I don’t hesitate, thrusting into her hard enough to knock the breath out of us. I let out an animalistic groan as her hands grip the edge of the table. Her cry fills the Chapel, echoing off the walls.
My body folds over hers, one hand braced beside her head, the other locked around her thigh, dragging it high to open her wider for me. The second I push in again, I groan low, deep, like the sound is torn from somewhere primal.
I start to move. Slow. Measured.
But every thrust carries the weight of everything I’m breaking.
A punishment.
A confession.
A goddamn prayer.
The leather of my cut scrapes against her shirt, branding her in my patch, my sin. Her buttons clink with every shift, her badge catching the light like it’s mocking me, a cop, in my Chapel, under me. And I’ve never been fucking harder in my life.
“This is blasphemy.” I growl against her throat, lips dragging over the pulse hammering just beneath the skin.
She arches into me, a wicked smirk curling at her mouth even as her breath stutters. “Then damn us both.”
Her words snap something in me. I slam into her harder, teeth gritted, jaw clenched so tight I swear it might crack. The table rattles beneath us, a steady percussion to the skin-on-skin chaos building between our bodies.
“You want damnation?” I snarl. “You fucking got it.”
I bring my hand up, tightening it around her throat, like she did to me. Her eyes widen, not in shock, but with lust as her mouth opens to gasp for the lack of air. Her hips snap forwardas I bury myself in her again and again. Every thrust, a vow shattered. Every moan from her lips, a command I can’t ignore.
She writhes under me, her badge cold against my chest, her body fire beneath my hands.
“Sin,” she gasps my name like it’s salvation, but there’s nothing holy about this.
“This is why I broke my rule,” I grit, grinding deep enough to make her toes curl. “Because no other woman’s ever made me this fucking unhinged.”
Her breath catches as I tighten my hand around her throat. “Then… be unhinged,” she pants. “Be wrecked. Just don’t stop.”
It’s the approval I need.
Loosening my grip on her throat, she gasps for air, and I grab her hips, tilting her just right, and my hand slides into her hair, grabbing her tight-as-fuck bun, and I wrench it free, pulling her hair loose. She gasps as my fingers take hold of the strands so tightly that it has to hurt.
“This isn’t you, not when you’re with me. Do you understand?” I grip her hair tighter, yanking her head back, while thrusting in deep. Her eyes roll back as I hit her deep and fast. She moans some kind of measly response, and I pull her hair again. “Answer me, wildcat!” My rhythm turns punishing, raw, relentless, the kind of fucking that leaves bruises and burns into memory.
She whimpers, her hips lifting to meet mine with a needy little grind. “I prefer my hair down too…” Her breath hitches on a teasing smile. “I like it when you pull it.”
That grin.
Fuck me, that grin.
It’s pure sin, slamming into my chest like a sledgehammer while my cock is buried so deep inside her that we blur together until there’s no line between us. My grip tightens in her hair, the silken strands slipping between my fingers as I yank gently,enough to draw that gasp I crave, the one that makes her eyes flutter and her thighs clamp tighter around my hips.
She trembles beneath me. Sweat slick between us. Her breath comes in short, broken pants. And the sounds she makes, the soft whimpers, the breathy cries, the little pleas she doesn’t even know she’s whispering, they crawl inside me, wrap around my spine, and pull.
My thrusts grow deeper, more desperate, chasing the edge I see her teetering on. Every time I drive into her, she clutches around me like her body is trying to trap me there.
Like she never wants to let me go.
“You make the filthiest sound when I fuck you right there…” She moans. “Yeah, right there.” I grind deeper. “Say my name again, and I’ll ruin you slower.”
“Jesus, Sin.” Her head falls back on a strangled cry, eyes fluttering, lips parted in a silent gasp before sound finally rips free, a moan that’s half agony, half bliss. Her hips roll, desperate and wild, grinding into me with reckless abandon. I feel it, every ripple, every flutter, every frantic pull of her muscles as she climbs.
I shift my weight, my free hand slipping between us, fingers finding her clit and working it in tight, fast circles. My rhythm stutters. Not from exhaustion, but from how fucking close she is. From how connected I am to her every reaction. The flush of her chest. The quiver of her thighs. The sharp little hitch in her breath as her body tenses, poised on the edge of something violent and beautiful.
