Oh God.
I definitely miss sex with him, and I’m definitely going to come right now, and I definitely wish he was going to come too.
No. No pleasure for him. You take yours and get the fuck out.
Oh, I’m going to take mine. Any minute now, any second, so long as he keeps giving me that hand to use...
Church, predator that he is, scents his impending victory. “That’s right,” he says. “I’m going to fuck you again, Charlotte. And again and again and again, until you’re too worn out to run away from me again.”
“Dream—”moan“—on—”
“I already dream of you,” he whispers. The hand that’s fucking me pushes my ass tighter against his hips, and the bar of his erect cock rocks against my bottom. “Every night. I dream of the way your wet cunt tastes. Of the way it looks. Do you remember the day I came back for you? Do you remember how I ate you that night?”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.”
“I was lost then. The moment my lips brushed against you, it was over; I was lost and you were mine. But you were mine before that, weren’t you? You were mine the moment I saw you. Right here, right in this very room, I saw you. Clever and original and so kissable with that bold mouth. You laughed at me, do you remember that? Maybe that’s when I knew.”
I’m so close, close enough that my knees are all the way buckled and my head is thrashing on his shoulder. “Knew what?” I manage.
“That you could survive me.”
That you could survive me.
But did I survive him? Could I call the last four yearssurvivingwhen everything that made me that electric, ambitious girl four years ago was subsumed in the crush of loneliness and poverty? Were we the perfect example of why gods and mortals don’t mix?
“Church...” It’s half curse, half plea. I’m going to come harder than I have in four years, and I hate him, and I’ve missed him so much that I’m going to fly apart with it.
“Charlotte.” He breathes me in as his touch works me over the edge and coaxes me right into sheer, filthy bliss.
Release sears me—sparkling, squeezing, hot—it starts right behind my clit and rolls everywhere: my belly, my breasts, down my thighs to my curling toes. Church makes a ragged noise into my neck as he feels my pussy clutch at him, and I know he’s thinking of how it would feel around his cock. How wet and tight. How good.
The thought of his cock in me, of him spending inside of me, drives my climax higher and harder, until I’m supported completely by the hand still working my cunt and his other arm, which comes away from the wall to band across my ribs and keep me upright as I shake and shudder my way through the feeling.
It feels nothing like coming alone in my narrow bed and nothing like the few drunken orgasms I’d received from a Dutch bartender three years ago before she moved back to Maastricht and I gave up on post-Church dating altogether.
No, this is the dictionary definition ofgood, this is the kind ofgoodone uses to describe sixteen-year-old scotch or a virgin dig site with bones and sherds only inches below the surface. This is the kind of good that can change your life, that can lash you to a beautiful god and lead you down the path to ruin...
The kind of good that not only blinds you, but binds you.
Except I’m not bound.
Church made sure of that.
What he and I had is dead, and he killed it, and it’s nothing but a relic. It could be in its very own glass case in this gallery, that’s how broken and inert it is.
He slides his hand free of my sex and raises it to his mouth to lick it clean, nuzzling me between tastes, as if to praise me—and God, I like it, I like it too much, it’s dangerous how much his raw animalism stirs me.
I wriggle free of his hold and stumble away, my body still trembling and my cunt wet and pulsing and already aching for himagain, the stupid thing.
“Charlotte,” he warns in a low voice.
I spin around, staggering back enough to put real distance between us. He stands there looking impeccable and barely rumpled at all, as if he went for a stroll through the exhibits and didn’t just finger-fuck a server to hell and back. Only his dark, hungry gaze and the fingers he’s still licking clean speak to the licentious things he’s just done.
“Thanks for the orgasm,” I say in a shaky voice. “Now fuck off.”
A slight twitch in his jaw. “No.”
“I mean it, Church. You ruined us, you ruined me, you ruined everything. Now please let me live my goddamn ruined life in peace.”