Abigail (7)

Abigail (7)
I reach into my front pocket, pull out a foil wrapper, and tear it open with my teeth.

Abigail glances over her shoulder.

Her eyes catch the silver wrapper in my hand and a smile spreads across her face.

“Aww,” she purrs. “You came prepared.”

"Yes," I murmur, my thumb smoothing the condom over my rigid cock. "And I promised myself I wouldn't rush you this time."

I step up behind her, my bare chest pressing against the soft curve of her back.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, I pull her flush against my heat while my free hand reaches down between her thighs.

My fingers slide into her slickness, tracing the swollen flesh of her opening before gliding up to find her clit.

Abigail lets out a low, shuddering breath, her head dropping forward against the leather.

"Does that feel good?" I whisper against the shell of her ear, my thumb rolling over her clitoris in a slow, steady circle.

"Yes..." she gasps, her fingers digging into the couch cushions. "Stop teasing and put it in."

"Not yet," I mutter, keeping my pace slow, deliberate. I want her completely undone. I want her to feel every second of this.

I trace a line of light licks up the side of her neck, my hand working between her legs until she’s arching back against my groin, her hips twitching desperately against my palm.

Only when her breathing turns shallow and ragged do I line the head of my dick up with her entrance.

I press forward, sliding into her inch by agonizing inch.

She's tight—so tight the condom feels like it might tear—and her pussy grips me like a fist.

A breathless gasp tears from her throat as I seat myself fully inside her, my hips resting firmly against her ass.

"Are you okay?" I ask, pausing to let her body adjust. I cup her breast from behind, gently rolling her hard nipple between my thumb and forefinger. "Do you like how I feel inside you?"

She turns her face toward me, her cheeks flushed, her eyes hazy with desire. "Yes, I love it, Catechist... don't stop. Move."

I begin to draw back, pulling almost all the way out before plunging deep again.

The sound of our bodies connecting fills the quiet car, a slow, wet friction that sends white-hot sparks straight to my gut.

I keep my movements steady, lifting her hips slightly to hit the exact spot deep inside that I know makes her toes curl.

"Like that?" I groan, my forehead resting against her shoulder blade as I thrust faster.

"Yes. Right... right there," she whimpers, her composure finally beginning to crack, her surrender becoming impossible to hide. "Harder... do it faster."

I speed up, my hands gripping her waist to control the pace.

Every time I drive forward, my thumb finds her swollen center, pressing into her with every deep stroke.

I watch her back arch, her muscles quivering under my touch.

The thought that I’m giving her this—that I’m making her lose control completely—drives my own pleasure to a dangerous peak.

"Look at me, Abigail," I demand softly.

She twists her neck, looking back at me through half-lidded eyes, her lips parted in a breathless sigh.

I lean down and capture her mouth, tasting the sweet, hot breath rising from her throat while my lower body works against hers in a relentless pace.

Her inner walls begin to contract, gripping my shaft in tight spasms that signal her release.

"I'm... I'm going to..." she cries out, her voice breaking into a high, helpless shriek as her whole body goes rigid.

Watching her shatter undoes the last thread of my restraint.

My careful thrusts break into something rougher and more desperate.

Abigail throws her head back, a high-pitched, helpless shriek echoing off the car walls.

Her inner muscles begin to pulse vigorously around my cock, contracting in tight spasms that pull the seed straight out of me.

"Abigail—" I gasp, my vision swimming.

I slam into her one last time, holding myself buried deep inside her as a massive orgasm tears through my lower belly.

A heavy, shuddering groan rattles my chest as I spill into the latex condom.

"Christ."

I shudder against her back, spilling everything deep inside her core while she sobs out her own release beneath me.

For a long moment, the only sound in the car is our heavy breathing.

Slowly, I pull out, discarding the rubber before sinking back onto the couch.

Abigail slumps against the seat, a lazy, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

My clothes are a mess, my chest slick with sweat, but I'm floating on cloud nine.

For a few quiet seconds, I forget the church.

The sermons.

My wife.

My family.

Everything outside here disappears.

Then, the shrill ring of my mobile phone breaks the silence.

I stare at the phone, tempted to let it ring. Whoever is calling can wait.

I don't want this moment to end.

But Abigail leans over and checks the screen. She turns her head toward me.

"It's Father Romanus," she says, holding the phone out.

I snap out of my daze, grab the phone from her hand, and quickly pick up.

"Hello, Father?" I say, trying to sound calm and composed.

"Catechist?"

The voice on the other end is not the priest's deep, measured baritone. It's high, strained, and breathless—one of the altar boys from the church.

"What is the problem?" I ask, my brow furrowing as I sit up straight. "Why do you sound so panicked? What happened?"

"You... you need to come!" the boy sobs into the receiver, his voice cracking with pure fear. "It's Father Romanus!"

Something cold settles in my stomach.

“What about him?” I demand.

"He's gone, sir!" the boy wails into the speaker.

My grip tightens around the phone. “What do you mean, gone?”

His voice cracks. “Father Romanus is dead.”

The phone nearly slips from my numb fingers.

My heart slams against my ribs. "What?" I gasp, my voice barely a whisper.

No.

Father Romanus can't be dead.

Not him.

"How? How did it happen?!"