His hands clamp onto my bottom suddenly, and he yanks me forward, lifting his hips to grind against my center. I gasp in pleasure, my head falling back. Heath angles my body forward and drags my nipple into his mouth, sucking so hard spears of pain lance through my body, throbbing straight into my core and drenching it. I feel his boxers dampening with my arousal moreeach time he grinds into my center, his fists squeezing my flesh, overflowing with it.
I tear at his shirt, finally stripping it from him as he moves to my other nipple, leaving the other one wet and hot from his mouth, pulsing with pain and stiff in the cool air of the chapel. He drags my hips forward again and again, sucking hard and slow, grinding into me with the same rhythm. His length is hard as steel under me, the fabric wet between us, and each time I reach his body and we grind together, he rocks me forward so my clit is crushed firmly to his pubic bone. At last, I cry out when he bites down, my hips jerking involuntarily, my pulse fluttering, my walls clenching and clenching as he pushes me over the edge, and I soak him through his boxers.
“Fuck, Mercy,” he groans, dragging his mouth free like it hurts to do so. “Did you just cum all over me?”
“Yes,” I gasp out. “I’m sorry.”
“Consider it payback,” he says with a wicked little smile I never thought I’d see on his face again. Then he pushes his pants and wet boxers down, and with no warning, drags me back onto him, burying himself to the hilt inside me. I gasp in shock, but I’m so wet and ready that my flesh offers no resistance for once. There’s no teasing, no just-the-tip play this time. He claims me fully, and I understand then, that I was always his. Since that day on Eternity’s bedroom floor, I have been his as much as I was Saint’s.
He stares up at me, his eyes glassy and faraway, as if he’s forgotten what to do now.
I don’t forget.
Gripping the back of the pew, I move on him, holding his gaze as I lift my hips and then sink down onto him fully again, and again, and again. With each stroke, he claims me anew—and I claim him.
I reach for his face, leaning in to kiss him. He kisses me back for a minute before his hands unclench from the aching flesh of my backside. His palm cracks across my skin, hard, and I gasp out as he does it again, spanking my other cheek with one hard, firm swat. My core pulses, and my face heats as I realize it’s turning me on. I’m wetter with the next strike, sliding easily down his shaft until his piercing is nestled deep inside me. He grips my hand and drags it behind my back, pumping up into me now, watching the bliss wash over my face.
He is ruthless, pumping into me harder and harder, until the sound of our bodies slapping together echoes through the high ceilings, against the stained glass, along with my soft cries of pleasure as he pounds into me from below. Finally he stands, and I have to grab the back of the pew in front of us. He sets me on the edge and fucks me, slamming into me so hard that an animal grunt escapes him with each blow. I whimper at his roughness, but I don’t try to stop him. I know he’s emptying his rage inside me, his wrath, his sin. I spread my knees wide and let him pummel my insides, my outsides, until I’m bruised and tender when at last he drags me off the pew and onto him, impaling me deep as he grinds my ass into the Bibles in the pocket on the back of the pew. With a loud moan, he drops his head back, and his hips jerk and spasm as he empties liquid fire inside me.
He stumbles back, collapsing onto the seat and pulling me with him. His thumb strokes over my clit, and I gasp at the tenderness. His full, hard cock still fills me, and when he drags his thumb across my sensitive bud again, I cry out, my walls fluttering around him, then clenching in rhythmic, shimmering waves as I lose myself in ecstasy. When I’m done, I melt forward onto his chest, my heart hammering in time with his, our bare skin pressed together. At last, our hearts are matched,synchronized instead of beating at each other with all the fury inside us both.
We stay like that for a long time, my core quivering around his iron hardness, and then, his full softness inside me. It’s wet and messy, and it feels so dirty, so forbidden, but so incredibly right, to be joined this way with him in a church, as if we’ve just said our vows. And even though we didn’t say them aloud, I know that our bodies have promised each other the things they each needed, and that we’re bound now, if not by vows and rings of gold, by something much deeper.
Heath presses his lips to my temple, a soft, lingering kiss at my damp hairline. “M…”
“I know,” I whisper against his neck, misted with sweat like my skin. “Me too.”
When at last I move to sit up, my eye catches on the slightest movement, a rustling that reaches my ears the next second. Heart hammering suddenly, I search the altar, the shadows beside it, and find myself staring into the black coffee eyes of Father Salvatore.
fifteen
The Salvation
When it’s clear that Mercy has seen me, I step forward from where I was waiting. I didn’t want to interrupt her amorous reconciliation with her childhood friend, but they seem to have finally reached the conclusion to their reunion as well as their animosity.
“I’d like to speak with you,” I tell my new student, approaching the end of the pew where they sit.
“Now?” she asks, glancing back at Heath, whose body she still sits astride.
I bend to pick up her panties, unable to resist rubbing the damp cotton between my thumb and finger once before I hold them out to her. “Ideally.”
Heath swats her ass. “Go on. Hop away, bunny rabbit. I’ll catch you later.” He gives her a wicked smile. “If you want to make it fun for me, make me chase you before I do.”
Her expression conveys her feeling of betrayal at his words, but she accepts the panties from me. Then she looks conflicted, like she’s unsure how to dismount. At last, she slides off Heath’s lap, letting his wet dick fall against his leg with a soft smack. He pulls on his pants and tucks himself away with a satisfied smile, entirely unself-conscious as only a boy of his ilk can be.
Meanwhile, Mercy drags her panties up her flushed thighs and snatches up the clothes she discarded on the hardwood floor, dragging them on in such haste she pulls her skirt on backwards and loses a button from her shirt in theprocess. “What do you need to talk to me for?” she asks, not looking at me as she shoves her feet into her shoes.
“The other day,” I say. “Among other things. Let’s walk.”
I’d like to scoop her into my arms, to carry her the way I have before, but this time of day, someone is sure to see us. So I clasp my hands behind my back to resist the temptation to touch her, and we leave the sanctuary together. Outside, the evening sky is still spitting occasional, fat raindrops. I open my umbrella, and we make our way along the path through the graveyard toward the rectory. Skeletal trees shiver in the wind behind the old building, their branches black against the grey backdrop, glistening from the rain. A low fog lingers in the woods, creeping toward the headstones. I open the low, iron gate with its ornate posts and usher her through, then lead her into the warmth of my home.
She glances around at the sparse, dimly lit room while I go to the stove and stir the pot of soup I left bubbling on the stove.
“This is cozy,” she says after a minute. “Not what I expected.”
I take another look, trying to see it through her eyes, to imagine what she sees. A threadbare, overstuffed sofa, mismatched armchairs, a fireplace, a few plants.
“What did you expect?” I ask.
