Page 23 of Midnight Mass (Priest 1.50)
“I won’t lose,” I growled.
“Then shut the hell up and fuck me!” she panted. “I already told you I wanted it this way, what more do you need?”
Good Guy Tyler would probably need lots more things. But Good Guy Tyler wasn’t here right now.
Father Bell was here instead. And church was in session.
Still holding her wrists to the floor, I started rubbing her clit over the silk of her panties, relishing the way her eyes fluttered shut when I found just the right pressure, just the right tempo, and she stopped tried to wriggle free, instead bucking her hips up to meet my hand. Even the outside of her panties were damp, which made me think of our heated moment in the loft, which made me think of Anton and the fact that I wasn’t sure if he was still down here searching for Poppy or not. In a moment of renewed anger, I fisted one side of her underwear and tore them off her hips, shredding the delicate embroidered fabric and leaving her sweet cunt bare for me.
And then I spanked it.
She let out a little squeak, squirming away from me, and I spanked it again, just to hear her make that noise again. I got to my knees and straddled her waist, leaving her pussy wet and exposed behind me. With the hand not holding her wrists, I fumbled with my button and zipper, my dick springing free, dark and veined and so hard it ached.
“Open those red lips for me,” I said.
“Make me.”
I moved up her body and angled myself forward, the flared crown of my cock nudging against her lips, which were pressed firmly closed. “You want me to make you?” I threatened.
She raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Quick as a flash, I let go of her wrists and reached into the bodice of her dress, where I found an erect nipple and twisted. She cried out in mingled pain and pleasure, parting those lips, and I thrust my hips down at the same instant, shoving myself inside her mouth.
I let out a string of swear words the moment my dick was inside, pushing against her tongue. Fuck and shit and Jesus, that feels so good. I started moving in and out, and then I let go of her wrists to brace myself more heavily on the floor, my other hand tangling deep in her hair.
I shouldn’t have let go.
She flipped onto one side, unsettling my balance and also removing her delicious mouth from my dick, and then she scrambled out from underneath me. I tried to hold onto her hair and then she was struggling with me, and I wasn’t sure how she managed it, but there was another slap and then a shove so hard that I tumbled backwards, my head knocking against the wood floor. Adrenaline pounded through me, the urge to fight and to fuck, and then she was crawling up my body like a tigress, her face wild and sexy as hell with her slightly blurred lipstick and stray hair falling from her up-do.
She straddled me, pressing her bare pussy against my bare cock, and it was a twisted version of the first time we’d ever fooled around together, her rubbing herself against me while I grabbed her hips to move her harder and faster. But this time I wore a tux, not a priest’s collar, and we were in Poppy’s dance studio, not a church. And this time she swatted my hands away impatiently, moving her hand up to squeeze around my throat.
I stilled.
Everything was so wet where she was sitting on me, so fucking wet and warm, and then without warning, she was tucking her skirt in one elbow and then gripping my root and then moving up and oh my fucking God oh my fucking God oh my fucking God.
So tight. So wet. So fucking warm.
Her pussy enveloped me in one rough movement, and her hold on my throat tightened as she started fucking me harder than she’d ever fucked me before, taking me to the hilt and then bucking against me, the sweet pink berry of her clit rubbing against the muscle above my cock.
She moved violently, ferociously, punishing me for all of my sins—and fuck, if this was the punishment I deserved, then I would sin again and again and again. She wrapped her other hand around the lapel of my tux jacket, using the lapel and my throat for leverage, and she was like a woman possessed on top of me, riding me as hard as I’d wanted to ride her.
“Oh my God,” I groaned, closing my eyes, barely able to breathe past her hand around my neck. I couldn’t watch her any more, that needy clit or those red lips or that elegant hand holding my lapel in a death grip. It was all too much, I was far too worked up, and I could feel a biting, gnawing hurricane gathering at the base of my spine.
“Don’t you dare come,” she half-ordered, half-pleaded. “Don’t you fucking dare. Not yet.”
I opened my eyes, and this time when I reached for her hips, she let me. I helped her move faster and harder, and it was only a few seconds more before her breathing grew ragged and her hips moved jerkily, a blush staining her chest and cheeks. And then she cried out, slumping forward onto me—her hand still fast around my throat—her pussy quivering in tight, squeezing flutters.
“Oh God,” she was moaning, her face buried in my tuxedo jacket. “Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.”
And that is when I noticed that I hadn’t closed the door to the studio properly, leaving a small crack visible to the hallway. A shadow hovered in that hallway, a figure standing just to the side of the door. It only took one glance to confirm; Anton had finally found us. And he was watching.
Let’s give him a show, a terrible version of myself thought. Why don’t you show him what it’s like when you get to take what’s yours to take?
I flipped us over, Poppy’s orgasm-weak hands sliding off of me as I started driving into her. I had one arm around her waist and the other holding my weight, but it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t deep enough or hard enough or fast enough. I wanted Anton to see how rough my lamb let me give it to her, I wanted him to be able to feel the force of my fucking her through the floor, through the walls. I wanted the whole studio to shake with it.
I pulled out and stood up, my dick like a thick, dark knife jutting out from my tux, and then I reached down and hauled her to her feet. She was unsteady and dazed, still panting and flushed from her climax, and she didn’t protest as I walked around and tugged on the zipper to her dress.
Unzipped, the dress gaped in back, the straps threatening to slide off her shoulders, and I helped them along their way, stripping her completely naked, save for her strapless bra and heels. Poppy had once stripped for me in a club, and had stripped for me privately many times since, but those times, she’d been in complete control of her body and her sex. Those times, she’d held all the power, all the control.
