Page 26 of Altered By Fire (Undercover Sinners 1)
The confessional itself is set to the side of the church, away from the pews and enclosed with beautifully detailed sliding wooden doors, rather than the curtains I'd expected. Too many low-budget movies have colored my expectation of churches, I guess.
Colt approaches one side of the booth and slides the door open. "After you, Tzarina."
I see the invitation in his eyes, and eagerly accept it by stepping into the small booth and perching on the little bench seat. He follows me in, and I shuffle over as far as possible to make room while he slides the door shut again.
Once inside, Colt solves the problem of space by lifting me up and setting me on his lap. Giggling, I accept the bottle of vodka from him and take a couple more sips before handing it back.
"Now what?" I breathe, and even I can hear the lust in my voice. Even if Colt and I hadn't almost fucked this morning, pot and vodka make me horny as shit. I want him. Bad.
Colt takes another sip himself, then in a low voice commands me, "Get on your knees, Natalia."
I suck in a sharp breath, and don't hesitate even a second before doing as I'm told. My knees hit the hard floor with an audible thump, and I gasp at the sharp pain. I'm no stranger to the sensation—pain, that is—and I love it.
It reminds me I'm still alive … for now.
"Like this?" I check, peering up at Colt in the darkness. He's still seated on the little bench, his legs spread while I kneel between them, facing him.
"Perfect," he confirms, taking another swig of vodka and then passing the bottle to me.
As I bring the glass rim to my lips, I watch Colt unbuckle his jeans and withdraw his rigid erection. I'd only grabbed the briefest glimpse of his equipment earlier, before Hawke had interrupted us and thrown Colt out of the room, and I'm simply dying to get better acquainted.
"You owe me a happy ending," Colt tells me sternly, but I can hear the edge of amusement in his voice. "I think you know what to do."
Grinning, I lick my lips and hand the vodka back. I reach out, trailing my fingers down the soft skin of Colt's dick, then grip the base firmly to bring him to my lips. Given I'm on my knees with his cock in my face, it isn't any great leap to work out he wants a blow job. I'm all too happy to give it to him, too.
My vast and varied sex life has given me a great number of nifty skills, and I'm not ashamed to admit that I can suck some seriously great cock. Being able to deep throat is always an advantage, too, which Colt is soon going to learn.
"That's it," he encourages, setting the vodka aside on the bench and bringing his hands to my hair. "Suck me, Tzarina."
I fight a smile as I roll my tongue over the silken head of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum and relishing in his arousal. My head is spinning from the combination of vodka and pot, and I'm just high enough to feel like a normal girl. Not the daughter of a Russian mob boss, on the run from death and worse, captive at the hands of a gang of mercenaries in a church.
No, right now I'm just a girl, sucking her boyfriend’s cock in a confessional.
Colt groans low in his throat as I take him deeper, working my hand around his base as I suck him hard. I'm no amateur, I know what men like—whether they admit it or not—so I carefully but firmly scrape my teeth down his sensitive skin.
He sucks in a sharp breath, but I could swear there’s an echo. Like, there’s someone else breathing heavily nearby. But then again, maybe it's just weird acoustics inside the little confessional booth messing with my mind. Or the pot.
My other hand slides up, cupping his balls and rolling them gently as he moans his approval. It gives me such a sense of satisfaction, knowing I can have such an effect on someone as hot as Colt.
Again, I hear a noise that pulls me from the moment, like there’s someone else present and watching, but before I can pull away to look, Colt fists his hands in my hair and bucks his hips. His hard length slams into the back of my throat, and I have no option but to swallow him deep. It's either that or choke, and I’m not a fan of gagging around cock.
"Holy shit," he swears, using his grip on my hair to roughly dictate pace and depth. It's something a lot of girls hate. That feeling of helplessness, of vulnerability. For me, it's a goddamn turn-on, and I can already feel my panties growing wetter by the second as he fucks my throat.
