Page 110 of Sinner (Priest 2)
Nothing at all, except for God and broken promises and two grasping, reaching hearts.
My teeth sink into the delicate slope between neck and shoulder, and she moans low and pleased. “I can feel you,” she says in some wonder. “I can feel your skin. Your heat.”
My knees are close to buckling as I work my way into her belly; static and sparks flash across my eyes; I’m airless, airless, taut as a bowstring and perishing right here in front of God, with His nun pinned up against the wall and my pants down around my hips.
Gentle and invasive all at once, the bold tip of my cock kisses against Zenny’s womb, and I nearly stagger with the feeling and with the idea, and all that’s left to me are smashcuts of sensation—
her pussy in a wet, unrelenting squeeze
and
the hidden corrugations and patterns of her body, all soft, all tight, all wet
and
the plump rub of her clit above my cock
and
silk everywhere, her frothy skirt overflowing my arms and rustling and waving and the lush mounds of her breasts heaving under the silk bodice.
“Does it feel good?” I say huskily, looking up into her face as she looks down into mine with a faint red hue to her cheeks and her mouth parted. “Did you need to ride on my cock, baby?”
“Yes,” she pants out, her hips moving with me, angling and squirming. “God. I needed it so much.”
“Why?”
“I needed to be full—fuck yes God—you make me so full.”
“Shit,” I groan, flexing my cock inside her just to feel the stretch and hug of her tight body. “Shit yeah, I do.”
She squirms in my arms again, seeking, seeking, her head falling back and exposing a slender, delicate throat.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” I encourage her, watching with fascination as that delicate throat flutters with her lust-frenzied pulse. “Take what you need. Use my cock to make yourself feel all nice and good again.”
Her mouth opens once more, a silent cry, and she’s a writhing angel in my arms, falling from heaven and touching ecstasy all at once, and she sobs out a broken I love you as her body flings itself right into the mouth of hell, shuddering with illicit sin in the arms of a sinner, right in the very dress she wore to meet God.
Did I say I was reformed earlier?
I lied.
I’m about to fill up a nun with a week’s worth of pain and anger and loneliness. I’m going to put the tip of my cock right to the firmness of her womb and claim her from the inside out. I’m going to fuck her in this wedding dress that’s not meant for me, and fuck her until we’re sweaty and desperate and spent.
And I do.
I bounce her hard on my cock, I stretch that pussy around my thick, heavy erection until she’s shaking in my arms with her third climax, and then I let it go, all of it.
I let go of the loneliness and the loss.
I let go of the control and the chaos.
And with a juddering moan, I spend into her with several long, hot pulses, an entire week’s worth saved up for her. There’s enough that I feel it leaving me, that I feel it smearing between us, and I imagine the crudest, crudest things: making her drip with me, making her pregnant. It’s awful, but it’s all I can think of as I throb and release deep into her belly. It’s all that crowds my mind—that and the rose-scent of her throat, where my face is buried.
It ended too fast, I realize unhappily. My last intimate moments with Zenny, and they passed faster than I could grab at them, slipping right through my fingers.
Zenny seems to think this too, clinging tight to me, her hands twisting in my shirt and her heels still locked against my back. And we come down together like this, wet and shaky and temporarily whole. I could cry with the unfairness of it.
“It’s time, baby,” I reluctantly murmur, helping her to her feet. It’s heaven to hold her, but she has a different heaven waiting for her and I can’t be the one who ruins it.
