Grateful.
His gratitude guts me. I’m slain by it, and I’ll be slain every time I think of it for the rest of my life, but even in broken gratitude, Church keeps my hands pinned, and when his head lifts, his expression is my favorite one in the world. The one of a god with a sacrifice to devour.
“Now for the rest,” he says arrogantly, but also reverently, and pushes up into me. Just the head, no more than an inch, but already I feel pierced by him, invaded and spread. I’m wet—wetter than I’ve ever been maybe—but Church’s cock is no laughing matter. He gives me another fat inch, and I suck in a breath, writhing on it.
It aches. It feels perfect.
It aches.
It feels perfect.
“Problem?” he murmurs, giving me even more and splitting me in two in the process.
My head hits the case behind me. “I...forgot.”
The corner of his sharp mouth curves—not his soft smile from earlier, but that familiar cruel one I love so much. “Forgot what, Charlotte? How hard this cock gets for you?”
Another shove, another inch—and another gasp pinched out of me.
“How deep I go? Or how much your sweet body has to work to take me?”
He’s only about halfway in, and everything below my navel feels like it’s being squeezed in a massive fist. I’m panting, rolling my head along the case wall behind me, and he slides a hand between my thigh and his waist and then pushes me open. He pulls back a few inches and slides back in, my body letting him go deeper this time.
He lets out a very male, very satisfied grunt. “Good girl.”
I look down to where we’re joined and moan. The hard flesh spearing me is straight from mythology—or maybe pornography. Maybe both. “You’re a giant,” I manage. “Or some kind of mutant, maybe.”
“Sorry,” he says, forcing his way deeper and making my eyes flutter in the process.
“You don’t sound sorry,” I manage.
“I’m not,” he says.
“Asshole.”
One of his dark eyebrows lifts in amusement. “What should I say, Charlotte? It’s terrible to see you flushed and panting as you try to take my cock? I hate feeling you squeezed so tight around me that I can barely move? Sorry my penis is so big?”
“It would be a start,” I mumble.
Church looks down then to see what I just saw—the place where his velvet-smooth organ breaches me, and his jaw tics. His grip tightens on my wrists and thigh, as he seems to struggle with some powerful urge.
I know what it is.
“Take it,” I say. There’s no brattiness in my voice just now, and no legitimate anger. There’s no hurt, and no blame. There’s only the love for him that five years ago fell on me like a curse, in this very room. The love that was born to be offered and then taken. A love for temples and secret sacrifices in the dark.
His head snaps up and his eyes meet mine and they’re pure, liquid midnight. And then I’m impaled on him, lanced all the way up to my heart.
There’s pressure and heat and an urgent tightness twisting into something too unformed to be called pleasure. The raw place where pain met bliss was Church’s favorite place to keep me, and he didn’t need ropes or floggers to do it. Just his long, perfect body. Just his huge hands pinning me still and forcing me open for his erection.
I have to bite my lip to keep myself from coming right then and there.
“Little supplicant,” he breathes and then his forehead rests against mine as we pant and tremble together. “You feel—fuck—how will I live without the way you feel? The way you shiver against me when you’re getting close? The way you bite at that freckled lip? How?”
I part my lips to say something—I’m not sure what, but something about how I don’t want him to live without it either—and he kisses me with a sudden fierceness that steals my breath and my words.
I can taste gratitude all over his kiss, and when I lick it off his tongue, when I search out more from inside his mouth, his grip on me turns punishing. Below our kiss, he starts the fucking, moving in shallow, grinding thrusts that have an orgasm burning bright and hot behind my clit, and I’m going to come already, I’m going to come after only a few seconds with my Church inside me—
I look down again, unable to resist the carnal mechanics of it all, the animal sight of it.