Page 52 of Church Girl
Unable to control my body or manage the lust streaming through me, I inch my thighs wider, sitting fully on his dick. A wave of relief flickers through me as if contact with him telegraphs to my body that there’s hope the fire raging inside me will be extinguished.
Like I said, I’m not a virgin, but I’m also not super experienced. Missionary was my one position, and it’d been...well, it’d been. Now, here I sit in a blacked-out truck, straddling my boss and grinding on him.
“Oh... God.”Breaking away from his mouth, I drop my head back and breathily take the Lord’s name in vain. But He’ll forgive me. Because the pleasure striking my sex is divine.
I find my rhythm, not sure if I’m doing this right or wrong—not caring either way. Not when the slide of my feminine lips over the long, thick column under his jeans sends sparks skating over my skin, down my spine. As if they possess a mind of their own, my hips go to work. Experience be damned. My body—my vagina—seems to have a primal understanding of what will give me the most ecstasy. Thank God for the animal brain.
“Fuuuck.” He releases my jaw and hip, lowering his hands to tear at his belt and zipper. In seconds, his jeans sag open and he thrusts them lower.
I greedily glance down, hungry for my first glimpse of his dick. Something tells me it’s as beautiful as he is. I don’t think there’s anything unattractive about this man. Not the thick dark brows that arrow down over his silver gaze. Not the sensual, pierced mouth that’s damp and swollen from our kisses.
And not the impossibly long, wide shaft he pulls free from his black boxer briefs.
Holy shit.
And hell yes, that curse is warranted. That one, too.
I feel my eyes pinch at the corners as they widen at the sight of him.Allof him.
I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit to the flutter of anxiety at the thought ofthatpossibly getting insideme. No way in hell that’s fitting into any hole my body possesses. I don’t even think it’s anatomically possible...or correct.
No, I don’t have a ruler, but hemusthave more dick than I have vagina. Still... I hadn’t been wrong. He’s beautiful. Funny to think of a penis that way, but it is what it is. The dim interior of the truck can’t hide the smooth, silken-looking skin stretched taut over every powerful inch of him. Can’t conceal the broad tip that glistens with wetness at the very top. Or how heavy he must be if the tilt to the right is any indication of the weight he’s packing.
Von’s fist circles his flesh in a grip that appears punishing, and my core spasms in response. And when he pumps his hand up his length, making the head disappear for several precious seconds, my body lights up. My tongue dampens my lips as eagerness I’ve never equated with sex pulses through me.
“You looking at my shit like you want a taste.” By sheer force of will, I drag my gaze up from his fist to his hooded eyes. I don’t answer; I can’t. Desire has stolen that capability. “Open,” he says, staring at my mouth.
I obey. And not because I’ve been conditioned all my life to do so. No, I do it because I want—crave—whatever he has for me. I have a feeling Von’s reward for deference will be vastly different from God’s.
And I’m not wrong.
He slides all four of his fingers between my lips, over my tongue, stretching me to the limits. My mouth is full of him, of the musky yet fresh flavor I intuitively know is the precum that had dotted the tip of his flesh.
Should I be a little turned off by his assumption that I wanted the taste of him in my mouth? Should I recoil at his unapologetic filthiness?
Probably. I mean, I’m weeks out from almost marrying a perfectly respectable, different man.
Probably...but I’m not. If the moisture damn near coating my thighs is any indication, I’m not turned off in the least.
On a groan, I glide my tongue under his fingers, licking as best I can. Tickling the crevices between each digit, I soak in his grunt, hoarding each sound like manna from heaven.
God, I’m being so blasphemous right now.
Again, can’t bring myself to care.
Especially when he withdraws his fingers until only the tips graze my lips...and then carefully but forcefully thrusts them back inside. I squirm, the simulation of sex not lost on me. He repeats the motion, this time reaching farther toward the back of my throat.
Heat sizzles inside me, burning me alive. My hips helplessly jerk, and his other hand returns to my hip, stilling me. Or tries to. At this point, my body has rebelled, seeking more of the acute need that has taken hold like claws sunk into giving flesh.
It’s messy, beautiful and ugly. It’s damn necessary.
“One more,” Von goads, invading my mouth again, his hot, narrowed gaze focused solely on my parted lips. “If you’re this pretty right now I can’t even imagine how you gonna look stuffed full of my dick. You gon’ take it like you are now? Or better, like the good little church girl you are?”
The taunt accompanies the deepest thrust yet, his fingertips tickling the entrance to my throat. My automatic reaction is to gag, my eyes tearing up. A thumb rubs up and down the front of my neck, the soothing touch in direct contrast to the demanding fingers.
“That’s what I’m talking about, ma. You taking it so good,” he croons. “Relax. Breathe slow and deep through your nose. There you go,” he praises, holding himself still as I acclimate to him deeper inside me than anyone before. After several seconds, he slides free, and the fierce pride and lust branding his beautiful, harsh features are more than worth my stinging, wet eyes and aching jaws.
Mortification tries to attack me when he gently wipes spit from the corners of my mouth and chin. But Von tilts my head back so I have no choice but to meet his eyes.
