Church Girl

Chapter Nine

Nine

“If God watches over drunks and fools, then no worries, I’m sufficiently covered.”

Aaliyah

“L iyah, can I ask you something?”

I pause in the middle of grabbing a book for Gia’s nightly bedtime story to look over at her. With her freshly braided hair under her silk bonnet and her pink unicorn pajamas on, she’s so cute tucked under the covers. After meeting her mother today, I can see where Gia inherited her pretty face. And though I don’t see much of Von in his daughter, that confidence and boldness is all her father. Even though her mother is a...piece of work, Gia is a perfect combination of her parents and, still, all her own person. I’ve quickly come to love this little girl in the weeks I’ve been taking care of her.

“Sure, sweetie, you can ask me anything,” I say, slipping Broken Crayons Still Color by Toni Collier from her shelf for our nightly read. Gia has an impressive library, and we are working through all the books. “What’s on your mind?” I settle on the edge of her bed.

She scrunches her face up, then a moment later, she softly asks, “Why do Mommy and Daddy hate each other?”

The question knocks the wind out of me, and for a moment, I struggle for air. I easily see the sadness in her pretty hazel eyes, and I just want to hug her close, shield her from all the hurt no seven-year-old should feel.

This isn’t my place. Truthfully, I should tell her to wait and talk to her father when he comes home from work. But I can’t. I won’t be an adult in her life who ignores her feelings or lies to her.

Carefully, choosing my words, I say, “Baby, your parents don’t hate each other—”

“Un-huh,” she interrupts me, nodding her head so hard her bonnet slips forward. “I heard Mommy tell Daddy she hates him today. And she tells Aunt Jasmine all the time on the phone when she thinks I don’t hear her.”

Jesus .

I briefly close my eyes. After having encountered her mother this morning, I don’t know why I’m surprised. She’d been ready to throw down in front of Gia at the shop if Von hadn’t convinced her to leave. So it shouldn’t shock me that she’s careless enough to badmouth her ex-husband— Gia’s father —within her earshot. Even if it’s accidental. How ’bout not do it when she’s in the house and there’s even a chance of that happening?

“She might say that sometimes, and those words are hurtful. We shouldn’t hate anyone. But I don’t think she means it, and I don’t believe your father feels that way, either.” When Gia frowns again, I try another tactic. “Don’t you sometimes say things you don’t mean? Didn’t you just tell me last week that your friend Khamari gets on your nerves? You didn’t mean that—”

“Un-huh!” Gia interrupts again with another adamant head nod. “I meant it. She wouldn’t stop singing whenever Halle sung ‘Part of Your World’ in The Little Mermaid , so I told her she got on my nerves.”

Lord ha’ mercy. I can’t argue that logic.

“Okay, you might have meant it in that moment, but does she always get on your nerves? You still like her, and she’s still your friend, right?”

“Yes,” Gia says. Her frown deepens for a moment then it clears. “So Mommy and Daddy only hate each other sometimes?”

“They don’t hate one another, sweetie. Is your mommy mad at your daddy sometimes, and he gets mad at her right back? Yes. But we all get upset at people, and our feelings get hurt. When they do, we can say things we don’t really mean at the time—not like with you and Khamari,” I add, cutting her off when she parts her lips to correct me. In spite of the serious topic, a laugh bubbles inside me. I wait a second to tamp it down then continue. “We can say mean, hurtful things, but it doesn’t mean we have hate in our hearts for the other person. The most important thing, Gia, is they love you so much. And their love for you will always be so big that nothing else matters, okay?”

She stares at me, and finally, she says, “Okay. But, Liyah?” she asks before I can breathe a sigh of relief that I waded through that minefield.

“Yes?”

“When they fight, my stomach hurts. And I get sad.”

“I know, sweetie, and I’m sorry. Have you ever told them that it makes you sad?”

She shakes her head, dropping her eyes from mine. “I don’t want them to be mad at me,” she whispers.

“Oh, Gia, they would never be mad at you for telling the truth.” I can say that for a certainty with Von. Just from what I’ve witnessed, and the kind of father he is with her, I think it would hurt his heart to know she’s feeling this way. “Why don’t you do this? Tomorrow, tell your father how you’re feeling and see what he says, okay? Start with him. I bet you’ll feel so much better after you do.”

Another beat of silence where she studies me, as if judging if I’m being honest with her. Then she nods and a smile spreads across her little face. “Okay. Now can you read me a story?”

Children. Their attention can switch like lightning. Especially when they feel secure.

“ We can read the story. You’re such a good reader, we can do it together.”

She beams, sitting up. “Okay!”

About a half hour later, I pull her bedroom door closed, leaving it open a small crack. Sighing, the heaviness from my conversation with Gia settles back on my shoulders.

It’s not your place , I remind myself. Especially after that scene with Sheree and Von at the shop. She’d made it abundantly clear she didn’t want me included in anything that didn’t have to do with nannying. Honestly, I understand where she was coming from. It must be hard watching another woman with her child when she doesn’t have her on an everyday basis. I can only sympathize with her. And with a daughter like Gia, who’s such a joy? Yes, it must be difficult. But her nasty attitude and mouth had me popping off.

Yes, I’m quiet and some people mistake that for weakness and not having a backbone. As Tamara would say, they eff around and find out. Well, Tamara would say the f-bomb...

You’re only spineless when it comes to your father .

Bitchy inner voice, one. Me, zero.

I head for the living room and drop down to the couch. Like I do most nights while waiting for Von to come home, I pull out my sketch pad and flip to my current drawing. It’s one I started a couple days ago of Gia running across the park playground. Smiling, I start working on the background, capturing the jungle gym, seesaw and swings. In class, I’m learning how to perfect depth and perspective, and I can already see the results in my work.

Without my permission, my mind drifts to earlier today when I drew the tattoo design for Von. Other than my professors and students in my classes, he was the first person to see any of my art in years. After being told time and again that drawing and my interest in art was a waste, I stopped sharing. I stopped talking about it at all. What does it say that I trusted Von with that part of me? Or that my stomach had been in knots as I awaited his opinion? Or that his opinion had mattered?

Oh, I don’t need to think too hard.

It means I’m getting in too deep, and I should save myself before there’s no coming back. Tamara had warned me about catching feelings for Von, and I’d assured her that wouldn’t—couldn’t—happen. God, I’m a fool.

The alarm announcing the opening of the front door beeps, and my belly bungee jumps. I don’t turn around to watch him enter, instead keeping my gaze trained on my drawing pad. After the way we parted—not to mention that kiss in his tattoo room—I’m all over the place on how to deal with him, talk to him. He has me so confused, off-kilter and...well, hot, that my instinct is to withdraw.

Anything I want as bad as I want Von can’t be good for me. It can’t be for me , period.

I know who I am—or, at least, I’m getting there. And I’m not built for the reckless, overwhelming passion Von introduced me to days ago and got me reacquainted with today. I, who has been starved of affection and love, would too easily mistake tenderness for affection and lust for love.

For so many years, my father smothered me with his overprotection and chains of religion. Now, it’s up to me to protect myself. Choose myself. And I choose not to leave Chicago wrecked and in pieces.

“Aaliyah.”

His low, rough-silk voice sends pleasure tripping over my skin. I work not to betray my reaction. “Hi, Von.”

“Gia in bed?”

“Yes, she’s been asleep for about thirty minutes now.”

“Okay.” The rasp of his beard beneath his hand tickles my ears. “Thanks again for staying late.”

“It’s no problem. It never is.”

“You not going to look at me, ma? And you call me rude.”

My head jerks up from my pad, and I scowl at him. “Seriously?”

“There you are,” he murmurs. “Now what’s up, ma? What’s going on that you’re up in here hiding from me?”

“I’m not...” He arches an eyebrow, and I trail off. “Whatever,” I mutter.

He stares at me for another few long moments then turns, heading out of the living room in the direction of the kitchen.

“We saved you some dinner just in case you’re hungry,” I call after him, stuffing my pad in my bag. “Your plate is in the microwave.”

I grab my book bag and purse then stand, setting them both on the couch while I go to the closet to grab my coat. It’s almost November, and the nights have gotten colder. Most native Chicagoans aren’t fazed by it, but my thin Alabama blood has me shivering against the cool air.

“Let me ask you something.” He appears in the entryway to the kitchen, plate of chicken and mashed potatoes in his hand. “You can’t cook, can you?”

I stare at him, the answer stuck in my throat. Is this a trick question? I mean, this far into my employment, I don’t think he’ll fire me but...

“Um...why do you ask?”

“Because I know Church’s chicken when I eat it.” He smirks, biting into a leg. Why seeing his strong, white teeth sinking into the meat is so sexy, I can’t even begin to explain. There’s something wrong with me. “And every time you stay late, there’s some kind of takeout container or bag in the garbage. Either you can’t cook, ma, or you lazy as fuck. And ain’t shit lazy about you. So...”

“In my defense, I didn’t include cooking skills on my résumé,” I mutter.

He snorts. “Since you taking care of my daughter includes her not starving, being able to fix a meal was implied. I believe it’s called a lie of omission.”

He doesn’t look angry. Still, I purse my lips, studying him.

“Am I fired?” I ask.

He huffs out a laugh. “No, Liyah, you’re not fired. Even if I wanted to, Gia would probably leave to go live with you rather than stay with me. But let me know how much you spend on food so I can include that in your check. You shouldn’t be coming out the pocket to feed my daughter.”

I nod even though I don’t mind. Especially since I have to eat, too. But as a student paying for the part of tuition the scholarship doesn’t cover, I’m not turning down extra money. I might have my pride, but I’m no fool.

“Thank you.” I turn around, intending to head back to the living room, grab my stuff and leave. But I only go a couple of steps before I stop and face him again. And I’m speaking before fully acknowledging my intent to do so. “Can I...talk to you? If you’re not too tired.”

He bites into the chicken again, swallowing before replying, “Yeah. Sit while I finish eating.” Dipping his chin toward the breakfast bar and the stools lined up in front of it, he sets his plate on top and retrieves a bottle of water from the refrigerator while I follow his command. Water in hand, he sits across from me and resumes eating. “What’s up?”

Inhaling a breath, I hold it, formulating in my head exactly how to explain this now that I’ve broached the subject. Smoothing a hand over my ponytail, I meet his steady, bright gaze.

“I don’t feel like I’m betraying Gia’s confidence since she promised me she would talk to you tomorrow...”

The fork in Von’s hand pauses halfway to his mouth, and after a second, he slowly lowers it back to his plate. “What do you mean? What about Gia?”

“Tonight, she confided in me.” I relay to him my conversation with his daughter. He sits quietly as I talk, not interrupting me. When I finish, he remains silent, seemingly no longer interested in his dinner as he hasn’t touched it since we sat down. “I encouraged her to talk to you about how she’s feeling, and she agreed to, but I didn’t want you to be blindsided. I also wanted you to be prepared so you wouldn’t inadvertently...well...”

“Hurt her. Reject her,” he finishes, staring down at his plate, hands flattened on either side of it. “The last thing I wanted was for Gia to be traumatized by this. Of course, I knew she would be affected by her parents divorcing, but I tried to minimize the hurt and confusion as much as possible. But they don’t make DIY shows on how to break up a marriage without fucking up your kids.”

“Von,” I whisper. “You’re doing your best.”

“Am I?” He looses a hard chuckle. “When my daughter walks around here scared and worried about how she’s going to make me and her mother feel by being honest with us, I’m not so sure. Her one job is to be a kid. To go to school, clean her room, play with her friends and enjoy herself. Not deal with mine and Sheree’s shit. Definitely not be emotionally responsible for us. Nah, Liyah, even if we are doing our best, it’s not fucking good enough.”

I don’t know what to say to that. There’s nothing I can say that will change his mind or stop him from beating himself up. So I just lean across the breakfast bar and cover one of his hands with mine. After a long moment, he flips his hand over and grasps mine.

“You’re an amazing father,” I say, breaking the long, heavy silence.

I’d hoped my words would comfort him, but instead they seem to have the opposite effect when his grip on me tightens. His big body stiffens, and it’s almost like he’s rejecting my assurance with his mind and body.

“Von, are you o—”

“Did you believe my ex-wife today? What she said about me not being loyal? Or faithful?” he asks, interrupting my inquiry into his well-being.

I blink, straightening and slowly sliding my palm back across the bar top until it rests in my lap. “I didn’t think about it one way or the other. I just took it as her being petty and trying to throw shade.”

He gives another of those sharp chuckles and scrubs a hand down his face, his tell that he’s in his emotions.

“Is it—” I pause, my pulse echoing in my head “—true?”

Why does the thought of him being a cheat cause my stomach to churn?

He stares at me, his gaze unwavering. “Would it matter if it was?”

I want to say no, that it wouldn’t matter, that their marriage and divorce was their business, just as I’d said in the tattoo shop earlier. But I can’t lie. How I was raised and my own standard of right and wrong won’t allow me to lie. Fidelity, faithfulness, they are character traits, and if he could lie and betray his wife—the woman he’d promised his heart, loyalty and future to—what else would he lie about, who else would he be disloyal to?

“Yes,” I admit. “It would.”

“Good.” The fierceness in his voice and the hardening of his eyes take me aback. “It should change how you see me. People get it fucked-up. When you cheat, it isn’t just betraying your partner. It’s saying fuck you to your relationship, your family. It’s stealing time from not just the person you married but from your kids, your extended relatives. It’s jeopardizing your world, not just your marriage. It’s saying getting a nut is more important than other people’s hearts, other people’s emotional pain, their security. It’s selfish, and I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t do it.” He pauses. “But Sheree did.”

I rock back on the stool. Shock slaps through me in ice-cold waves. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that . From the animosity and...bitterness that seeped from his ex, I wouldn’t have guessed she was the one who’d violated their vows. If I’m honest, she seemed more like a woman scorned than an ex-wife with no emotional ties to her ex-husband.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I was faithful. And shit, keeping it a buck, I had plenty of opportunities to cheat. Do you know how much pussy is thrown at me in my shop alone? I’m not gon’ lie and say I’ve never been tempted. But crossing that line? Hell no. Not even when the communication between me and Sheree dissolved to arguments and silences. Apparently, her definition of faithfulness was a little looser than mine. By the time I found out, the affair had been going on for years. Four to be exact, off and on. Whenever she got pissed with me, she’d run back to him.”

Wow. I shake my head, stunned. Four years? That’s not an affair; that’s a full-fledged relationship.

“How did you...?”

“Find out?” His lips curl into a smile that hurts to look at. “Her cell, of course. She guarded that muthafucka like there was a ransom on it. The phone went with her everywhere, including the bathroom when she went to take a shower. As suspect as that was, it still didn’t occur to me she was on some snake shit until Gia ended up with her phone one day, just playing with it, and Sheree lost her fucking mind. It’s one thing to be protective of the damn thing but to go off on your daughter because she handled it? Nah, that’s when I knew she was doing something. Then she slipped up one night and forgot to take it into the bathroom with her. And when her phone rang, I answered it. It was a friend of mine on the other end. And since he ain’t ever called me ‘baby,’ I figured out real quick he wasn’t looking for me.”

“That’s... Wow. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And with your friend. That’s a double betrayal.”

He crosses his arms, leaning them on the counter. “No cap, I felt like a lil’ bitch answering that phone. What’s the saying? What you go looking for you’ll find? I ain’t really give a fuck about him. We weren’t that close, but I didn’t ever expect it of her.”

Pain for him radiates through me. I didn’t even love Gregory, but discovering he’d betrayed me like that? It still would’ve hurt me. So I can’t even imagine...

“I’m sorry, Von,” I whisper again. “I’m so sorry.”

He flicks a hand as if waving off my words. “I could’ve gotten past the cheating. Or the stealing. I didn’t mention that, did I? Yeah, she stole money from me, too. We wouldn’t have stayed together because I couldn’t ever trust her again. But neither devastated me. Nah, that came when I hung up with ol’ boy and scrolled through her phone, looking for a text thread between them. That’s when I found a text from a couple of years earlier when he asked her if Gia was his.”

Oh my. God .

“What?” I rasp, grasping the edge of the bar top to keep myself from swaying right off the stool. I had to have misheard him. He didn’t...he couldn’t... “Are you saying there’s a possibility Gia’s not your biological daughter?”

A sadness so deep, so profound flashes across his face, it’s like a spasm of agony. He turns his head, glancing away from me. When he returns his gaze to me, a mask claims his features, but his eyes... His eyes tell the true story. I didn’t misread that expression.

“It’s not a possibility,” he flatly says. But before relief can make a full sweep through me, he adds, “It’s a fact. When I confronted Sheree, she confirmed it. Gia isn’t mine.”

I can’t not touch him. Even as astonishment continues to clash inside my head, pounding against my temples, I grasp his hand again. Like when I reached out before, he stiffens, and then his behavior takes on new meaning.

You’re an amazing father .

That’s what I’d said to him, and though he hadn’t said anything in response, I can tell now that he’d physically recoiled from the praise. From “father.”

“Don’t you ever say that again,” I snap. Anger pours through me, burning away the shock.

Von’s head snaps back, and he studies me through narrowed eyes. “The hell?”

“Don’t,” I repeat, emphasizing it with a hard squeeze. “I don’t care if God Himself donated His DNA to Gia, you are her father. You provide for her, care for her, support her. But more than that, you’re her hero. You show up for her. You make her feel safe. You make her feel like the most beautiful, smartest and most loved little girl on this earth. And this isn’t something I’m guessing at—I see it every day I’m with her. You are her world. And from a person who grew up with a father in the house who wasn’t necessarily present... A father who I knew loved me but didn’t affirm me... A father whose love felt conditional on my behavior and obedience... You are a gift. You’re a gift to her and to me. I look at you and know fatherhood isn’t something to fear but to revere.”

My breath heaves out of me, and embarrassed at my outburst, I snatch my hand back. What am I doing? Well, besides crossing boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. Again. I’m making this about me, not him. Not Gia.

I’m revealing too much.

Handing him ammo to use against me later.

He’s not your father .

The fact that my inner bitch’s voice is soft and comforting when she imparts that particular nugget only deepens my shame.

“Thank you.”

The quiet, almost solemn gratefulness in his voice stops my emotional spiral. I inhale a breath and slowly exhale it.

“You’re a wonderful dad. And I don’t know the ins and outs of your divorce. But I’m assuming the court most likely had full knowledge that you’re not Gia’s biological father yet still determined you were the more appropriate choice to be the custodial parent. You have to know that’s unusual. Doesn’t matter that she was born into the marriage, the court chose you. And I bet if Gia had any idea, she would choose you over and over again.”

Slowly, he rises, rounds the breakfast bar and stops in front of me. He spins my stool until I’m facing him, and he moves in between my thighs. My voice and breath are stuck in my throat as he lifts his hands to my cheeks, cradling them.

Tipping my head back, he sweeps his thumbs over my cheekbones and brushes a gentle kiss over my forehead. “Thank you.” He presses another kiss to the bridge of my nose, directly over the freckles he often mentions. “Thank you.” Another to my cheek, right over where my dimple would be. “Thank you.”

He covers my mouth with his. And I’m helpless. I open for him, allow him inside.

No.

Nonono.

I’m not helpless. I’m not powerless. I’m choosing this, choosing to surrender to the heat that’s never far away with Von. Choosing him once more.

There’s power in that, and it sends a new wave of arousal coursing through me. On a whimper, I curl my hand behind his neck and use him as leverage to rise up a little and press my lips harder to his. Demand a deeper, more carnal, more...dirty kiss. I want him to corrupt me, and in turn, I can set myself free.

Free from my chains of religious propriety.

Free from my own insecurities of not being enough.

Free from...me.

And yet, finding me.

Joy mingles with hunger, and it surges within me, incinerating the last of my inhibitions and doubts. As if sensing what I need, he threads his fingers through my hair, fisting the strands, and the tiny pricks across my scalp have me gasping into his mouth. It’s like when he puts his hand to my throat—I didn’t know until being with him that edges of pain could get me so...wet. Because God, I’m so wet.

It should be embarrassing how just a touch from him can send me into flash-flooding territory. And maybe later, it will be. But right now, with him sucking on my tongue then my bottom lip like I’m the sweetest lollipop he’s ever tasted, I really don’t give a damn.

“You’ve been teasing me with this pussy, walking around here pretending she’s not mine. Like she isn’t fucking crying for me. This is my shit.” He reaches between us, cups me through my leggings, and part of me wants to contradict what he’s just said. Tell him he doesn’t own anything over here.

But I’d be a liar.

I only want him. My body has only ever reacted like it’s one touch away from internal combustion with him. At this point, it’s so his, he should have the signed deed to it.

“You gon’ let me have you again, Liyah?” With the hand not filled with my sex, he squeezes my jaw.

Where do we go from here? What’s going to happen after this?

The questions fly through my head at lightning speed, but I have no answers. Don’t need answers. No, my only concern in this moment is how he can have me and where.

“Yes.”

It’s all I can manage. But it’s more than enough.

As if that one word snatched all the brakes off, he hikes me up in his arms and sets me on top of the bar. Within dizzying moments, he has my leggings and panties stripped off and his face buried between my thighs.

Holy...

I clench my jaw, locking down the feral and shocked scream rising up from my chest as Von swirls his tongue in a figure eight around my clit and through my folds.

Of course, I’ve read about this before and seen it on videos but experiencing it? No, experiencing it with this man ? I bite my bottom lip and fist my hair. No comparison.

“Von,” I rasp as he rolls my hips up, pushing my thighs toward my chest.

“I knew this pussy was gon’ be good.” His voice vibrates through my flesh, adding to the pleasure, and I arch toward him...well, as much as I can with his arm banded across the backs of my legs. He hums, sucking on each lower lip then releasing them with a wet pop. “You know you fucked up letting me get a taste, right? This the kind of pussy you kill a muthafucka over, ma. That murder pussy.”

I don’t answer—not that I can. Not when he thrusts his tongue inside of me, setting off a fireworks display in my core.

“Oh shit,” I gasp.

His dark chuckle rumbles against my flesh, and he pulls back, replacing his tongue with his large, long fingers, and I choke on a cry as moisture burns my eyes. This shouldn’t feel this good.

My mind tries to intrude, tries to warn me that this is sinful, that I’ll regret this, pay for it.

Maybe.

Maybe all of that is true.

But I don’t care.

And right now, I’m willing to pay the cost.

Von finger fucks me, and it’s not gentle. And I love it. No, I crave it. As I do the wet sound that echoes in the kitchen every time he pulls free of my pussy. He latches his mouth onto my clit and with one hard suck, I explode.

I’m a shuddering, whimpering mess, and I try to squirm away from Von as he cleans me up with his tongue, chasing every drop that leaks out of me.

“Unh-unh.” Straightening, he lightly slaps my thigh and hauls me off the bar. “Don’t tap out on me, ma. I’m not finished with you yet.”

He spins me around then yanks my shirt over my head and removes my bra. I shiver, not really cold but at the prickling sensation of standing in the kitchen fully naked and...exposed.

But Von burns that feeling away with the settling of a hard palm to the center of my back.

“Bend over, Liyah,” he says, exerting slight pressure and guiding me until my breasts and cheek meet the chilled bar top. “Arch that back and get that pretty ass up in the air for me.”

Raising on my toes, I do what he wants—what I want, too.

The rustle of clothing and crinkle of foil telegraph that Von’s donning a condom before he moves between my legs and, without any hesitation, buries himself deep inside me.

I groan, rolling my forehead over the tile of the bar. Maybe it’s our position but there seems to be more of him than last time. I swear, I can damn near feel him in my chest.

“You can take this dick, ma. Fuck a church girl. You taking it like the boss bitch you are. Now put that hand back up there and give me this good pussy.”

Something swells within me, and I close my eyes, inhale deep and surrender in a way I haven’t in...ever.

A low rumble echoes behind me, followed by “gotdamn” and another rustle of clothing. In the next moment, his bare chest covers my back, and his hot mouth opens over my shoulder. My own lips part on a soundless gasp at the skin-to-skin contact and his dick digging deeper and deeper inside me.

He grips my chin, turning my head toward him, and we kiss in a nasty, wild mating of lips and tongues, all while he fucks me with a grind and punch of his hips. My walls grab at him, milk him. And already I’m on the verge of orgasm, feeling it sizzle its way up my spine.

“Shit.” He grunts. “Go on and give it to me, Liyah. Rain down on my dick.”

And I do. With a sharp cry, I let go, and he laughs, but there’s pride in that soft, strained chuckle. Pushing off me, he grips the back of my neck with one hand and my hip with other, and slams into me. Over and over. Before my release starts to ebb, he’s shoving me into the next one, the tip of his dick knocking against that spot high inside my pussy. He slides his fingers over my hip and down between my thighs, unerringly finding my clit. As he brushes the bundle of nerves, I flinch from the almost too-sharp pleasure.

“Oh God. Oh God,” I chant.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” Von’s hold on me tightens as he buries that beautiful dick in me again and again. “One more. Give me one more.”

This one is going to kill me. I can feel it as the electrical current crackles in the soles of my feet, the base of my spine, my brain. With a breathless cry, I break apart, and with several more thrusts and an almost tortured groan, so does he.