Page 58 of The Unexpected

The speeches start—first a welcome from the board chair, then a meandering monologue about the literacy fund and the importance of “values in the modern age.” My father watches with the focus of a man who plans to steal the speaker’s job in a year or two. Hunter’s hand creeps higher on my thigh, his fingers tracing invisible patterns. It’s a game he plays: how far can he go before I yelp, or slide under the table, or just fall to pieces in front of two hundred of the city’s most important people.

I grip his wrist under the table, try to anchor myself.

At the end of the first speech, there’s an interlude for the string quartet to play. The room buzzes with talk and the clatter of silverware.

“Lachlan’s secured a plane,” Hunter says, low.

My mind blanks. “A what?”

He grins. “It’s a joke. It means he found a place. Come on, sweetheart. You know we’re not here for the rubber chicken. Meet us outside in five.”

He pulls his hand from my thigh, gives my knee a squeeze, and then stands, glass in hand. I watch him go, tall and easy through the crowd. At the dais, he pauses to shake the hand of the bishop, then heads down a side aisle and vanishes.

I count to thirty, then excuse myself, muttering something about needing the ladies.

The hallway off the main hall is colder, the air more raw. At the end of it is a narrow corridor, and then the sacristy—a little chamber of limestone and dust, with a high-set window like an eye. There are shelves with folded choir robes, and a battered wooden kneeler in the corner. The only light is a bare bulb overhead, haloed by the cold.

Lachlan is already there, leaning against a shelf, collar perfect and hair not even mussed.

“You came,” he says, and the words mean something else entirely.

I nod. “Hunter said you⁠—”

He cuts me off with a finger at my lips. “We don’t have long.” He moves close, his hands on my waist, and in a motion that’s all grace, spins me so my back is to the shelf. He kisses me, slow but deep, and I taste him: mint and wine and the ghost of whiskey.

I hear the echo of footsteps—Hunter, not bothering to be quiet. He enters, closes the door, and in the low light he’s all black and shadow, the white triangle of his shirt the only bright.

“Look at this,” he says. “Three sinners in a church.”

Lachlan smiles, smile dark. “That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Hunter crosses to me, grabs my jaw, and kisses me hard, his tongue inside my mouth before I can react. He tastes different—darker, heavier. His hands are on my hips, then my ass, and I’m lifted just enough that my feet leave the floor.

Lachlan moves behind me, and the two of them pass me back and forth like a bottle at a frat party.

“Tell me you want it,” Hunter says, his breath hot in my ear.

I nod, but it’s not enough. “Yes,” I whisper, “please, Daddy⁠—“

He bends me over the edge of the robe shelf, the fabric soft but the wood beneath hard and unyielding. My dress rides up, and I’m glad I wore black panties but it’s pointless—Hunter peels them aside, exposing my pussy to the cold air and the heat of his gaze.

“Good girl,” he says, and then I hear him unzipping. His cock is pressed against my ass, and there’s a split second where I’m terrified—what if someone walks in, what if the archbishop himself comes to check the vestments—but the terror just turns me on more.

“Open up,” Hunter growls. “You’re going to take Daddy’s cock in your ass tonight. Right here, in God’s house.”

I moan, too loud, and he clamps a hand over my mouth.

Lachlan steps in front of me, unbuckling his pants with slow, theatrical care. He’s already hard, the head of his cock dark with arousal. He threads his fingers into my hair, tips my head up, and then slides his cock past my lips, slow but not gentle. My mouth is filled, my jaw aching in the best way. He holds me there, just breathing and watching my eyes until I blink, tears welling.

Behind me, Hunter slicks his cock with spit, then lines it up with my asshole. “Relax, baby girl,” he rasps, but it’s not a suggestion. “You love being fucked in the ass. You’re our little buttslut, remember?”

I do love being fucked in the ass now, and I’ve serviced them many times with my tight little knot, but still, each time takes my by surprise. Hunter’s huge, and the stretch is always so much. He pushes in, one thick inch at a time, and I’m shaking, my hands white-knuckled on the wood of the shelf as my rim stretches, my asshole straining to take his length. I want to scream but all I can do is whimper around the cock in my mouth.

“Mmmph!” I squeal. “Ummmph!”

“That’s it,” Hunter says, his voice all praise and violence. “Take my cock inside your hungry asshole, sweetheart. You have a slutty butt that craves Daddy’s cock. Take every inch until I’m balls deep.”

Meanwhile, Lachlan moves in rhythm with Hunter, pushing deeper into my mouth as Hunter sinks into my ass. I’m impaled, pinned, filled in both ends, and the sensation of being spit-roasted is like a drug.