Fingers curled around my waist, hooking into the belt loops of my jeans and yanking my butt tight against his groin. He angled us over the altar at a slight incline, his chest hot against my back and his lips closing around the shell of my ear.
My body reacted instantly, heating, pulsing. I arched my spine and pushed back against his cock.
He caught my hips and set them away, controlling the pace of this, making me wait. His mouth went back to my ear, my neck, teasing and kissing sensitive skin, seducing with the rush of his breath.
“I’m nervous,” I whispered.
“You should be.” Standing behind me, he opened the fly of my jeans and lowered the zipper. “I’m going to tear your pussy in half.”
His huge hand sank into my pants, beneath my panties, fingers sliding over my clit and pressing into my folds. His other hand captured my throat, bringing my head back to his shoulder. All the while, his mouth continued to assault the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
Despite his verbal threat, my nerves subsided because he was so achingly gentle and caring and loving. By far the most beautiful, sensual man I’d ever had touch my body.
He flattened my spine against him, working those expert fingers in my pants, playing with my slit and teasing my opening. The palm on my throat controlled my head, which he kept tucked against his own. The stubble on his jaw abraded my cheek as he nuzzled my face and neck.
Then he pushed two stiff fingers inside me.
My heart stopped. My legs gave out, and my lungs caved in.
I’d never felt more alive.
Everywhere I was, he was there, invading me with his heat, stroking me with his touch, his digits sinking through flesh, and his sensuality consuming my awareness.
He shoved my jeans and panties to my thighs and fingered me until I whimpered and moaned for release. Then he removed all my clothes and sank his hand back between my legs, torturing me.
Quivering and naked, I gripped the edge of the altar, staring up at the life-size crucifix of Jesus on the wall.
“I’m going to hell.” I rocked my hips, riding the thrust of his fingers.
“Not without me.” He nipped my jaw, his breath heady and delicious.
He surrounded me. Arms, hands, lips, and masculine need—he was everywhere all at once. My body reacted as though I was made for his touch.
Everything he did, every kiss, every caress, was a long, languorous expedition in seduction. Meanwhile, I just needed him to throw me onto the altar and fuck me six ways from Sunday.
I tried to hurry him along, but he wouldn’t allow it. He pinned my hands when I touched his cock. He smacked my ass when I ground against him. I wanted to kiss him, but he wouldn’t give me that, either.
He drew out his seduction in the most excruciating and delicious way possible.
He made me desperate to surrender to his will. So I held still, with a death grip on the altar, my feet spread apart, and my spine arched as he fondled, licked, kissed, and tormented every inch of my naked body.
I dropped my head back on his chest, absorbing his strength, the support of his arms around me, and his hands roving in tandem up and down my front, rubbing my abdomen, cupping and kneading my breasts, pinching my nipples, tracing my breastbone, and stroking the curve of my neck.
With his steely jaw against my temple, he rested the tips of his fingers on my lips and throat. My head lay back on him, my neck stretched and fully exposed, and my mouth open, accommodating heavy breaths.
He played with me like that, gliding those ten featherlight pads across my cheeks, into my hairline, around my throat, and back again. With each pass along my neck, he squeezed, strangling my airway and kicking up my pulse. Then the collar of those fingers became soothing knuckles, sliding over my mouth and cheeks again, taking time to circle my ears and trace the inner flesh of my lips.
The eroticism in every tiny detail was profound. By the time he turned me to face him, my body was boneless, my nerve endings overstimulated, and my pussy swollen, throbbing, and leaking down my legs.
With my back against the altar, he towered over me, crowding me, stealing all the air. He wore the expression of a man who was beside himself with need. He was feral with it, his pupils blown, lashes half-mast, breathing labored, and forehead dotted with perspiration.
When he grabbed my throat and took my mouth, I tasted the depth and intensity of his emotion. I heard it, the rumbling growl deep within his chest. I felt it, the tautness of tendons stretching from his neck to his thighs.
He was aroused and excited and overwrought. We both were.