Page 52 of Sinner (Priest 2)
There’s no way to describe to her how it comes to be that way. How the same three or four acts simply get put on a tired merry-go-round, made different only by the person you’re with, and how the journey becomes tainted by the destination. I’m a generous lover by most accounts, but it’s only because pussy gets me hot. It’s a selfish thing, really, and all my sex is selfish. I’ve just justified it to myself by having sex with equally selfish people.
Anyway, I can’t describe it because all my words are gone, they’ve been driven out by waves of painful need, and even if I could describe it, I wouldn’t want to. I don’t want Zenny to know how banal sex can be, I only want her to know sex as a revelation. As the kind of epiphany that rivals all religion.
But still I need to answer her, so I say in a joking voice—or as close to joking as I can get with my body on fire, “Oh, you know. People get bored and they just want it to be easy. Get it over with.”
She doesn’t joke back, her fingers trailing down my ass cheeks to rest on my thighs. “How could anyone ever get bored with this?” She’s quietly incredulous. Faintly accusatory.
I assess the quiet wonder I feel at the warmth of her on my legs. I can’t even see her, I’m not touching her with my hands, my cock is nowhere near her body, and yet this is the most profoundly sexual I’ve ever felt.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I don’t know.”
We continue in silence for a few more minutes, and I stay there, stretched and straining and still, all so she can pet and explore me, so she can satisfy her curiosity.
“On your back,” she says after a while. “I want to see your…” a shy pause. “Your penis again.”
I don’t tease her for the Latinate language. I’m past teasing. I’m starving, I’m dying. I roll over and expose my aching cock to the cool air, and I know I said I wasn’t going to let her make me come—and I meant it—but I just want her to touch it again. Just once, just a little bit.
“So when you’re not…erect…it’s not this big?” she asks. She’s moved so that she’s perched on her knees between my legs and her hands slide up my thighs to bracket my balls. Her thumbs meet in the tender place right below my testicles and my cock jolts like it’s been hooked up to a car battery.
“No,” I say, my voice so raspy it’s barely a voice any longer.
“And then it gets—”
“Hard,” I supply, trying to nudge her past the textbook terms.
“Then it gets hard,” she soldiers on, “whenever you’re turned on?”
“Yes. That’s when it needs to fuck.”
“And when you don’t have anyone to fuck? What do you do?”
I show her by circling a hand over my cock and tugging upwards. Pleasure spears deep into my groin as I do, and I have to remind myself that I’m showing her, that she’s exploring, that this is part of the plan, and I can’t just jack myself right over the edge like I want to.
I go slowly, so she can see the places that send me squirming, so she can see the steady rhythm I like, the grip. And then there’s the way she looks at me as I do it, her gaze hot on my tensed stomach and bunching biceps, on the swollen tip that emerges from the end of my fist over and over again.
“Can I try?” she asks in a voice both timid and inflamed, and my God, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard, ever, ever, ever.
“Yes, baby. You can try.”
I release my cock and watch her grip it, a bit uncertainly, stroking up with a hold too loose for any real friction.
But it’s still too much. Her determined face, with its pouty mouth screwed up in concentration, which makes the piercing in her nose wiggle and glint as she wrinkles her no
se. Her hair brushing the ends of her shoulders in uncountable dark spirals, her tits with their nipples in tight little beads, her ribs and stomach quivering with breathing she can’t quite control.
I throw my arms over my face so I can’t see her, because even her clumsiness is fucking hot, everything about her is so much, too much, and I should be worried, I should be terrified that she has this power over me, but I’m not, and maybe that’s the scariest part of it all.
I let her experiment with rhythm and pace and tightness, I let her try stroking the lower part of the shaft and squeezing and caressing the head, I let her try whatever she wants and I just do my best to hold on, to keep my promise not to come at her touch.
It’s fucking agony though.
Agony.
Finally she finds the killing zone, that sensitive underside right under my crown, and within seconds she has me arching and panting. When I dare to peek out from under my arms, I see her lower lip tucked into her teeth and her eyes glued to my steel-hard dick, fascinated. And her other hand rubbing idly at one breast, as if she can’t stand not to touch herself as she’s touching me, as if she doesn’t even know she’s doing it.
I’m going to come if she doesn’t stop.
“Enough,” I growl, sitting up and grabbing her fast enough to surprise her, to send a cute little squeak out of her mouth.
