"Christ," I hiss, forgetting where we are, who I am—who I was.
Her eyes flutter closed as she slides down further, enveloping me inch by inch until I'm fully seated inside her. The sensation is almost too much to bear—like dying and being reborn in the same moment.
My celibacy ending in one slow stroke. She's tight, so fucking tight, wet and hot around me. Her pussy grips my cock like it was made for me. I have to stop, fully seated, forehead pressed to hers, just breathing.
She's so tight around me, her inner walls gripping me like they'll never let go. I can't breathe. Can't think. The sensation is overwhelming—like being consumed by fire, like drowning in pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
"Sera," I groan, and her name feels like a confession on my lips.
Her hips begin to move—slow, tentative rolls that send shockwaves through my body. I've never felt anything like this. This woman, this moment, this sacred desecration that somehow feels like worship.
The dim church surrounds us, shadows dancing across her face as she moves. The stained glass windows reflect nothing in the darkness, just black voids where saints should be watching. But the red sanctuary lamp burns witness to what we've become—what I've chosen.
My hands grip her thighs, guiding her movements as she rides me. Her skirt has bunched higher, and I can see where our bodies join, can watch myself disappear inside her again and again. The sight alone nearly undoes me.
These hands that I’ve been punishing for so long, and right now they’re holding her like she’s something worth having. And she’s not breaking.
"Gabriel," she whispers, leaning forward to press her forehead against mine. "Look at me."
I do. Her eyes are wide open, pupils blown with desire but clear with certainty. No regret. No hesitation. Just us, breaking every vow I've ever made and somehow finding something holier in the wreckage.
My hips thrust upward, meeting her movements with growing urgency. The wooden pew creaks beneath us, the sound echoing in the empty church. I should be terrified of discovery, of judgment, but all I can think about is how perfectly she fits around me, how her breath catches when I hit a spot deep inside her.
"Fuck," I hiss, the profanity strange on my tongue after years of careful speech. But there's no other word for this—for the way her pussy clenches around me, for the sweat beading in the cleft at the top of her breasts, for the animal need consuming us both.
Her movements grow more desperate, less coordinated. I can feel her trembling, see the flush spreading across her chest as she chases her pleasure. My hand slides between us, thumb finding the swollen bud at the apex of her thighs. The moment I touch her there, she gasps, her back arching.
"That's it," I urge, circling my thumb as she rides me harder. "Let go."
She comes apart above me, her body seizing around my cock as she buries her face in my neck to muffle her cries. The pulsing grip of her orgasm pulls me right to the edge.
"I need to pull out," I manage to say, the last shred of rationality fighting through the haze of lust.
She shakes her head, clinging to me. "I'm on birth control," she whispers against my ear. "Please. I need to feel you."
With every ounce of my restraint, I push her hips away until my cock springs out of her pussy, standing between us.
She whimpers.
“Not like this,” I say. “I need to see all of you.”
I stand up and place her in the aisle beside me, then pull her into another kiss, her skirt still rucked above her hips. Then we’re moving, I’m tugging her along, stumbling through the dark nave while the kiss continues. My mouth finds her jaw, her throat, that pulse point I memorized days ago. I suckhard enough to mark. Her hands pull at my shirt, nails scraping against my chest as she seeks skin. We're half-blind, navigating by instinct and need.
The sacristy door appears under my searching hand. I know this church like my own body. My fingers find the handle. We spill through.
The small lamp comes on with a click. Warm light fills my preparation space. The wardrobe with its glass door, my vestments hanging inside. The alb, the chasuble, the stole. The small table where I lay out the chalice and paten. The crucifix on the wall, more intimate than the massive one in the nave.
Sera takes it in. The incense scent, the careful order, the tools of my performance displayed like evidence. She looks from the vestments to me and back.
"This is where you put your costume on," she starts, breathless.
"Yes." I cut her off with another kiss, backing her against the table.
"And now we're going to fuck here," she says against my mouth, and hearing her say fuck in this sacred space makes my cock throb.
"Everything off," I growl against her skin. "I need to see you."
I lock the door. The click echoes.
