“Was that on purpose?”
A pause. Then another nod.
The crack resounded through the sanctuary, and she jumped at the feeling of my hand smacking her ass. Then she moaned and pushed her ass up farther.
I didn’t spank her again, although Lord knows I wanted to. Instead I ran my hand from her shoulder to her hip, feeling the curve of her breast where it was pressed against the piano, the dip of her waist, the firm swell of her ass. And then I repeated the action with both hands this time, letting my hands drift down to the hem of her skirt. She drew in a breath, and then I abruptly yanked it up to her waist.
I knelt down behind her and spread her legs, spread them so that her cunt was gloriously bared to me. “My little lamb,” I whispered. “You are so very, very wet right now.”
She was, wetness slicking almost every part of her. Her pussy wasn’t just wet either—it was fucking quivering, pink and soft and quivering right in front of my face.
I grabbed her ass in my hands and dug my fingers in, leaning forward so that my breath tickled her sensitive flesh.
She whimpered.
“This is so wrong,” I said, moving my mouth even closer. I could smell her, and she smelled like heaven, like soap and skin and the delicate female scent that every man hungered for. “But just one taste,” I murmured, talking more to myself than to her now. “God wouldn’t punish me for just one taste.”
I traced my way from her clit to her cunt with my tongue and (forgive me, my God) but no communion wine, no salvation had ever tasted sweeter than this, and one taste would not be enough.
“Please,” I whispered against her skin, “just one more.” I flattened my tongue against her clit and sampled her again, my dick now so hard that it hurt.
She cried out against the wood of the piano, and I almost died, because those noises and fuck me that taste. I dove into her like a man possessed, my fingers burrowing into her ass cheeks to hold her open for my assault. I fucked her with my tongue and my lips and my teeth, eating her, eating her like a starving man. Her cunt was exactly as perfect as I’d imagined all those nights in my frozen showers, that time I’d shot off thinking about doing this very thing.
She would come, I decided right then. I would make her come on my face, and just the thought made my balls draw up and my dick jolt in my pants. It was a very real possibility that I myself might orgasm without even touching my cock.
I let one finger drift over to her pussy and then I slid it inside, crooking it down to find the soft, textured spot that would push her over the edge. She was shamelessly grinding back into my face now, her fingernails scratching against the piano wood, little sighs and moans issuing from her throat.
All I could breathe and taste was her, and then I looked up and saw the crucifix at the front of the church—a tragic, agonized god hanging in sacrifice—and my heart lurched. What the hell was I doing? Anybody could walk in right now, walk in the front door, and see their priest with a woman bent over the piano, kneeling as if he was praying to her cunt, kneeling with his face buried in her ass.
What would they think? After I had worked so hard to repair this town’s hurt, after I’d finally helped this community trust the Church again?
And more than that—what about my vow? A vow I had made before my family and God? What does an oath mean to me if only three years after swearing chastity, I’m shoving my tongue up a woman’s wet cunt?
But then Poppy came, her cry the most beautiful hymn I’ve heard in my life, and everything else vanished except her and her smell and her taste and the feeling of her clenching around my finger.
Reluctantly, I pulled back, wanting one more orgasm from her, wanting to bury my face in her ass again, but knowing I couldn’t, I shouldn’t, and then I stood and saw her looking over her shoulder like I was the most wondrous thing she’d ever seen.
“No one’s ever done that to me before,” she whispered.
Tongue-fucked her in a church? Bent her over a piano and licked her until she couldn’t stand anymore?
My eyebrows drew together, and she answered my unspoken question. “No one’s ever made me come with their mouth before, I mean,” she said. There was still a flush high on her cheeks, creeping down her neck.
I didn’t understand. “No guy has ever gone down on you?”
She shook her head and then closed her eyes. “That felt so good.”
I was shocked. How could she have never received oral?
“That’s a shame, little lamb,” I said, and I couldn’t stop myself, I pressed my covered erection into her ass. “No one’s taken care of you properly before.” I dropped a hand down and around to find her clit again, groaning inwardly when I found that it was still a swollen, hot button of need. “But I won’t lie. It makes me hard as fuck knowing that I was the first man to taste you.”
I heard the words as I said them and suddenly reality slammed back into me.
What the fuck was I doing? What the fuck had I done?
And why had I done it here, of all places?
I stepped back, breathing hard, no thought in my mind other than to get away, somewhere else, before I was laid low by guilt and regret.
Poppy spun around, her skirt still bunched around her waist, her eyes flashing. “Don’t you dare,” she said. “Don’t you dare check out on me now.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I…I can’t.”
“You can,” she said, stepping forward. She pressed a palm to my erection, and I looked down to see her unbuckling my belt.
“I can’t,” I repeated, still watching as she drew out my cock. The moment her fingers brushed over my bare skin, I wanted to die, because I hadn’t exaggerated how good that felt in my memories and my fantasies, no, I had not.
“You are a good priest, Father Bell,” she said, her hand moving down to explore lower, cupping me. “But you’re also a good man. And doesn’t a good man deserve a little indulgence every now and then?”
She gripped me tighter, started to stroke in earnest now. I watched her hand moving up and down my shaft like a man hypnotized. “We won’t have sex,” she promised. “No sex, and then it’s not really breaking any rules, right?”
“You’re equivocating now,” I said raggedly, closing my eyes against the sight of her pumping my dick.
“Then how about another confession,” she said, dragging her fingernails from my pelvis to my navel, making my abs tighten. “After the first day I talked to you, I looked you up online. I couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, like I could still hear it in a way, echoing in my mind. And then I saw your picture on the website and you looked…well, you know how you look. That was the first time I got off thinking about you.”
“You’ve touched yourself thinking about me?” The last remaining shred of my self-control frayed, threatening to snap.
“More than once,” she admitted, still running her fingers over my abs underneath my shirt. “Because seeing your body that first time we met while running…and then your face the last time we talked. God, your face, it was so damn dark, like you wanted to gobble me up right there…I had to fuck myself three times before I could focus on anything else.”
There it went, any self-discipline that remained, and all that was left was a male—not Tyler, not Father Bell—but something more primal and more demanding.
“Show me,” I ordered.
“What?”
“Lie down on this floor, spread your legs and show me what it looks like when you fuck yourself thinking of me.”
Her mouth parted and her cheeks reddened and then she was laying on the carpet, her hand on her cunt. I stood over her, fisting my cock, giving in to it all, giving in to everything, as long as it ended in her covered in my climax.