fourteen #2
“I got you wet for him,” he whispers, nipping at my lower lip. “Now go show him how good you are.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, searching his jade green eyes. “If I’m your girlfriend…”
“If you’re my girlfriend, and this pussy is mine like you said, I get to share it with whoever I want,” he says, curling his fingers inside me and hitting a spot that makes my head spin and my toes curl.
He strokes it languorously, watching my face with haughty amusement.
“And I want to share it with him. I want it to be his too.”
“Okay,” I gasp out, ready to say anything to make him give me the relief I need so badly.
“Good little lamb,” he says, giving me one more quick kiss before withdrawing his fingers, leaving me sore and aching and so frustrated I want to scream. “Now go and do exactly what I said, and I’ll be waiting here to finish that when you get back.”
“Promise?” I ask, fixing my clothes.
“Only for my girlfriend,” he says, giving me the cutest grin as he snags my hand and pulls me back for one more kiss. Then he releases me, slaps my bottom, and tells me to go.
I cross campus quickly, fuming but also nervous about facing Heath.
I should have gone to see him every day, but I didn’t go the first day, and then each day it got harder, until it felt impossible.
Now I step into the quiet church. A girl is just leaving, and a flash of something ugly crashes into me.
Was she with Heath?
Or Father Salvatore?
I stomp past her, through the atrium, and into the sanctuary.
The holiness of the place settles me, the way it always does.
The quiet cavernousness of it conveys a solemnity that stays even when the organ plays and the choir raises its voice.
Tonight, though, nothing interrupts the silence except the sound of the door settling closed behind me.
Heath is sitting in the second pew, where I sat last time, under the watchful eye of Jesus. I swallow hard, my belly full of butterflies as I start down the center aisle. I stop at the end of the pew where he sits, but he doesn’t lift his head.
“Heath?” I say, my voice coming out nervous and unsure, as if I don’t know it’s him.
“Mercy,” he says, still not looking up.
I swallow my nerves. “How did you know it was me?”
“No one else wears those stupid shoes,” he says. “You sounded like a horse galloping down the aisle.”
“Oh.” I stand there, my toes curling inside my shoes, like a child waiting to be told her punishment. But I’m done waiting.
I start to unbutton my blouse. I’m tugging it out of my skirt to get the last buttons when Heath finally looks up, his mouth open as if he’s about to snap at me. When he sees my shirt flutter open, though, he closes it. His eyes narrow. “What are you doing?”
“I’m apologizing.”
I peel open my shirt and let it fall down my back to pool on the floor behind me.
Heath doesn’t speak, but he swallows hard enough for me to see his Adam’s apple bob.
Reaching back, I undo my bra, sliding it off one arm and then letting it fall with my shirt. Then I reach up under my skirt and drag down my underwear, damp from Angel’s attentions. I step out of them, along with my shoes, then walk towards him, my heavy breasts exposed, wearing only my skirt.
He sucks in a breath, then nods to my skirt. “That too.”
I swallow hard, but I obey, drawing it down my fevered thighs and dropping it to the floor.
Then I slide onto Heath’s lap and wrap my arms around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and I press my lips to his pierced ones.
He lets me kiss him, and it feels like some miracle.
His hands find my sides, tentative at first, his palms rough and calloused.
They move up my sides, around my back, down my arms. While he explores me, I undo the buttons of his shirt, wanting to touch him too.
It’s a fantasy I don’t allow myself, that I never have.
I’ve always stopped it, even when I yearned to finish it in my mind.
And after everything he’s done, even though he’s the one who got me into this, he’s the one who held himself back, the one who hasn’t claimed me.
I undo his belt, tug his shirt open, run my hands over his firm muscles, his tattoos, his piercings.
When I tug at his nipple piercing, he growls into my mouth, so I do it again.
His hands clamp onto my bottom suddenly, and he yanks me forward, lifting his hips to grind against my center.
I gasp in pleasure, my head falling back.
Heath angles my body forward and drags my nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard spears of pain lance through my body, throbbing straight into my core and drenching it.
I feel his boxers dampening with my arousal more each time he grinds into my center, his fists squeezing my flesh, overflowing with it.
I tear at his shirt, finally stripping it from him as he moves to my other nipple, leaving the other one wet and hot from his mouth, pulsing with pain and stiff in the cool air of the chapel.
He drags my hips forward again and again, sucking hard and slow, grinding into me with the same rhythm.
His length is hard as steel under me, the fabric wet between us, and each time I reach his body and we grind together, he rocks me forward so my clit is crushed firmly to his pubic bone.
At last, I cry out when he bites down, my hips jerking involuntarily, my pulse fluttering, my walls clenching and clenching as he pushes me over the edge, and I soak him through his boxers.
“Fuck, Mercy,” he groans, dragging his mouth free like it hurts to do so. “Did you just cum all over me?”
“Yes,” I gasp out. “I’m sorry.”
“Consider it payback,” he says with a wicked little smile I never thought I’d see on his face again.
Then he pushes his pants and wet boxers down, and with no warning, drags me back onto him, burying himself to the hilt inside me.
I gasp in shock, but I’m so wet and ready that my flesh offers no resistance for once.
There’s no teasing, no just-the-tip play this time.
He claims me fully, and I understand then, that I was always his.
Since that day on Eternity’s bedroom floor, I have been his as much as I was Saint’s.
He stares up at me, his eyes glassy and faraway, as if he’s forgotten what to do now.
I don’t forget.
Gripping the back of the pew, I move on him, holding his gaze as I lift my hips and then sink down onto him fully again, and again, and again. With each stroke, he claims me anew—and I claim him.
I reach for his face, leaning in to kiss him.
He kisses me back for a minute before his hands unclench from the aching flesh of my backside.
His palm cracks across my skin, hard, and I gasp out as he does it again, spanking my other cheek with one hard, firm swat.
My core pulses, and my face heats as I realize it’s turning me on.
I’m wetter with the next strike, sliding easily down his shaft until his piercing is nestled deep inside me.
He grips my hand and drags it behind my back, pumping up into me now, watching the bliss wash over my face.
He is ruthless, pumping into me harder and harder, until the sound of our bodies slapping together echoes through the high ceilings, against the stained glass, along with my soft cries of pleasure as he pounds into me from below.
Finally he stands, and I have to grab the back of the pew in front of us.
He sets me on the edge and fucks me, slamming into me so hard that an animal grunt escapes him with each blow.
I whimper at his roughness, but I don’t try to stop him.
I know he’s emptying his rage inside me, his wrath, his sin.
I spread my knees wide and let him pummel my insides, my outsides, until I’m bruised and tender when at last he drags me off the pew and onto him, impaling me deep as he grinds my ass into the Bibles in the pocket on the back of the pew.
With a loud moan, he drops his head back, and his hips jerk and spasm as he empties liquid fire inside me.
He stumbles back, collapsing onto the seat and pulling me with him.
His thumb strokes over my clit, and I gasp at the tenderness.
His full, hard cock still fills me, and when he drags his thumb across my sensitive bud again, I cry out, my walls fluttering around him, then clenching in rhythmic, shimmering waves as I lose myself in ecstasy.
When I’m done, I melt forward onto his chest, my heart hammering in time with his, our bare skin pressed together.
At last, our hearts are matched, synchronized instead of beating at each other with all the fury inside us both.
We stay like that for a long time, my core quivering around his iron hardness, and then, his full softness inside me.
It’s wet and messy, and it feels so dirty, so forbidden, but so incredibly right, to be joined this way with him in a church, as if we’ve just said our vows.
And even though we didn’t say them aloud, I know that our bodies have promised each other the things they each needed, and that we’re bound now, if not by vows and rings of gold, by something much deeper.
Heath presses his lips to my temple, a soft, lingering kiss at my damp hairline. “M…”
“I know,” I whisper against his neck, misted with sweat like my skin. “Me too.”
When at last I move to sit up, my eye catches on the slightest movement, a rustling that reaches my ears the next second. Heart hammering suddenly, I search the altar, the shadows beside it, and find myself staring into the black coffee eyes of Father Salvatore.