Page 19 of Always Alchemy

‘Do you let two men suck on them at once?’ he asks.

‘Yes,’ I tell him. I used to, anyway. ‘And it’s the best feeling in the world.’

Two mouths are better than one.

A wise man gave me a maths lesson once, and I’ve never forgotten it.

‘Let me,’ he says. His voice is rough. Full of heat and friction and raw, masculine need. ‘I need a taste. I need to know how you’ll feel between my lips as my teeth graze you and my tongue laves you as hard as it can. Come here. Stand up on the kneeler.’

I do as he says, and he scrambles to his feet. I lean forward so I can press my breasts against the fretwork. The diamonds are large-ish, probably a couple of inches across. I cup my breasts and feed my nipples through the holes.

He swipes a fingertip roughly over each nipple, his head dropping to the screen with a dull thud as he does. The sensation of his hands on me is so perfect and so fleeting I gasp. I lay my forehead against the wood, too, driven by a need to be as close as possible to him. I can’t see his face clearly like this, but our breaths are mingling.

‘You’ve been in here two minutes,’ he rasps, ‘and already you’ve driven me to sin. You’re some kind of unholy siren, and I’m completely powerless against you. Look at you. Jesus Christ. I should be horrified by your wanton promiscuity, but I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.’

He reaches up again and tweaks my nipples. Hard. Viciously, almost. I sense he means it as a punishment, or at least as retaliation for the effect I’m having on him, but his undoing is my undoing, and I arch into the staggering pleasure his touch gives me.

He keeps rubbing. Pinching. My nipples, which were sore in my first trimester and are now needy as fuck, send sharp jolts of arousal to my clit. I stand there, my forehead against the screen, my moans turning to whimpers as he works me relentlessly and my legs widening of their own accord.

Then he’s lifting his head and stooping and sealing his lips around one nipple as his fingers fondle the other. He’strue to his promise. He snags my nipple lightly between his teeth as the flat of his tongue works over it roughly. Desperately. He hums, low and hungrily, in the back of his throat.Mmm, he says.Mmm.

My hands claw at the fretwork. My fingers dig through it, but I can’t reach him. He breaks the seal of his mouth on my skin for a moment.

‘I bet this is making you sinfully wet in that greedy little pussy,’ he growls against my breast.

‘It is,’ I gasp. ‘So wet.’ Wet and achy and needy andempty. So empty. So bereft. It’s clear I won’t find salvation today, and I don’t care. Nothing matters in this moment except getting this beautiful, conflicted, agonised man’s hands and mouth and dick on and in every part of my body.

‘Give me a taste,’ he commands. ‘Slide a finger through that slick pussy and let me taste you.’

I do as he says, shuddering as my finger swipes through the parts of me that need so badly to be touched, violated, more thoroughly before sticking it through a diamond-shaped hole.

His mouth closes over it, hot and hungry, sucking me in hard as his teeth hold me in place and his taut tongue devours every last drop of my arousal. His mouth is so warm. So soft. I feel the power of his sucks everywhere. I need his mouth on my pussy more than I need oxygen.

He’s still working my other nipple with firm pinches and decadent sweeps and rolls of his fingers. I’m drowning and floating, my noises growing breathier and needier with every one of his ministrations.

And then he’s pulling away, leaving my finger cold and wet.

‘Look down,’ he orders.

The crown of his dick is poised at one of the diamonds, moisture beading alluringly at its tip.

I don’t think.

I don’t ask.

I kneel back down, and bend my head, and indulge in lavish sweeps of my tongue through the beads of liquid before swirling it around his red, angry crown.

‘Fuuuuuuck!’he grits out, and the sound is helpless and furious and primal and somalethat I practically pass out from the heady rush of power it gives me.

Next thing, he’s withdrawing, and stumbling noisily out of his booth, and dragging my curtain open, and grabbing me by the arm and onto my feet and out of the confessional. I blink, not expecting to have been transported from a church to a bedroom where candlelight flickers intimately and a huge dark bed offers the opportunity for us to instantly alleviate our needs and purge ourselves of this ungodly desire.

We stare at each other. He’s fully dressed in his austere, all-black weekday ensemble, dog collar in place, but the infernal look in his eyes has him resembling Lucifer himself. His eyes are bottomless black pits of sin; his facial expression more fraught with diabolical intent than I’ve seen on any of the other sinners with whom I’ve indulged in unspeakable acts.

He lowers his face to mine and snags my lower lip between his teeth, tugging at it before plunging his tongue into my mouth. One hand goes to fist my hair at the nape of my neck and the other roams firmly, possessively over the skin of my stomach. It reaches lower, lower, and I widen my stance in the hope that he’ll claim my pussy like this and give me what I need, but the man is too restrained, too self-controlled, for his own good or mine, because it stops just north of my tidy landing strip.

‘On your knees,’ he growls, releasing my mouth too soon. But I sink to my knees gratefully, because if he won’t touch me, then at least I’ll have the pleasure of undoing him. I’m ashamed to say he’s the greatest prize of all. Not just on account of his stupendous looks, but because he doesn’t want to be won.

The others have all come willingly.

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