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He doesn’t say anything. But he takes a step closer, pressing his body against mine. The thickness of his erection makes me gasp. The cold metal of his belt buckle presses against my lower back, and his penis feels like it’s nearly about to split the metal teeth of his fly.
He slips his hand between the fabric of my dress and my hip, sliding thick strong fingers toward my belly, his thumb hooking over my red panties.
My knees weaken and I lose focus on the knotted pine. The room shimmers around me, as if I stood up too fast. My heart pounds in my ears and every breath, every sensation, seems almost too intense to bear.
My exposed skin prickles with awareness of his gaze. Heat runs over my flesh, causing that flesh, especially my cheeks, to warm.
And yet with the feeling of his breath against my cheek, the sensation of his powerful manhood threatening me from behind… I feel shame, not fear. But also want. I want whatever happens to me now. Let it all be done. If this is my destiny, then God put me here and I will accept my fate.
He slides his hand up my belly, cupping my left breast. He groans as he weighs it in his palm. My nipples perk up so tight, it almost hurts in the cold cabin air.
He grinds his hips against me from behind, urgent and intense. Slow and powerful. “Impure, huh?”
I drop my head, my hair blocks out my face and the dim morning light through the dirty windows. “Soimpure.”
His hand moves to the other breast, while his other hand touches me between my legs. I shudder with the first caress of his rough fingers against my pussy. My body is on fire now, a molten mess of things I don’t understand. I know so little of the world, and even less of sex.
But now here he is, touching me with awe, almost, groaning into my ear. And not sounding at all like he needs protection. But more like he is craving, needing, desperate for a release that only I can give him.
I close my eyes. “I am impure. I am sin.”
He growls into my ear. “Say that again.”
My heart aches with it, with all the years of shame, of feeling wrong in myself, dangerous in my beauty. “I am sin.”
“Tell me you mean it.”
I nod a little, feeling his stubble against my cheek. The heat of his breath. Cologne and sweat again. So different from any scent I have ever known. “In Jesus’ name, I mean it.”
“So then fucking prove it.”
His words light a fire in me, a flash from embers that have smoldered for so long. I let the room spin, let my mind whirl, and follow my instincts, letting my hand slide back to undo his belt.
But I’m clumsy with it. Nervous, unsure. His strong hand overtakes mine, certain fingers guiding my fearful ones. The snap of the leather coming free, the jingle of the buckle coming open. And now the softness of his penis pressing through his underwear against my bare skin.
“You shouldn’t,” I say, my voice hoarse and low.
His cock twitches against my flesh. “The fuck I shouldn’t.”
“I mean, I’ll be your downfall,” I murmur, almost automatically, robotically. Radio preachers and tent sermons andpurify thyself, young lady, purify thyself.“I will be your undoing.”
My words only encourage him, and his intensity sparks a reaction in my body that I have never felt before. A desperation to be undone, myself.
His fingers explore me from behind, greedy and aggressive. It’s as if his entire body tightens when he feels my soaked panties. And now even I can smell my musk mixed in with the dusty cabin air. “Bullshit,little girl. This dick will beyourundoing. I guarantee it.”
My eyes flutter shut, my head drops. And I let myself succumb. “So be it.”
He yanks his underwear down and now we are flesh to flesh, the curve of my butt pressing firmly and perfectly into the bend in his hips. Like I was made for him.
He takes his cock in hand, stroking it long and greedy against the opening of my pussy. Dipping in, dipping out. My body flutters and rolls, and I find myself pawing for more,please, more. Wondering for a moment if this is all just a fever dream.
He pushes the side of his jaw against mine. “Put your hands on the fucking table, you hear me?”
I obey, without protest. He hikes my skirt up over my ass, stepping back and groaning when he finally sees all of me. “Jesus Fuckin’ Christ.” He reaches forward, opening his palm in front of me. “Spit. Right fucking here.”
I’m surprised, not only by the command but by his use of the Lord’s name, but I obey again. But I’m polite about it. Because I’ve always been taught that a girl shouldn’t spit.
He growls his disapproval. “Get fucking dirty, you hear me? I saidspit.”
