I needed to have her again.
And so I would.
The fingers on her chin drew her face to mine, and my mouth met hers in a fervent display of passion and longing. As wrong as it might be to some, it felt so right. How could it be sinning when it felt like this girl was mine? That she belonged to me in every single way, and nothing the world could throw at her, at us, would change that?
She might be a married woman, but she would never be constrained by labels. She had kept her heart buried down for so long, and now that she’d let it out, she wouldn’t let the world or her father stifle it again.
Her lips were pliant on mine, supple and eager, meeting the push and pull of mine with fervor. Giselle let out a gentle moan into the kiss, which I ate up, as greedy as ever. Having another taste of her would only cause her to consume more of my thoughts and dreams, but I was okay with that.
She was not Giselle Santos or Giselle Moretti to me. She was simply mine.
We didn’t get up, didn’t move from where we were. We were too hungry for the other, too impatient. Giselle leaned back, laying down on the pew, and my body came down with hers. I kissed her hard, drawing my hand down to her legs, moving up to the curve of her ass. Such a deliciously tempting body, something I’d never really thought about before, but Giselle seemed to bring all the impure thoughts out of me.
She made me feel again. She made me crave this thing called life and what it could dish out. She made me thankful for everything that had happened in my past—all the pain, all the torture; everything I’d gone through had brought me here. My abusive father. My second father, who the world reviled. I was here, just as she was, and together our pain created something new, something stronger.
Was this what love was like? Needing to be with the other person, regardless of the consequences and what the world would think? I’d felt loyalty and adoration before, but love? I couldn’t say whether that emotion had ever crossed my mind or my heart.
But with Giselle, things were different, and so it made me wonder if I was indeed a man capable of love.
We couldn’t even wait to get all of our clothes off. Her hands worked at my belt and my pants, trying to free me as quickly as she could, our lips still very much locked together. My cock had begun to harden the moment she’d touched my leg, but I’d done my best to fight it. Now? Now I had let it go, and the moment she undid my zipper and pulled my pants open enough to stroke it through my boxer briefs, it was my turn to moan into the kiss.
She tore her lips off mine, panting out the words, “I need you. Help me forget.”
I couldn’t wipe the slate clean, but I could help her forget, at least in this particular moment. My hands worked to take off her pants, and as I did so, something clanged on the floor, sliding off the pew. Her hand still on my cock, it was ridiculously hard for me to lean over the pew and see what had fallen, and I spotted an ivory gun with a grip that had etched-in flowers.
“Sorry,” Giselle whispered, and my eyes were sluggish in returning to hers. “I know you don’t like guns, but I figured it wasn’t the best idea to leave the house by myself without some heat.” She stroked me through my boxer briefs again, this time harder, causing my body to shudder and my lower back to tense up. “Don’t be mad at me for it.”
I did hate guns. I really, really hated how impersonal they were.
Take the person who’d shot Giselle, for instance. She didn’t know who he was, even though she suspected he might work for her father. He didn’t get close to her; he didn’t need to. You could kill someone without ever looking them in the eye—and that, to me, was a great disservice. If I was killing someone, I made sure they knew it.
“Damian got it for me as an engagement present,” she whispered. “Though it’s pretty much now a wedding gift, I guess.” On the pew, her head shook once, and she let go of my cock. “Just take off my pants and forget about the gun.” She took on a commanding tone, and if it had been anyone else telling me to forget about a gun brought into my church, I would’ve gone off.
But it was Giselle, and if there was one person I could forgive about guns, it was her.
“As you wish,” I said, yanking her pants down. I had to get her flats off as well. Off they came, and then her panties followed suit. I wasn’t worried about taking off her blouse; right now, I had a single goal, and that was to bury my cock in that sweet, delicious pussy.
I did my best in shedding everything below the waist, my cock twitching with the need to be united with Giselle once again. Laying back down on top of her on the wooden pew, I spread her legs as much as I could, given where we were.
This was not the best position to take while doing the most primal deed there was, and yet the mere thought of pausing this just to go somewhere else didn’t feel right. No, she made me want everything I shouldn’t, all the things I’d never thought twice about. She made me crave her in every single way, and there was no way in hell I’d stop us just so we could go to my bed downstairs.
I had to have her, right here and now.
Our eyes locked, something unspoken passing between us. An understanding, a matched desire, a universal want. Her bare hands went to my sides, curling around my back as much as they could. She could feel the edges of the scars I had, the risen skin that had turned white and ugly from the lashes of my father’s wrath. My scars were physical, while hers were emotional, and yet we were alike in so many different ways.
I didn’t wait any longer. I pushed inside her with one hard thrust of my hips, filling her up in much the same way I had before. Only this time, I knew what to expect. I knew what she felt like now, and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. I couldn’t get her out of my mind.
Her core was hot and tight, just as I remembered. If anything, she felt even better now. Now that I had passed the point of no return, I knew exactly what to anticipate and still she blew me away. My cock twitched inside of her, her hot, wet walls clamping down on my length like her body sought to drag the pleasure out of me, willing or not.
I shuddered with how good she felt. God help me.
Her full, luscious lips curled into a grin, and I wondered if I’d accidentally spoken that thought aloud. But, no, she was just grinning at me—something very out of character for her. The girl didn’t smile. She was sullen, morose, and serious all the time, and yet here she was, bare and underneath me, smiling up at me like I was everything to her.
I knew it right then: that smile was it. Everything. I wanted to see it more often, and I would do anything to bring it out of her. Anything and everything that would make her life easier… some certain things that might be considered me helping her, which she claimed to not want me to do.
But that was the thing about my help. Just because she said she didn’t want it didn’t mean I wouldn’t watch over her. Giselle was mine, whether she was a Santos or a Moretti. Mine, mine, mine. There would be no changing that. Not even God could take her away from me, and I showed that to her in the way our bodies came together. I paid no heed in the bullet wound on her midsection, though if she told me to go easier on her, I would. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her.
No, I wanted to fill that supple body with the heated pleasure of a thousand lives.
I made her groan. I made her moan. I made her whisper out sighs of pleasure as I rocked my hips back and forth. I tasted her sounds, devouring them all. Every single noise that came from her slender throat I gobbled up like a maniac. When she came, I memorized the sound, took a mental picture of her face as she unraveled beneath me. The word gorgeous had nothing on her.
She was everything. She was life. She was redemption. Giselle had become my purpose, not this church, not the people of the congregation. Simply her. Only her.
Mad. She made me mad, utterly and completely, irrevocably and insanely. There was no turning back from this.
And because of that, there was something I had to do.