Estate #2
His hands slid up from my hips, tracing the curve of my waist before coming to rest just beneath my breasts. The touch was possessive but restrained, as if he were measuring something — my breath, my pulse, my willingness.
“You’ll talk me through it?” I asked and rested my head against his chest. “My first time, if you’ve forgotten.”
I felt the rumble of his chest as he chuckled. “You make it sound like punishment.”
I tilted my head back and looked up at him in question.
“It’s not. Christianity has warped the very idea of it,” he said.
My eyebrows raised. “And that’s coming from a pastor.”
“If it’s not fun, you’re doing it wrong.”
His hands found the zipper at the back of my dress, drawing it down with deliberate slowness.
“And you're going to make it fun?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“That's my intention.” He pressed his lips to my shoulder, his touch feather-light.
The dress slipped from my shoulders, pooling at my feet in a whisper of fabric.
Standing there in just my underwear, I felt suddenly, achingly vulnerable.
Not just because of my near-nakedness, but because of how he looked at me — like I was something precious and rare he'd discovered in this town of secrets and sins. I saw us in that big mirror, and I didn’t know what to make of it.
Something shifted in his eyes as he watched me watching our reflection. His hands stilled, then he turned me to face him directly, breaking the spell of our mirrored image.
“You don't have to do this,” he said, his voice lower than before. “The rum will wear off by morning.”
“I don’t care,” I told him, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You promised me fun. I’m waiting on it.” I tapped the top of my wrist, theatrically.
His gaze darkened at my challenge, and suddenly, he wasn't the composed pastor anymore. His hands gripped my waist, lifting me effortlessly and depositing me onto the edge of his massive bed. The mattress gave beneath me, softer than anything I'd ever slept on.
“You want fun?” He was already unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the continuation of those tattoos — intricate designs that disappeared beneath his waistband.
“Mhm,” I hummed, watching him, and just then I realized he was grinning.
“Tell me. How do you think this is going to happen? Have you had the birds and the bees talk?” he teased.
I rolled my eyes, even as heat spread across my cheeks. “I'm not completely clueless, Judah. I know you’ll tear my clothes off, you’ll grunt a few times, and be done with it in less than two minutes,” I said with a completely straight face, and he looked genuinely — honest to God — horrified.
For a moment, Judah just stared at me, his expression caught between shock and something that might have been pity. Then his shoulders began to shake, and a laugh burst from him — genuine and unrestrained, nothing like his careful chuckles at church functions.
“Are you joking or is that what you’ve actually been told?” he asked, the laughter still in his voice.
“Half and half,” I admitted, smirking. “I’ve been told it will hurt, though. That’s honest. And that the first time is for you. Not me.”
Judah's expression darkened, all humor vanishing in an instant. He knelt before me, his hands resting lightly on my knees.
“Who told you that?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
I shrugged, suddenly feeling foolish under his intense gaze. “Girls at church. My father's church.”
“They lied,” he said simply. His thumbs traced small circles on my bare skin. “Or they've only known selfish men.” His eyes held mine as he spoke. “The first time can be good. It should be good, Mercy.”
The rum was making everything soft around the edges, but his words cut through the haze with perfect clarity. I watched as he moved his hands up my thighs, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
“You don't believe me,” he observed.
“I want to,” I whispered.
“Then let me show you,” he said, his voice low.
His hands moved higher, thumbs tracing the skin of my inner thighs. I shivered — couldn’t help it. “We’ve walked some of this road before. You liked my tongue?”
I boosted myself on my elbows as he reached for the elastic of my panties.
“You know I did,” I said, oddly not embarrassed by the admission, nor the fact that he was undressing me so casually — like we’ve known each other for years, not just weeks.
I lifted my hips as he slid the fabric down my legs.
The air felt cool against my newly exposed skin, but his hands were warm as they moved back up my calves, my knees, my thighs.
“Lie back,” he instructed softly.
I complied, sinking into the plush bedding. The ceiling above me was high and shadowed, the lamp casting just enough light to see the crown molding at its edges. I felt exposed, vulnerable — and yet strangely at ease under his gaze.
Judah's hands parted my thighs gently. I closed my eyes, feeling the mattress shift as he positioned himself. When the warmth of his mouth found the heat of my core, it was… it was something. The burning Eden on his back finally started making sense.
I gasped as his tongue made a slow, soft glide up my pussy, my body arching involuntarily. His hands gripped my thighs firmly, keeping me spread for him as he kept exploring with soft strokes. Yet my mind kept going a hundred miles a minute, despite the rum.
“Judah?” I asked, looking at the white ceiling of his bedroom. “Do you like it? What you’re doing right now?”
His mouth paused against me, and I felt his breath — warm and steady — against the most sensitive part of me. He lifted his head just enough to meet my eyes, his gaze dark and intense in the low light.
“I love it,” he said, his voice rough with desire. “I love tasting you. Feeling you respond to me.” His thumb traced circles where his mouth had been, making me shiver. “Why do you ask?”
I swallowed hard. “Just making sure this isn't... some kind of sacrifice for you.”
Something glinted in his eyes — amusement, tenderness, hunger — everything mingled together.
He pressed a kiss to my inner thigh, then another, moving higher with each touch.
Past my hipbones, past the navel, past the breasts until it stopped at my collarbone and he murmured against my skin: “Do you know how to tell when a man enjoys a woman?” He didn’t wait for my answer; he took my hand and guided it to the front of his pants.
The hardness I felt there made my breath catch. Even through the fabric, there was no mistaking his arousal, its size and heat apparent against my palm.
“Jesus,” I cussed, not really meaning to; my fingers curled instinctively around the outline of him.
“That's for you,” he said, his voice deepening as my hand rubbed him with tentative pressure.
His mouth found mine then, and I tasted myself on his tongue — salt and musk and something indefinable. His kiss was different now, hungrier, as if he'd been holding back before. One of his hands tangled in my hair, the other working at his belt buckle.
“I want to see you,” I said against his lips, my fingers fumbling to help him. The rum made me clumsy but bold.
He stood, letting me watch as he stripped away the last barriers between us. The tattoos I'd glimpsed before revealed themselves fully — intricate patterns flowing across his chest and arms, disappearing around his sides only to emerge again on his back. And below...
My eyes widened. I'd never seen a naked man before, certainly not out in the wild. Not aroused and ready.
If I had a measuring tape on hand, I bet it would’ve taken six solid inches of roll-out to measure him. Maybe more. There were veins and a slight curve, and—
“It's bigger than I thought,” I blurted out, then immediately felt heat rush to my face. “How—how is it supposed to fit inside me? I’m legitimately asking, Judah. Not even being funny.”
But Judah laughed either way. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ll take it slow.”
I was skeptical, and my face showed it. “You know, you may say two plus two is five — it doesn’t change the actual math underneath it.”
Judah's eyes crinkled with amusement as he rejoined me on the bed, his body hovering over mine. “Trust me, Mercy. The human body is more adaptable than you think.” His hand slid between my legs again, fingers spreading my wetness. “Besides, we have ways of preparing you.”
When his finger slipped inside me, I gasped — not from pain but from the strange, intimate pressure. He watched my face carefully, gauging my reaction as he began to move slowly.
“All right?” he asked, softly.
I nodded.
“Now think about something good. Something funny,” he said, slowly adding a second finger. “What are you thinking about?”
“You.”
“I’m funny?”
“You can be. That’s the funny part.”
His mouth captured my laugh, turning it into something deeper, hungrier. The stretch of his fingers inside me burned slightly, but in a way that made me want more, not less. His thumb found a spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids, and suddenly I understood what all the fuss was about.
Mercy, I told myself. Most of the books you’ve read in the past year was smut. Kinda should’ve figured it out sooner. But, I suppose I was a slow learner.
My hips began to move against his hand of their own accord, chasing something I couldn't name. The rum had loosened my inhibitions, but it was Judah's touch that was unraveling me completely.
When he withdrew his fingers, I made a sound of protest that surprised even me, but soon choked on the sound when I felt the head of his cock against my entrance.
He pressed forward slowly, the pressure both intimidating and intoxicating. My hands gripped his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense beneath my fingertips.
“Breathe,” he whispered against my ear. “Just breathe and try to relax.”
I tried to follow his instruction, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing against my neck. The initial discomfort gave way to a strange fullness as he eased himself inside me, inch by careful inch.