There's No Bigger Sin (4)

There's No Bigger Sin (4)
This should be simple.

He gives me what I want; I give him what he wants.

No feelings. No regrets.

He pulls me toward him with rough, impatient hands.

I close my eyes, expecting his mouth on mine, but he yanks my top upward, unpins my bra, and buries his face directly into my chest.

"Catechist..."

The title slips from my mind as his lips close over my nipple, his hungry mouth making it impossible to think.

His palm cups my other breast, his thumb rolling hard over the peak until goosebumps break out across my skin.

It's a bizarre mix of shock and surrender.

I'm selling myself to my best friend's father just to steal a fraction of her light, and the realization hits me like a drug.

For years, I've watched her walk through life as if everything belongs to her...

Now, I have something she can't take back.

The problem is, the longer I stay here, the harder it becomes to pretend this is only about her.

He switches sides, groaning into my skin as he works his mouth over my right breast.

The suction pulls a sharp ache straight through my chest, but the pain quickly dissolves into a low, throbbing heat.

His hand slides away from my top, trailing down the length of my stomach, hooking under the hem of my skirt.

He hitches the fabric up past my hips with practiced ease-like he's done this a hundred times before.

His fingers hook into the elastic of my panties, shoving them aside to push two fingers straight inside me.

There's no warm-up.

His hand moves against me steadily, pressing me back against the seat.

Before I can catch my breath, he pulls his fingers out, rubs the slick wetness over my nipples, and leans down to lick it off.

"You taste like fine wine," he rasps against my collarbone.

"Thank... you?" I murmur. Or pant. I have no idea.

He trails his mouth up the slope of my neck, planting a sharp bite right over my pulse point.

I wince at the sting, but as his tongue licks over the bruised skin, a shiver runs straight down my spine. He bites again-harder this time-licking the pain away until my skin is as raw and sensitive as my pussy.

He shoves me back against the passenger door, hooks his hands under my knees, and hitches my legs up toward my shoulders.

In one swift motion, he rips my panties off.

My heart races.

Why is he so confident when his car isn't even tinted? Anyone could see us.

I should be even more frightened. But there's something about this... about the possibility of being caught, that makes my skin tingle.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I'm folded in half, jammed tight against the door frame like a canned fish. But as his tongue glides across my center, the discomfort vanishes.

He doesn't eat me out like a pious churchman; he moves like a starving man, his tongue probing deep, working my clitoris with an aggressive flick that makes my hips twitch and my brain turn to mush.

So this is what it feels like?

No man has ever gone down on me before.

For a man who spends his days preaching restraint, he knows far too much about how to make me forget mine.

"You know... I've never done this to my wife," he murmurs against my pussy.

My head spins.

"Done what?" I ask before I can stop myself.

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I really don't need to know the intimate details of his marriage.

His tongue flicks over me once more before he responds. "This."

My eyes widen. "Why? Women love it."

"Really?"

There's genuine surprise in his voice, as though I've just revealed some great secret of the universe.

He laps at me again, deliberate and slow. "So you like this?"

"Yes... God, yes. Please." I moan, my fingers tangling in his hair, despite the sudden knot in my stomach. "You're doing it so well..."

He goes quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in thought.

The sudden stop is driving me crazy.

I jerk my hip toward his mouth, urging him to continue, but he doesn't budge.

"Good," he finally says. "Then I need to get better at it."

I blink. "What?"

"So I can do it with my wife."

I stare at him.

He continues, completely serious. "I've always been afraid she'd judge me. Or that it was a bigger sin."

A strange expression crosses his face, like he's wrestling with an important theological question.

"But that's bullshit, right?" he mutters. "Sin is sin. There's no bigger sin."

Did I just witness the catechist have an epiphany?

Thankfully, he doesn't wait for an answer before pressing his mouth back between my thighs.

My eyes roll back, and my fingers tangle in his hair.

I lock my ankles behind his neck, pulling him tighter against me.

He uses his thumb and forefinger to spread me open, burying his face deeper, drinking me in until my juices dry up, and then stimulating my clit until I'm dripping again.

A low, pathetic moan tears out of my throat. My head rolls back against the window as the pleasure coils tight in my gut.

Suddenly, he pulls back.

His face is flushed red with sweat, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

He reaches down, unzips his trousers, and pulls out his thick, rigid dick. He strokes himself twice, then slaps the wet head hard against my opening.

"Come here," he grunts, his eyes dark and wild. "Come and do something good to your catechist."

He shifts his weight back toward the driver's seat, spreading his thighs wide. His dick stands fully erect, a clear bead of precum glistening at the tip.

The familiar scent hits me, and something embarrassingly intimate twists inside me.

I crawl over the center console, positioning myself between his knees. I wrap my fingers around his dick-it's thick, warm, and heavy in my hand.

Not too long for me.

I lean down, smearing the slick bead across my cheek before opening my mouth and slipping my lips over the head.

He lets out a long, shuddering groan.

I swirl my tongue around the tip, using my right hand to stroke the shaft while my left hand cradles his balls underneath.

His stomach muscles contract hard with every stroke of my mouth.

I take a deep breath through my nose, open wide, and push him down my throat until half the length disappears.

I hold him there for a beat, letting him feel the tight heat, before sliding back up to draw air into my lungs.

I keep stroking him, looking straight up into his face.

His eyelids are heavy, his mouth hanging half-open in absolute surrender.

I decide to try something from the books I've read.

I lean up and spit directly into his open mouth, then use my tongue to stir it against his lips.

He swallows it whole, a dazed, foolish expression washing over his features.

I smile against his skin and speed up my hand.

The wet sound of my palm moving over his dick fills the quiet car.

"Abigail," he rasps.

I smirk. "What?"

His breathing turns ragged, his hips shifting restlessly beneath me.

Then his hand closes around my wrist.

I look up.

His eyes meet mine, dark and hungry.

"Faster..." he grunts, sliding his dick into my mouth. "I'm about to-"