Zach
This was what happened when I was away from her. I dreamt up all these twisted ways to torment her until she cracks. And here she was, spread out for me like a feast, in a church of all places—stone walls pressing in cold and close, the scent of old wax still clinging to the air.
Her eyes were hooded. I don’t even think she realised she’d hooked her hands beneath her knees, holding herself open for me.
How the hell was I supposed to resist this?
It took everything in me not to plunge straight into her welcoming heat. The way she clenched around the tip, trying to draw me in deeper, had my jaw locking tight.
“Your dirty girl wants that cock inside her,” she rasped, breath coming so heavy her nostrils flared with each word. “I want every inch of it pounding my insides until I cum all over you.”
Fuck. Yes.
I pushed her thighs down and inched in, then stopped again, testing her.
“And if I want to fuck that cum into your tight little ass?”
Her eyes fluttered, chest heaving beneath the silver satin dress that clung to every curve despite its modest cut. Somewhere above us, a door creaked. Neither of us stopped to listen.
“Do it,” she hissed.
I smiled and sank into her until we both groaned, the sound swallowed by the low stone ceiling.
She was tight, hot, and incredibly wet around me.
I leaned over her, wrapping my hand around her throat.
Our gazes locked, and that’s when I started to move.
My cock sawed in and out of her, her body clenching around it every time I drove deep.
“Dirty, filthy little girl,” I moaned, snapping my hips forward. “Taking my cock like a fucking pro.”
Her head fell back against the stone wall. Her lips parted, a small grunt escaping her with every thrust, harder and deeper each time. The table legs scraped against the floor as my movements turned erratic, the sound sharp against the quiet.
I released her throat and slammed my palms flat against the table, the wood biting cold beneath my hands. I could feel her gushing around my cock, soaking me as I took her.
“Zach,” she gasped, clutching at my arms.
I pressed deeper, feeling her tighten and flutter around me—satisfaction spreading through my chest at the thought that she was cumming on my dick.
That her pleasure, her release, belonged to me.
Her nails dug into the cotton of my shirt as she moaned and shuddered beneath me.
I waited until her breathing steadied before reaching between us.
“My turn,” I said, easing out to rest my cock against that tight furl of skin. “Try not to scream, baby.”
I pressed forward until the ring of muscle slowly gave way beneath me. The head slipped inside, and I hooked her legs up until her feet rested over my shoulders.
“Yeah, open that ass up for me,” I grunted, thrusting deeper.
She was so tight it took a few strokes before she loosened around me. I gripped the backs of her thighs and began to fuck her properly, each drive pulling a moan from her that sounded exactly like the filthy little slut she was.
I tightened my grip on her legs, hammering in and out.
“You’re going to walk up those stairs with my cum dripping out of your used little asshole,” I growled.
Fuck. She was so tight.
Every plunge into that dark heat had her clinging to me, muscles fluttering, pulling me deeper.
“Yes, Zach,” she whimpered. “Cum in my ass. Give me your cum.”
My balls slapped against her with every thrust, the sound obscene in the small stone room.
“Please cum. Give it to me,” she begged, voice cracking with need. “Cum in my ass, Zach.”
I slammed forward one final time, and her muscles clamped down around me. A guttural moan tore out of me as I emptied everything into her, holding still until the last of it was spent.
It had been two long, bloody weeks.
? ? ?
There was something extremely sexy about sliding her white lace thong up her legs while she glared down at me, arms crossed over her chest, the dim basement light catching the flush still high on her cheeks.
“There’s toilet paper right there,” she ranted, pointing at the lavatory again.
I pulled the elastic band over her ass cheeks and hips before letting it snap back into place.
“No time. Plus, I want you to feel me leaking out of you,” I said, standing to face her. “I want you to feel that soaked scrap of lace clinging to your wet pussy, soaking up all that lovely cum dripping out of your ass.”
Her hand drifted lower, hovering there, and her eyes fluttered shut. My gaze dropped to her chest as her breath turned laboured, the satin of her dress rising and falling with each unsteady inhale.
“No,” I declared, stepping back before I could talk myself into something else entirely. “We don’t have time for another shag.”
Her eyes snapped open and she shook her head, cheeks flushing deeper. I grinned as she gathered her skirts in both fists and bolted for the stairs, heels clicking frantically against the stone. I scooped up her purse from where she’d abandoned it and followed at a slower pace.
She was adorable when she was frustrated and pissed off.
It made her extremely animated behind closed doors.
I whistled under my breath, climbing the stairs two at a time, the air growing warmer and lighter the closer I got to the sound of voices drifting from above—laughter, the clink of glasses, someone testing the church’s old organ with a few tentative chords.
It was a beautiful rehearsal.