That was all I needed. I kissed the back of her neck and then straightened so I could smack her ass again, rubbing the spot right afterwards to soothe away the burn. “Stand up and turn around,” I ordered, and she complied right away. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to make me come on its own—she looked like she would do anything, anything, to be fucked just then, and I had a lot of things in mind for her to do.
But first.
I untied her wrists, kissing the faint indentations left behind by the rope, and then I reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to her feet, leaving her completely naked with the exception of her heels. I took a minute to stare at her, at the ripe teardrops of her breasts, big enough to squeeze, small enough to support themselves. Her supple stomach, slender and soft and slightly rounded, with the kind of hips you could dig your fingers into. The naked V of her pussy, smoothly delicate, and the irresistible curve of her ass.
“I just realized you aren’t wearing your…” she gestured at her throat.
“Day off,” I said, my voice hoarser than I expected. I reached behind my neck and grabbed the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and off my body, relishing the way her lips parted and her hand drifted to her mouth as she stared at me. I unbuckled my belt, sliding the leather through the loops of my jeans and dropping it on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and took off my jeans.
I normally liked to stay at least partly clothed during sex, but I wanted to give her this, my nakedness, as a gift. And selfishly, I wanted to feel every inch of her skin against mine. This was my first fuck in three years and I refused to miss a single thing.
“Come here,” I said. “And kneel.”
She did, her breath audible now, kneeling in front of me and crossing her ankles behind her, taunting me with those heels.
“Take them off,” I said, jerking my chin down to indicate my black boxer briefs. She did, impatiently tugging them off my hips, and I groaned as my erection was finally, finally let free.
She pressed soft, red lips to the silky skin of my cock. “Let me suck you,” she breathed up at me. “Let me make you feel good.”
I found her lips with my thumb, running it along her lower one and pulling it down to open her up more. “Hold still,” I told her, and then I guided my cock into her waiting mouth.
Holy shit.
Holy shit, that felt good.
It had only been since Saturday, and yet I’d forgotten that this woman’s mouth was like a slice of heaven, warm and wet and with that flicking, fluttering tongue that danced along the underside of my dick.
I laced my hands through her hair—fucking up whatever adorable hairstyle she’d had it in—and then slowly withdrew, savoring every single second as her lips and tongue kissed against my skin. And then I slid in again, less gently this time, my eyes darting from her lips to her heels to the way her hand circled her clit as I slowly fucked her mouth.
She kept her eyes pinned to mine, peering up at me through those long dark eyelashes, and I thought about all the times they’d distracted the hell out of me and all the times that I’d wanted to fuck her brains out (and then paddle her sweet ass for making me so goddamned crazy about her.)
I tightened my grip in her hair. I wanted to go hard, I wanted to make her eyes water, I wanted to thrust until I reached the point where I could barely hold back from shooting down her throat. “Ready?” I whispered to her, still wanting to tread on the side of consent and caution.
And then she groaned a frustrated groan, as if annoyed that I was asking again.
“Bad lamb,” I said and thrust hard into her mouth. I heard her choke as I hit the back of her throat, but I only gave her a minute before I pushed in again, and again. I knew I was longer and wider than most men, I knew I was harder to take, but I wasn’t going to cut her any slack unless she asked for it, not after that stunt.
“You like being bad? You like making me punish you?”
She managed to nod, her watery eyes blinking up at me in this honest, impeaching way, and I knew it was true.
I swore. “You’re going to make me crazy.”
She smiled around my cock, and fuck, I had to be absolved of all these sins because Saint Peter himself wouldn’t have been able to deny himself this woman. I drove into her mouth several more times, right up until I could feel that familiar clench in my belly and then I pulled out, my breathing ragged from the effort it took not to come all over that gorgeous face.
Instead, I used my thumb to wipe at Poppy’s eyes, which were now smudged with makeup and tears. The ever-so-slightly smeared lipstick I left the way it was.
In fact, it was too tempting not to kiss and lick and nibble at, and I picked her up so I could do just that while I walked her over to the altar. Her lips were swollen from my assault and yet so yielding to my kiss, so deliciously soft. I groaned into her mouth as she licked past my teeth and tasted my tongue, and I moved my mouth harder against hers. Harder and more and I could barely breathe for kissing this woman.
I set her down on the altar but didn’t end the kiss, stroking around her breasts and hips. It was damn near impossible to stop, but I was getting to the point where little else mattered apart from getting inside her, and so I did stop.
“Lay back,” I said as I broke our kiss, holding my hand behind her head so that she wouldn’t hurt it accidentally.
It was a long altar, and she wasn’t a tall woman, and so she was able to arrange herself comfortably with room to spare. I trailed one hand along her stomach as I walked around the back, facing the sanctuary as if I were beginning the communion rite. Except instead of the body and blood of Christ spread before me, I had Poppy Danforth.
I ran the tip of my nose along her jaw, oh so slowly down and across her body, loving the way she arched and tilted to my touch, so greedy. She was a feast to me—creases and hollows and supple curves—and having her like this was like the first gasp of oxygen after surfacing from the water, powerful and instinctual, and I didn’t give a fuck about all the sins I was currently committing, I was going to revel in every minute of it.
I bit at the inside of her thighs. I circled every inch of her pussy with my tongue. I kneaded her breasts with rough hands until she squeaked, and I nibbled at the dip of her navel and sucked on each nipple until she was writhing on the altar. I took kisses from her rather than sharing them with her. I slid my fingers in her cunt not to make her feel good, but so that I could relish the sensation of the slickness against my fingertips.
I knew she was getting pleasure from all this, and I did want her to come, often and hard, when she was with me. But this moment? Where I was groping and squeezing and inhaling her scent and feeding on her sighs? This was for me.
And after I was done taking what I wanted, when I was so hard that I couldn’t think straight, I climbed up on the altar with her, kneeling between her parted legs.
I waited, a hairbreadth of a second, waited for God’s voice to come thundering down, waited for a heavenly intervention like when Abraham had his only child bound and ready for sacrifice. But it never came. There was only Poppy and her heaving chest as she murmured, “Please please please…”
I didn’t know how anyone could so callously dismiss Poppy as simply a woman who always wanted it, as nothing more than a whore born into a debutante’s body. Because right now, with her eyes so dark and her skin so flushed, she was the holiest thing I’d ever seen. A miracle made flesh, waiting for my flesh to join with it.