me to catch onto their rhythm.
I loved the burnished depth of his voice when he prayed. The way he started the phrases on a lower pitch and scooped up to the right note. It wasn’t proper choral singing. I knew that much from high school choir, but Gus told me it was the ancient methodology of Orthodox chant. There was no note, no word, no embellishment in the canon that wasn’t crafted for metaphor.
Every sound was a prayer in itself.
I meditated as he prayed, standing unseen at the bottom of the steps. With my eyes closed, I prayed to God, to the Universe, to the swirl of the air around me, the simplest words of gratitude.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Opening my eyes again, I swung around the hallway and couldn’t help but dance into the kitchen. It was like all my muscles and tissues had evaporated and my bones could disarticulate, but instead of falling into a heap on the white pine floors, they performed a skeletal ballet across the kitchen.
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Gus said, holding a match to a piece of charcoal.
I floated up to him, inhaling the scent of frankincense as he spooned the resin onto the coal.
His arms were white with flour. I threw my arms around his back as he leaned over the heavy butcher block island and went back to working the dough. My sinew had returned. I let him bear all my weight, pressing my body from my cheek to shins into his back, letting myself be rocked with the motion of his kneading.
A reverberated through his back and lit a fire inside me.
“You can wake me any morning by performing spells. Why didn’t you tell me you’re a witch?”
“Does baking artoklasia loaves qualify as a spell?”
“Mhmm.” My eyes closed, still reveling in the scents in the air and the warmth of his body. My arms couldn’t even close around him, he was so much bigger than me. I was diminutive compared to him, but he never made me feel less than. “I don’t know what that is, but you’re chanting, lighting candles and incense, calling on the Holy Spirit to bless your activity. I’d say this classifies as a spell.”
I dropped my arms and peeked around him to see his face. His mouth twitched. I thought he was heading toward a smile, maybe even a laugh.
He merely nodded and continued with his baking. He was very serious when it came to his role as a priest. It was something I loved about him.
Honestly, I probably couldn’t love a man who was capable of playing fast and loose with a faith as dogmatic as Orthodoxy. What would be the point of all those years of seminary? Why subscribe to something that rigorous, just to treat it like a joke?
I was surprised when he started to explain. It was something he didn’t always do. “The artoklasia is about breaking bread together as a Church. The five loaves represent the five loaves Christ used to feed the multitudes who came to hear him speak in the desert. People bring in the bread, along with wine and oil, as part of a service of personal devotion. Some do it because they feel the need to re-consecrate their lives to Christ. Some seek answers to prayers. I’ve performed the service often enough, but I’ve never offered the five loaves before. I thought it was the right time for our parish to celebrate together.”
He put the ball of dough into the oven and set the timer. Four others were lined up on the table, so this must be his last.
“Why now?”
He looked up from the ticking hen timer. “I have a lot to be thankful for.”
I let out a laughing yelp as he sprung himself on me, bending his body practically in half to dive into my neck and graze his teeth across my skin.
My legs gave out, but he caught me. “Come up here.”
He grabbed me by the waist, dough-hands and all, and whisked me atop the island. , it felt good to have his hands on me. My legs immediately parted for him to stand between them.
“Good morning, Crow.”
“Good morning… Father.”
He let out a little groan. “That should not have that effect on me.”
“What does it make you want to do?” I said it to tease, but I was almost afraid of his answer. The fierceness in his eyes, the way he was tugging at his lower lip with his incisors. The way he was gripping my thigh so tight it made my flesh resemble the dough he’d just been manhandling. It was intense.
“I want to force you onto your knees.”
“Yes, Father?” I widened my legs a little more.
“I want to make you beg for my cock. For the taste of my cum.” He licked his lips as his gaze drew downward.
The hem of my nightie rose even higher as my legs opened, not yet exposing my pussy, but the little shield only increased the tension of the moment. I was dripping, and the exposure felt too cool. I needed his hands on me to warm me up.
“Please, Father, let me suck your cock. Let me taste you.”
He groaned again, kneading my thighs now, sliding me toward him until my pussy practically sheathed his rock hard length, still encased in his sweatpants. I felt the contact everywhere, from my scalp to my shoulder blades. All the way to my fingernails. The pleasure was already building.
A thin strap slipped off my shoulder, pulling the fabric with it, exposing my right nipple. It was hard and begging for attention. His mouth, fingers, anything. I was a ragdoll, wanton and desperate to feel his whole body against mine again. I didn’t know how I could make it back up the stairs.
I rocked myself against his cock. It was almost too much. I was already on the edge of coming and I didn’t want to come that fast.
“What else, Father?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ. It makes me want to… no, not want to… need to bend you over, lick you from behind, bury my face in your ass and eat you everywhere.”
A moan broke from my lips. Gus gripped harder. It was painful now. Suddenly, the pressure eased. His hands flew to waistband, tugging it down, pulling out his hard cock and stroking himself once, twice.
“Oh, God, yes. I need you inside me.”
His cock was already dripping. Just like my pussy. Made for each other.
“Put me inside you,” he said as his eyes drifted closed, as if in prayer. His hands at his sides.
I gripped his cock, stroked a few times, just the way I”d seen him do, until he groaned. It felt so good in my hand, I just wanted to savor this moment. “Goddamnit, Decca,” he strained to get out, “stop playing with it and fuck me.”
He gripped my wrist, stilling my hand. ”Watch with me.”
I bit my lip as I positioned his head at my vagina, coaxing him inside, watching my pussy swallow only an inch or two of his dick. Then I put my feet up on the edge of the island and rocked forward. I was small and limber enough and it changed the angle enough for him to blow out a breath that felt like he was really trying to hold back.
Watching our joining was fucking unreal. Seeing his cock disappear inside me turned me into a different person. I was a goddess and Gus was worshiping me. But I didn’t just let myself be worshiped. I told him exactly how I wanted to be worshipped.
I reached between us and stroked his unsheathed shaft once, twice, before pulling him closer and seating him fully against my cervix. He pulled out slowly, his cock slick with my arousal. The angle was too good; it was hitting my g-spot, and I was going to come too fast.
“Bite my nipples, Father. They’re aching for your kisses.”
He was oddly silent after all his promises. I wondered if they were empty words, or if he was too scared.
Leaning down, he lapped the uncovered nipple with a flat tongue, before sucking it into his mouth and biting just hard enough to make me forget about my building orgasm. I didn’t enjoy pain with my pleasure. I like to be caressed, teased, fondled. But it staved off my release, and I didn’t want this to be over yet.
“More,” I breathed. He smiled as he looked into my eyes. Then he tore off the other strap and kneaded my tits, pinching their outrageous peaks until I cried out. “Too much, Crow?” He smirked.
I rocked against him. “You talk a big game, Father. You haven’t done half the things you said you would.”
That shut him up. He stopped moving. Just when I thought he was going to pull out of me and retreat into himself, he pushed everything off the island behind me. Flour floated up like a cloud, around us.
“Lean back, baby.”
I flattened myself against the island, my slip around my waist, my black hair grinding into the flour-dusted maple block. Gus sank to his knees and licked my clit as he reached for the closest bottle of olive oil.
Oh, God. I knew what he was going to do, and I’d never done that. Never done anything with my ass. I’d hated the very thought. For some reason, with Gus, I wanted him to defile me everywhere. I knew what was coming.
He poured the smallest thread of oil between the lips of my pussy. Slowly, I felt it trickle, adding to my own wetness already pooling between my cheeks.
“Just a taste, my Crow. See if you like it.”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak I was so turned on.
He licked again, laving my clit, but he didn’t stop there. He moved lower, lower, spearing my vagina with his tongue. Then lower still. I felt the warmth of his mouth as he kissed my most intimate place. His oil-coated thumb moving up and down my ass. It felt like a tease. I needed more. He knew I’d need more and waited for me to signal. “That feels so good, Father.”
I heard his chuckle before he bent lower and licked. I bucked against his mouth. “Oh, God. That feels…”
“How does it feel, baby?”
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m going to go inside now, just the tip of my finger.”
I nodded into the crook of my elbow as he eased a finger inside. It didn’t feel as good as the pressure alone, but then he started circling my clit with the other hand, and I relaxed into the sensations. Pleasure where I’d never realized I’d find it. My head buzzed and a feeling of euphoria settled over me as I gave myself over completely to the shameful, unnatural bliss. Then he bent over my body and gently licked my nipple as he worked me with both hands and oh, God… it was too much. It was more than I could… “Oh. Oh. I’m coming. Oh, God, I’m coming so hard.”
The orgasm that ripped through me was like an angel had pierced heaven and everything was poured out onto my pussy. It took ages to stop writhing with it, riding his fingers and milking my pleasure of every last drop.
Gus didn’t let me come down. He pulled me off the table, flipped me onto my front and forced me down, face first, holding me by the throat and ramming his dick into my pussy. I almost came again from just the single . I couldn’t even move to push my hips back into him.
“You like my finger in your ass?” He said as he thrust slowly, carefully, completely. He grunted, and I knew it was from the effort of holding himself back.
I nodded, too weak to utter words. “Uhn. Are you gonna…”
“You thirsty little Crow.” He thrust into me again. ”Not today. You’re not ready for my cock.”
“I’ll get ready. What do I need?”
“It”s not what you need, it”s what I need. Patience.” He moaned. ”That I don”t have right now.” He trailed kisses down my spine. “Fuck, baby. I knew you would be perfect.” I felt more oil being poured onto my ass. “Perfect ass. Long neck made to fucking choke. Pliant body that wants to please.” He rubbed the oil between my cheeks, making everything feel slicker, making his giant cock slide in easier and drag back out. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. To this man. For now, I just wanted him to use me like a dirty little slut. Take all his shame and guilt out on my body, fucking me limp.
“I didn’t think I’d like it. But it feels so good.”
“You’ll like it even better this way. With my cock in your pussy.”
I nodded again. And I felt him circle my asshole—God, it felt so fucking good—then the breach of his finger inside. My already boneless legs slipped down, unable to hold myself up from the sensation. I could hardly take any more, but I was ready to come again.
It was agonizingly slow, the way he fucked me. I knew he was watching everything, savoring the way we looked where we were joined. “Come, baby. I can feel your pussy tightening on my cock, let me make you come again. Please, Crow. I need to feel you come on my cock.”
His cock rocked against my g-spot—oh, fuck, he always found exactly the right spot—I came again. Softer this time, as if he’d already wrung out every ounce of pleasure and this was just the last drops in the bottle. Tears poured out. My body racked with silent sobs.
“Oh, Fuck, yes. My good girl,” he said through his orgasm. I was starting to realize Gus never lost control when he came. He just rocked himself solely until he released deep inside me. “Fuck, Decca. You’re so good. So good.”
I’d never thought anything could feel this perfect. It was heaven being pinned under my priest husband on the surface where he’d just been preparing loaves for church.