Page 14 of The Priest

His eyes flutter closed. “I’ve dreamed of this exact moment a thousand times, you beneath me, in my bed.”

His fingers slide between my legs, just to the outside of my panties. He raises his head – silently asking if I’m okay – and in response I arch to get closer to him, to relieve that pressure. His fingers move beneath the cotton, against me, and his eyes fall closed once more, his color suddenly high, feverish almost.

I reach for his belt. His eyes open, but he doesn’t stop me. The belt comes free and my hand goes to the button of his pants. Already I can feel him beneath them – rigid, straining against the fabric—until I tug them down and his erection breaks free, so large his boxers barely seem to contain it. I should be terrified, and a small part of me is, but mostly I’m fascinated.

I slide my hand inside his waistband and then wrap it around him, the way he instructed me last night, only this time it’s my hot palm pressed directly to his skin.

His head goes back. “Marie,” he says, hissing air between his teeth, “stop or I’ll come.”

A tight wire at the base of my stomach is plucked, a desire so strong it hurts. “That’s alright,” I whisper. I want him to come. I want to see his face clearly this time as he lets go.

“No,” he says, almost harsh in his refusal. “Not yet.”

He pulls my panties off and moves between my legs, spreading them wider, continuing to move his fingers—circling and pushing inside me, following my small gasps and shudders like a lesson plan until the throbbing grows unbearable. My muscles tighten and I cry out his name, my hand wrapping around his wrist as if to stop him but it’s too late – I implode, seizing up around those intruding fingers, my body pulsing as my head goes back and I cry out.

When my eyes open, he’s watching me– cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over. He leans down to kiss my lips and I want to devour him. I feel him between my thighs, bare skin to bare skin, and I arch again. He’s so hard it must be painful.

His palm goes to the side of my face and he swallows. I’ve never seen him like this—so desperate and hungry and dazed with want. “Please,” I whisper. “Yes.”

He flinches for a moment and then pushes inside me, burying his face into my neck as he groans. “Oh God,” he whispers. “God.”

It hurts, but I’d expected it to. What I hadn’t expected was the pleasure I sense on the other side of that pain. The heat that floods me at his reaction.

“Are you okay?” he asks between his teeth, jaw locked with restraint.

“Yes,” I whisper. “I think so. I think I need...more.”

Air leaves his throat in an audible huff. He slowly withdraws, then pushes in again.

Everything is so tight and sweet, and the pleasure slightly outweighs the pain.

I gasp. “More, Edouard,” I plead, arching up to meet his thrust.

“Marie,” he groans. “It’s so hard not to come. I’m trying but it’s so hard.”

His hips begin to move. Slow, steady thrusts. My hands move over his back, and lower. I grip him there as the feeling of him shifts from pain to pleasure and he stops moving entirely. “I’ve wanted this for too long,” he says, his chest moving fast, his eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t want it to end so quickly.”

Desire makes me certain and bold and selfish. I hear his words, but my only response is to demand more.

“Please don’t stop,” I whisper, greedy muscles clamping down on him, arching to bring him farther inside me.

“Oh God,” he says with a small cry he thrusts in hard, again and again, his movements no longer smooth but uncoordinated and sharp.

Nothing has ever excited me more than his face as he lets go—mouth ajar, eyes squeezed shut, flushed, every muscle straining.

He gently falls on top of me, burying his face into my neck, while he tries to catch his breath. He pulls out and a rush of liquid follows. We didn’t use anything, and I don’t care. The idea of it only makes me want him more.

After a moment he gives a low laugh. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I wanted it to last but you made it impossible. Maybe you know some witchcraft after all.”

I smile, and then bite my lip, grateful he can’t see my face as I prepare to suggest what I’m about to. “Horses do it many times a day,” I whisper, ashamed and hopeful at once. “I always assumed men probably...could as well.”

He raises his head and his mouth curves up. He could not look less like a priest than he does right now, with that look in his eyes and that dirty smile. Against my thigh, he’s already begun to harden again.

He presses his lips to mine. “I suspect that a man can probably do it many times more, if you wanted him to.”

I grasp his jaw in my hands and kiss him back. “I want him to.”

Part Four