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I gasp, sparks running under my skin. “You used to draw in church? That’s why whenever I looked at you, your head was down.”
“You used to stare at me, Pixie?” He smirks.
“No. I mean, sometimes. Sermons are boring,” I mumble, getting embarrassed.
“Yeah. I don’t think it’s that. I think you always found me hot.”
I try not to smile. “Oh please. You were the one who fell for me first. The very first day.”
He licks his lips, his warm breath puffing over my mouth. I wish I could eat it up, all of his breaths, his sighs, his grunts. Him.
“Yeah, I did,” he admits. “I was so angry that day, and then I saw you, surrounded by the fields, the woods. My Pixie. And it all went away.”
My heart’s racing now. We’ve come so far from that day. We’ve grown and endured so much. Years of lying and sneaking around, and then running away. Even through all of that, he still gives me the butterflies. Still makes me think I’m that naïve, innocent girl who fell in love with the new boy.
“I always wished that I could sit with you. In church. Or maybe at school so we could eat lunch together.”
“Maybe you can.” He smiles, even though his eyes are smoldering. “You are. Sitting right next to me on the pew. We’re sitting all the way in the back, while Father Knight’s talking smack and everyone’s looking at him like his words are gold.”
Something happens to me at his words. A shift in my thinking. A crackling on my skin. There’s meaning in his eyes. Meaning and power and magic, and it makes me aware of the fact that for the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been sitting on my husband’s very hard lap, my butt pressing into what’s now becoming an impressive hard-on.
“All the way in the back?”
“Yeah.”
“By that… stained glass window? Where you first saw me? When you came in with Mr. B?”
“Fuck yeah. The light’s shining down on your hair, making it all pretty and beautiful. And my fingers are aching to touch it. Curl the strands. Pull them into my fist.”
“I-I think you can, now.”
“I can?”
I nod. “I’m your wife now, aren’t I? You can do whatever you want with me. And guess what? Me too.”
A dangerous glint enters his gaze; it makes me shiver. My heart purrs and pounds in my chest, and I fist his cross.
“You don’t wanna give me free rein, Pixie. Not with the whole town so close.”
I squirm in his lap, but somehow it feels like the back of my thighs are sliding down the shiny wood of the pew, my toes brushing against the floor of my hometown’s church.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m gonna do some very dirty things to you while you listen to your priest, and I won’t even let you keep your screams in check. In fact…” His chest rumbles, the vibrations echoing in my heavy breasts, which are crushed against him. “In fact, I’m gonna make sure you scream so people turn their heads and see you. The town’s princess moaning in pleasure, or maybe in pain. And you know where I’ll be?”
“Wh-where?”
“I’ll be kneeling on the ground, my head under her pink dress, licking her cunt.” His hand gets under my dress as he slides his callused fingers up my trembling thigh. “They won’t be able to see me at first, Pixie. They won’t be able to tell why Evangeline Elizabeth Hart, such a good little girl, is arching her back, thrusting her tits out, squeezing her cherry red nipples through her dress. They won’t understand why you’re moaning like that. Why you’re looking at the sky, cursing, telling someone to stop but then a second later, you’re telling him to keep going.”
Abel’s fingers are now at the hem of my panties. He can feel how wet I am, how drenched. How my pussy is pulsing, gaping open and closed like a fist, through the thin fabric. She’s dying for him, for his fingers, for his tongue, even his teeth.
“Abel…” I whimper when I feel him tucking his fingers inside my panties and rubbing the slick lips of my core.
“Fuck, baby. You just told them. You just whispered my name and outed our secret. Now they’re all beginning to rise from their seats. They are staring at you. Father Knight’s wondering what the fuck is going on. But I can’t stop.”
He nudges his hard dick under my butt as his fingers pick up speed. He isn’t touching the one place I want him to: my clit. But he’s burying his fingers in the seams of my cunt, in my wet curls.
“I can’t stop eating you out. You’re too tasty. Too delicious. Like sugar. You make me so horny, Pixie.”
“B-but they’ll take you away. Even if I’m your wife. They’ll lock you up if you do something like that. I-in church,” I protest, getting closer to him, rocking in his lap, trying to guide his fingers to where I need him.
