"I know."
"What were you thinking about? When you lost your place?"
"Your neck."
She inhales sharply. "What about my neck?"
"Where I'd put my mouth."
I'm walking toward her, or she's pulling me, or the church is collapsing inward. My hand finds her jaw, thumb on the pulse point that's racing.
She doesn't wait. Fingers hook under my collar—the actual collar, using my restraint as a handle—and pulls. Our mouths meet and it's different from the gala. We know each other's rhythms now. The intimacy under the heat makes it impossible to stop.
I lift her onto the altar.
No thought. Just instinct that puts her on the stone, and she's there with her legs parting and me stepping between them like this is what altars are for.
Her legs wrap around me, pulling me against her, and the dress rides up and my hands are on her thighs—bare skin, warm, smooth—and she makes a sound that goes straight to my cock. I press forward, grinding against her, letting her feel how fucking hard I am, how much I want to be inside her.
"Gabriel," she gasps, and my name in her mouth makes me thrust against her harder.
My fingers find the edge of her underwear—soaked through, completely drenched. "Fuck, you're so wet," I growl against her mouth. "Is this what you were thinking about during mass? Getting fucked on my altar?"
She moans, hips rolling against my hand as I push the fabric aside. My fingers slide through her slick folds, finding her clit, circling it while she gasps against my neck.
"Please," she whispers. "I need—"
I push two fingers inside her and she cries out, her pussy clenching around them immediately. She's so wet I can hear it as I fuck her with my fingers, the obscene sound echoing in the empty church. My thumb finds her clit, pressing in circles while my fingers curl forward to that spot that makes her whole body shake.
"That's it," I murmur against her throat. "Let me feel you. Let me feel how much you want my cock."
She's grinding against my hand now, chasing her release, and I pull my fingers out. She whines at the loss, but I need more. Need to be inside her. Now.
I fumble with my belt, shoving my pants down just enough to free my cock. It springs free, hard and aching, the head already wet with pre-cum. She looks down at it and licks her lips, and I nearly come just from that.
I position myself at her entrance. Right there. The head of my cock pressing against her pussy, feeling how wet she is, how ready.
The flushed lips of her pussy glisten, slick and swollen, a trembling invitation.
My cock leaves a smear of pre-cum as I line up, the tip parting her folds with a shine that matches the fever in her eyes.
Her thighs quiver, gripping my hips, her cunt pink and parted, pulsing against my crown, desperate to swallow me down to the root.
The moment overflows with anticipation, like waiting for a storm to break over the horizon, the air heavy with the electricity of desire and the promise of release. My cock throbs against her, aching to be inside her, and I can feel her wetness inviting me in. A moment of pure and unadulterated need, two bodies poised on the edge of ecstasy.
One thrust and eight years of celibacy end on the altar where I serve communion.
I can't.
My body locks. Not won't—can't. A circuit breaker tripping. Eight years of vows, and this is the one I can't break. The final line.
She feels me stop, sees the war on my face. "It's okay," she whispers, understanding.
I can't go forward and I can't let go and I can't stop wanting—
So I drop to my knees.
The position of prayer, of worship. Her hands find my hair as she realizes what I'm about to do.
