last his
mouth was on her, sucking one nipple into the hot darkness of his mouth. She
mewled and squirmed as he swirled his tongue against her skin, and then they
were sliding down the hard wood of the door, sinking to the floor of the
vestibule.
Cold tile bit into her back as he covered her body with his,
his fingers at her waistband, struggling to undo her jeans. She wished she'd
worn a skirt, but it was too late now. Her hands tangled with his as she undid
the button of her jeans and ripped the zipper down. Then he was working her
jeans down over her hips and the cold floor hit the skin of her ass with a
shock that made her gasp.
"We can go..." he started to say, but she didn't
want to go anywhere. She pulled him to her in a kiss that seared through her,
jolting straight through her body like a bolt of lightning, grounding in her
pussy, sending warmth out over her limbs, and then the cold didn't matter so
much any more.
He pulled back. "Turn over," he said, and his
voice was so rough and hoarse that it almost didn't sound like his any longer.
If it had been substantial, she could have rubbed it over her clit and come
from it alone. Wordlessly she turned over, and he pulled her back until she was
on her knees, her bare ass in the air, the tile biting into her knees through
her jeans. Her coat bunched over her head, and the sound of their shared breath
filled the vestibule.
The calloused pads of his fingers slid against her slick
lips, teasing her quivering channel with the promise of more. It was going to
happen. She'd dreamed of this moment. She'd dreamed of him for years. And now
it was coming true.
In her chest, her heart clenched, and she forced herself to
concentrate on his fingers as they dipped and retreated, tried to memorize
every move he made, every detail, from the smell of incense and snow to the way
the tile stuck to her cheek, to the sound of her tiny cries echoing in the
vestibule as he slowly explored her most secret spaces.
This is it, she thought. This is the night. After tonight,
they would never be together again, and the knowledge was a lump in her throat,
a weight in her stomach.
Then the heat of his mouth grazed against her pussy and she
squeezed her eyes shut, choking down a sob of pleasure, a sob of pain and loss
and need.
Slowly, his tongue skimmed over her pussy, exploring,
probing, and the tip of his nose ghosted against the puckered entrance of her
ass, his breath heating her flesh. She bit her lips so hard she tasted blood.
She heard him fumbling with his pants, and then he was rising up, straddling
her legs, and the tip of his cock touched her pussy.
The pain inside her was white hot, only matched by the
pleasure of his hot hand running up her back as he pressed forward, guiding
himself into her. Slowly, painfully, he pushed forward, parting her inner
walls.
He was big, but she arched her back and forced herself to
relax as he moved into her. She imagined she could feel every vein and ridge of
his cock as it slid past her outer lips and slipped inside her slick, aching
channel. It felt every bit as good as she had dreamed, a hot, forbidden
invasion, stretching her out, opening her up, filling her to the brim.
"Oh," he said behind her, and then at last he was
seated inside her, his hips flush with her ass, and she wanted to cry, wanted
to die where she knelt so that her life could end in this perfect moment.
Slowly he curled over her, until his body covered hers, his
arms around her waist, hand on her breast. He was tall enough that she could
feel his face pressed into the back of her neck. Together they knelt in the
vestibule of his church beneath the statue of Mary, his cock buried to the hilt
inside her.
He'd found her on the street, lifted her up, saved her. She
didn't know how to thank him, didn't know how to love him without giving
everything to him. Perhaps she was being selfish, but in that moment she
couldn't have cared less. She wanted to stay forever, him inside her, the
mouth was on her, sucking one nipple into the hot darkness of his mouth. She
mewled and squirmed as he swirled his tongue against her skin, and then they
were sliding down the hard wood of the door, sinking to the floor of the
vestibule.
Cold tile bit into her back as he covered her body with his,
his fingers at her waistband, struggling to undo her jeans. She wished she'd
worn a skirt, but it was too late now. Her hands tangled with his as she undid
the button of her jeans and ripped the zipper down. Then he was working her
jeans down over her hips and the cold floor hit the skin of her ass with a
shock that made her gasp.
"We can go..." he started to say, but she didn't
want to go anywhere. She pulled him to her in a kiss that seared through her,
jolting straight through her body like a bolt of lightning, grounding in her
pussy, sending warmth out over her limbs, and then the cold didn't matter so
much any more.
He pulled back. "Turn over," he said, and his
voice was so rough and hoarse that it almost didn't sound like his any longer.
If it had been substantial, she could have rubbed it over her clit and come
from it alone. Wordlessly she turned over, and he pulled her back until she was
on her knees, her bare ass in the air, the tile biting into her knees through
her jeans. Her coat bunched over her head, and the sound of their shared breath
filled the vestibule.
The calloused pads of his fingers slid against her slick
lips, teasing her quivering channel with the promise of more. It was going to
happen. She'd dreamed of this moment. She'd dreamed of him for years. And now
it was coming true.
In her chest, her heart clenched, and she forced herself to
concentrate on his fingers as they dipped and retreated, tried to memorize
every move he made, every detail, from the smell of incense and snow to the way
the tile stuck to her cheek, to the sound of her tiny cries echoing in the
vestibule as he slowly explored her most secret spaces.
This is it, she thought. This is the night. After tonight,
they would never be together again, and the knowledge was a lump in her throat,
a weight in her stomach.
Then the heat of his mouth grazed against her pussy and she
squeezed her eyes shut, choking down a sob of pleasure, a sob of pain and loss
and need.
Slowly, his tongue skimmed over her pussy, exploring,
probing, and the tip of his nose ghosted against the puckered entrance of her
ass, his breath heating her flesh. She bit her lips so hard she tasted blood.
She heard him fumbling with his pants, and then he was rising up, straddling
her legs, and the tip of his cock touched her pussy.
The pain inside her was white hot, only matched by the
pleasure of his hot hand running up her back as he pressed forward, guiding
himself into her. Slowly, painfully, he pushed forward, parting her inner
walls.
He was big, but she arched her back and forced herself to
relax as he moved into her. She imagined she could feel every vein and ridge of
his cock as it slid past her outer lips and slipped inside her slick, aching
channel. It felt every bit as good as she had dreamed, a hot, forbidden
invasion, stretching her out, opening her up, filling her to the brim.
"Oh," he said behind her, and then at last he was
seated inside her, his hips flush with her ass, and she wanted to cry, wanted
to die where she knelt so that her life could end in this perfect moment.
Slowly he curled over her, until his body covered hers, his
arms around her waist, hand on her breast. He was tall enough that she could
feel his face pressed into the back of her neck. Together they knelt in the
vestibule of his church beneath the statue of Mary, his cock buried to the hilt
inside her.
He'd found her on the street, lifted her up, saved her. She
didn't know how to thank him, didn't know how to love him without giving
everything to him. Perhaps she was being selfish, but in that moment she
couldn't have cared less. She wanted to stay forever, him inside her, the
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