Amber
“We’re in church,” I protested, as he dragged me down some stone stairs.
“You should have thought about that before wearing that dress,” he muttered, as we reached the lower level.
The air changed the further down we went—cooler, tinged with damp stone and old candle wax, the kind of smell that clung to buildings centuries old. He tried a few doors before finding one that gave.
We descended another narrow flight, our footsteps echoing off the walls, until we reached a cramped storage room.
A couple of tables sat pushed against the wall, cleaning supplies tucked beneath one, a hoover propped against the other.
Beneath the stairwell, an arched doorway led to a small lavatory and sink, the tiles chipped and yellowed with age.
“But the rehearsal—” I began to half-heartedly protest.
“We’re an hour early,” he cut in, pushing me back against the table, the wood cold and unforgiving beneath my palms.
Hot lips worked down my neck, and I arched back to give him more access, the faint scent of his cologne cutting through the mustiness of the room. This was so very wrong, but wasn’t that our thing?
“Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands…” he murmured, raising my skirt.
“What?” I gasped, as his fingers slid beneath my underwear.
“I’ve been brushing up from Sunday school,” he said, wet lips moving along my jawline, breath warm against my skin.
Then he froze.
I smiled.
“You’re bare,” he rasped, voice catching.
“Yup, I went full Brazilian.”
He groaned against my ear, the sound low and rough, before he dropped between my legs within a second. My knickers hit the stone floor with a soft thud, my legs spread so wide my muscles ached, the cold air of the basement raising goosebumps along my bare skin.
“Oh, yeah,” he breathed the words out, before his head dipped down.
My eyes rolled back as his tongue moved, slow and deliberate at first. He licked me clean before teasing my entrance, the scrape of stubble against my inner thighs sending a fresh shiver through me. When he pushed his tongue into me, I began to pant, leaning my elbows on the table to watch him.
It looked like he was submitting to me, but I didn’t tell him that. I didn’t want Professor Zach turning into Preacher Zach.
His tongue moved out and upwards to my clit and he pushed his fingers inside my pussy. Those thick long fingers began to fuck me while his tongue circled around my clit. His movements were slow and sensual, teasing me until I felt the sweat break out.
“Zach,” I gasped, raising my hips for more.
“With my body, I thee worship,” he murmured against my thigh, entirely too pleased with himself.
“That’s not even the right—” I started, but the rest of the sentence dissolved into a gasp as his mouth found me again.
He pulled back just enough to look up at me, chin glistening, insufferable smirk firmly in place.
“Genesis, chapter one, verse twenty-eight,” he said, voice rough. “Be fruitful and multiply.”
“You’re literally the reason I’m on the pill.”
“Details.” His fingers pressed deeper, and my protest died somewhere in my throat. “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth,” he quoted, dragging his lips lower, “for thy love is better than wine.”
“Since when did you memorise all this?”
“Since I decided it would get you wet faster than dirty talk.” He grinned against my skin. “Working, isn’t it?”
I opened my mouth to argue and nothing came out except his name.
His finger moved lower. That’s when I began begging for forgiveness.
“Hm,” he hummed into my pussy as he pressed his fingertip into my ass.
“Z-Zach,” I stuttered.
He worked his tongue and finger into both my holes with lazy precision, each pass slow enough to unravel me completely, until my feet curled inside my shoes.
My ragged breath was all I could hear, echoing faintly off the stone walls.
Deeper and deeper he went, until my body trembled, my grip on the table’s edge the only thing keeping me upright.
“Please,” I cried, as I began to clench around him.
When he moved back, he resembled a golden Adonis—except for the wet mouth and chin, which told an entirely different story. His finger eased out of my ass, but he kept his thumb on my clit, rubbing slow circles as he rose, dragging another tortured moan out of me.
“Just think. You’ll be at the altar with my cum dripping from you.”
I closed my eyes, taking a breath, but his whispered words stole the air from my lungs before I could steady it. I heard the slow rasp of his zipper coming down and bit into my lower lip.
From somewhere above, muffled by stone and distance, I caught the slam of car doors, the faint murmur of voices drifting closer. When I opened my eyes, Zach had freed his cock, angry and flushed, and positioned it between my thighs, rubbing himself against me with maddening slowness.
I was about to tell him to move things along when he slid the blunt tip to my entrance, and I held my breath.
“Amber,” he murmured, teasing me with just the head. “Tell me what my dirty girl needs.”
Fucking hell.