Page 65 of Church Girl
Nonono.
I’m not helpless. I’m not powerless. I’m choosing this, choosing to surrender to the heat that’s never far away with Von. Choosing him once more.
There’s power in that, and it sends a new wave of arousal coursing through me. On a whimper, I curl my hand behind his neck and use him as leverage to rise up a little and press my lips harder to his. Demand a deeper, more carnal, more...dirty kiss. I want him to corrupt me, and in turn, I can set myself free.
Free from my chains of religious propriety.
Free from my own insecurities of not being enough.
Free from...me.
And yet, finding me.
Joy mingles with hunger, and it surges within me, incinerating the last of my inhibitions and doubts. As if sensing what I need, he threads his fingers through my hair, fisting the strands, and the tiny pricks across my scalp have me gasping into his mouth. It’s like when he puts his hand to my throat—I didn’t know until being with him that edges of pain could get me so...wet. Because God, I’m so wet.
It should be embarrassing how just a touch from him can send me into flash-flooding territory. And maybe later, it will be. But right now, with him sucking on my tongue then my bottom lip like I’m the sweetest lollipop he’s ever tasted, I really don’t give a damn.
“You’ve been teasing me with this pussy, walking around here pretending she’s not mine. Like she isn’t fucking crying for me. This is my shit.” He reaches between us, cups me through my leggings, and part of me wants to contradict what he’s just said. Tell him he doesn’t own anything over here.
But I’d be a liar.
I only want him. My body has only ever reacted like it’s one touch away from internal combustion with him. At this point, it’s so his, he should have the signed deed to it.
“You gon’ let me have you again, Liyah?” With the hand not filled with my sex, he squeezes my jaw.
Where do we go from here? What’s going to happen after this?
The questions fly through my head at lightning speed, but I have no answers. Don’t need answers. No, my only concern in this moment is how he can have me and where.
“Yes.”
It’s all I can manage. But it’s more than enough.
As if that one word snatched all the brakes off, he hikes me up in his arms and sets me on top of the bar. Within dizzying moments, he has my leggings and panties stripped off and his face buried between my thighs.
Holy...
I clench my jaw, locking down the feral and shocked scream rising up from my chest as Von swirls his tongue in a figure eight around my clit and through my folds.
Of course, I’ve read about this before and seen it on videos but experiencing it? No, experiencing itwith this man? I bite my bottom lip and fist my hair. No comparison.
“Von,” I rasp as he rolls my hips up, pushing my thighs toward my chest.
“I knew this pussy was gon’ be good.” His voice vibrates through my flesh, adding to the pleasure, and I arch toward him...well, as much as I can with his arm banded across the backs of my legs. He hums, sucking on each lower lip then releasing them with a wet pop. “You know you fucked up letting me get a taste, right? This the kind of pussy you kill a muthafucka over, ma. That murder pussy.”
I don’t answer—not that I can. Not when he thrusts his tongue inside of me, setting off a fireworks display in my core.
“Oh shit,” I gasp.
His dark chuckle rumbles against my flesh, and he pulls back, replacing his tongue with his large, long fingers, and I choke on a cry as moisture burns my eyes. This shouldn’t feel this good.
My mind tries to intrude, tries to warn me that this is sinful, that I’ll regret this, pay for it.
Maybe.
Maybe all of that is true.
But I don’t care.
