Part 5 (1/2)

She'd worn a high-waisted pencil skirt, and once she was bent over, the slit rose high enough to expose a narrow glimpse of pink flesh.

”Poppy,” I said dangerously, ”did you come here without underwear?”

My hand was still on her back, my fingers resting against her neck, and she nodded.

”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 a.s.s. Then she moaned and pushed her a.s.s 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 a.s.s. 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 c.u.n.t 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 p.u.s.s.y wasn't just wet either-it was f.u.c.king quivering, pink and soft and quivering right in front of my face.

I grabbed her a.s.s 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. ”G.o.d wouldn't punish me for just one taste.”

I traced my way from her c.l.i.t to her c.u.n.t with my tongue and (forgive me, my G.o.d) 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 c.l.i.t and sampled her again, my d.i.c.k now so hard that it hurt.

She cried out against the wood of the piano, and I almost died, because those noises and f.u.c.k me that taste. I dove into her like a man possessed, my fingers burrowing into her a.s.s cheeks to hold her open for my a.s.sault. I f.u.c.ked her with my tongue and my lips and my teeth, eating her, eating her like a starving man. Her c.u.n.t 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 b.a.l.l.s draw up and my d.i.c.k jolt in my pants. It was a very real possibility that I myself might o.r.g.a.s.m without even touching my c.o.c.k.

I let one finger drift over to her p.u.s.s.y 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 G.o.d hanging in sacrifice-and my heart lurched. What the h.e.l.l 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 c.u.n.t, kneeling with his face buried in her a.s.s.

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 G.o.d? What does an oath mean to me if only three years after swearing chast.i.ty, I'm shoving my tongue up a woman's wet c.u.n.t?

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 o.r.g.a.s.m from her, wanting to bury my face in her a.s.s 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-f.u.c.ked 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 a.s.s. ”No one's taken care of you properly before.” I dropped a hand down and around to find her c.l.i.t again, groaning inwardly when I found that it was still a swollen, hot b.u.t.ton of need. ”But I won't lie. It makes me hard as f.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.k was I doing? What the f.u.c.k 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 flas.h.i.+ng. ”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 c.o.c.k. 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 s.e.x,” she promised. ”No s.e.x, 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 d.i.c.k.

”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 s.h.i.+rt. ”Because seeing your body that first time we met while running...and then your face the last time we talked. G.o.d, your face, it was so d.a.m.n dark, like you wanted to gobble me up right there...I had to f.u.c.k 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 f.u.c.k yourself thinking of me.”

Her mouth parted and her cheeks reddened and then she was laying on the carpet, her hand on her c.u.n.t. I stood over her, fisting my c.o.c.k, giving in to it all, giving in to everything, as long as it ended in her covered in my climax.

”Why didn't you wear underwear today?” I asked, watching her trace circles around her c.l.i.toris.

”The last time, when we talked, I got so hot talking to you. I thought if it happened again today, it would be easier if I didn't wear panties. To...take care of it. And it was easier.”

I knelt down between her legs and then took her slender wrists in my hand. I stretched out over her, pinning her wrists to the floor above her head, my d.i.c.k brus.h.i.+ng against her p.u.s.s.y and her bunched-up skirt. ”Are you telling me,” I asked, ”that you were masturbating in the booth next to me?”