Page 53 of Church Girl
“What’re you looking embarrassed about?” He mugs me. Instead of giving me an opportunity to reply, he crushes his mouth to mine, making more of a mess of me. “Don’t ever be ashamed of how much of yourself you give to someone for your pleasure or theirs. This—” he dips his thumb inside my mouth, and without instruction, I suck hard on it. “This,” he growls, “is between us. It’s natural and it’s hot as fuck.” He paints his assurance on my chin, over my cheek, with his damp thumb. “And sloppy head is the best head, ma. Don’t nobody want neat when they’re getting their dick sucked.”
Declaring that as if it’s the Gospel According to Von, he punctuates it with another hard kiss.
“Fuck, I ain’t got no business doing this to you,” he mutters. The admonishment might’ve hurt my feelings if he didn’t tug down the top of my strapless dress, baring my breasts. The built-in shelf bra is sturdy enough—and my breasts are small and firm enough—that I didn’t need to wear a bra tonight, and when that sexy mouth pulls into a snarl, I’m glad. “When I go to hell for dirtying you up, are you going to pray for my soul, Liyah?”
I would’ve answered—I swear I would’ve. If only he hadn’t chosen that moment to vacuum damn near my whole breast into his mouth.
“Oh God,” I wail, my hands flying to his head, clutching his braids.
He doesn’t let my tight grip or my spasming body stop him from drawing hard or from pinching the other nipple.
I’m twisting closer, then bowing away. Hell, I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. All I can claim for certain is I’m on the verge of breaking, and it scares me.
Von lifts his head, and despite my internal, erotic tug-of-war, I reach for him. But he evades me, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat.
“Von,” I whine, prepared to beg for that orgasm he promised me. The orgasm he can’t deliver if he doesn’t get back to what he was doing. Get back. Right. Now.
“Shh, ma. Let me get you right.”
He doesn’t explain that, and as his gaze and his hand lower to between my thighs, any question I might’ve had dries on my tongue. I’m speechless, but my body isn’t. It screams with anticipation and greed as he grabs the hem of my dress and lifts it. Modesty should jump up and shout,“Remember me!”but no, it remains quiet, probably as breathless and eager as I am.
“Goddamn.” His low, heated curse has my nipples beading tighter, has the coil of heat just below my navel pulling tauter. My hips roll all on their own, and his rough andpleasedchuckle echoes in the confines of the truck’s cab. “Why that pussy so wet, huh? Why she so pretty?”
On a hum, he traces my fevered skin just above the patch of thong that’s barely covering me. A peek down reveals my puffy, drenched folds nearly swallowing the barely there lace. And in this moment, I’m relieved I let Tamara talk me into a spa day where I was waxed and plucked within an inch of my life. The pain was worth witnessing the lust stamping his features and watching him pull his bottom lip between his teeth. How did I go my whole life not knowing how sexy that one gesture could be?
Von cants my hips forward, pressing my back against the steering wheel. What if I hit the horn? Won’t that telegraph to people—
A long, tortured groan eases out of my throat as he grips my hips and glides my sex up his dick.
Oh God. Who cares about a horn? Hell, whatisa horn?
All thought flies from my head at the pleasure careening through me like a summer tornado. And when my clit nudges the rim of his tip, I can’t even recall my name.
“Damn, ma.” He grunts as he does some kind of twist/grind/roll combo that shoves his cock between my folds while circling my clit at the same time.
It’s magic. Wicked sorcery. And I don’t know whether to condemn him for this witchcraft or praise him for his skills. He slides me down his length then snatches me back up. I whimper.
Praise. Definitely praise.
“You got it, church girl,” he urges, his pace quickening as he grinds me over and over his flesh. “Get it. Get me all wet and messy with it, too. Gimme my nut.”
Desperate, I slap a hand over his mouth. If he keeps talking, I’m going to die. Expire right here and my ghost will be orgasming in his lap.
His lips graze my palm, and I don’t need to see his smile to feel it against my skin. He lifts a hand, covering mine, pressing it against his mouth...and sinks his teeth into the heel of my palm. Electrical currents attack my sex, and like a marionette, my body twitches, pulled by the strings of pleasure.
And as powerful, as good as it all is, it’s not enough.
I want more. I shouldn’t. God knows, I’ve already gone a bridge too far. To do more, to tempt more, to dare ask for more...
Screw it.
Whether it’s being drunk on the lust swirling in my veins or the reckless, desperate knowledge that this moment may never come again, I hurl caution and myself over that tenuous cliff called self-preservation and dive into the unknown. Into abandonment. Into danger.
Into him.
“Fuck me.” The demand is a whisper but it’s certain.
He stills but then his hand lifts, encircles my wrist and tugs mine away from his mouth. He remains silent but his gaze is busy, roaming my face.
