Page 39 of Priest (Priest 1)
“So you spent the rest of the afternoon bare?”
She nodded, biting her lip.
I pulled away from the wall, still holding her, and carried her into the sanctuary, using my back to push open the door. She wrapped her legs around my waist, and it was so natural, so right, to have her in my arms that I never wanted to put her down.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked, a bit coyly.
“Yes,” I growled, nipping at her neck. “Lots of trouble. But first, I’m going to bend you over and see exactly how bad you’ve been.”
My plan had been to take her into my office, but I couldn’t wait the five minutes it would take to walk back there; I was barely able to keep myself from unzipping my jeans and thrusting up into her right there and then. I could bend her over a pew, but I wanted her to be able to brace and balance herself. The piano was across the sanctuary, but the altar…the church’s sacred stone table was only a couple of steps away.
Forgive me, I thought and then carried Poppy up the shallow stairs. I set her down and turned her to face the altar, happy to see that it would be the perfect height with her in those heels.
“The altar,” she murmured. “Am I your sacrifice tonight?”
“Are you offering?”
In response, she put her hands flat on the altar cloth, a move that curved her back and highlighted the round contour of her ass.
“Oh, very good, lamb, but not good enough.” I pressed a hand against her back and pushed her down, watching the skirt ride slowly up the back of her thighs as she bent over. I pushed until her turned cheek was sideways against the altar, and then I found her wrists and stretched them above her head.
“Don’t move an inch,” I whispered low in her ear, then walked to the sacristy, where I found a cincture. When I came back out into the apse, she was still as I left her, which deeply pleased me. I would reward her for that later.
I made quick work of knotting the white rope around her wrists and hands, thinking of the prayer priests were supposed to say as they tied their cinctures. Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of lust…
Wrapped around her wrists, binding this woman to my desires, the cincture was doing the exact opposite of its purpose, quenching nothing. My entire body was on fire for hers, flames already licking every inch of my skin, and the only way to douse them was to sink balls deep into her sweet cunt. I should feel bad about that.
I should.
I stepped back to admire my work: the way her arms looked stretched forward and bound together, like a captive in supplication; the way her black heels dug into the carpet; the way her ass was displayed and at my disposal.
I came back to her, lifting the hem of her skirt with one finger. “This shows an awful lot, little lamb. Do you know how much?”
She was staring at me over the curve of her shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “I can feel the air on me…”
I knelt behind her as I had that time after her confession, but this time only to examine. The skirt indeed only just covered what it needed, and the slightest lift would have revealed the shell-pink seam of her cunt.
“Why did you wear this dress today, Poppy?”
“I wanted…I wanted you to fuck me in it.”
“That’s naughty. But not quite as naughty as being in public, at work, with your bare cunt so exposed.” I stood up and then ran my hands up her thighs, catching the soft fabric in my fingers and moving it above her hips.
“What if the wind had blown your skirt up?” I caressed her ass as I spoke. “What if you’d happened to uncross your legs and someone was looking from just the right angle?”
Her voice was muffled by her arm. “I used to get naked for money. I’m not worried about it.”
Crack.
She sucked in a deep breath, and I watched as a red handprint bloomed on her ass, clear even in the dim late-evening light.
“I’m worried about it,” I said. “You know how fucking jealous I am of the men who got to see you like that? How jealous I am of Sterling?”
“You shouldn’t be—”
Crack.
She shuddered and then widened her stance to push her ass closer to my hand.
