Here, in the middle of a church, I’m naked before the man who will one day be the head of that institution. And as he strips off his own running clothes, he watches me with eyes that express devotion and admiration. My legs fall open, beckoning him in, and he falls to his knees between them. He genuflects before my body at the altar of his god.
“This is my body, broken for you.” He lies over me, caging me in with his lithe frame, held up on one forearm but still skin to skin.
He takes one of my hands and places my palm to his neck. His pulse thrums against me as his desire throbs at my entrance. “This is my blood, poured out for you.”
I could die right in this moment from being pulled in so many directions. Lust and fear and affection and reason all toss me around like a ship in a storm. Friedrich wins; he always wins in the battle of wills in my mind, and I’m in too deep to think about the implications.
I am ready to share every part of myself with this man who has opened himself so fully to me. He toldme before that he doesn’t have sex, he doesn’t think it proper for the heir to the throne to go slagging around. But here, in this church that means so much to him, in front of the depiction of his broken, dying savior, Friedrich’s eyes have never left mine.
“Yes,” I say to the unvoiced question.Yes, take me. Yes, you can have all of me.
He closes his eyes now, releases a big breath. I, on the other hand, haven’t breathed since he took his boxer briefs down. He looks to me again, so tender and beautiful.
“This is my life, given up for you.”
He presses into me, my body ready to receive him, still wet and aching from our earlier session. His fingers have been inside me before, but the stretch of his penis aches in a way that makes my toes curl in delight.
He’s still watching me, studying my eyes like I’m a painting he can’t quite figure out. His arms on either side of me begin to shake, and I know he’s using all his willpower to stay and allow me a moment to adjust. It’s so kind, he’s so considerate in everything he does, even when his own need is clawing its way to the surface. The pain in my body is nothing compared to the pain in my soul right now, and all I want is to forget all of that in the sheer bliss he brings me.
“Please, Friedrich,” I breathe, tears threatening at my eyes as I trace the quivering muscles of his arms.
He sinks all the way in with a groan, and I gasp at the fullness, the burn, the sheer rightness in being completely consumed by him. The tears fall now, andhe wipes them away with the pad of his thumb, pressing gentle kisses to my lips as I grow accustomed to his thick length sheathed in my virginity.
We don’t need any words; he reads my eyes as if he can see my soul. He drags himself out, slowly, slowly, until just the tip remains inside. Then, still moving carefully, he presses back in, dragging out my pleasure with his.
“Please,” I gasp again after a few more tenuous movements. “I need more, Fritz. Make me forget.”
He growls, punctuated by the slap of his hips against mine, and I squeak with delight and only a touch of pain. He shoots me a positively devilish grin and does it again, filling the stone chapel with the deliciously vulgar sounds of flesh on flesh.
“So fucking tight,” he groans, peppering my lips and cheeks and neck with tender lips.
He’s in no rush, respecting my body and the intrusion he is inside of me. He finds a leisurely rhythm in time with his breaths, and god, now I know why the church is so focused on sex because I think I might go insane if I don’t get to feel this again and again. The connection between us only serves to heighten the pleasure as he hums sweet words to me.So beautiful,andsuch a sweet pussy,andChrist, I fucking need you.
Something starts to build inside me, stronger than the tears that are still leaking from my eyes, deeper than the agony of the knowledge of what I must do after this is over, more powerful than the shame I should be feeling at giving myself over to lust and desire, morebrilliant than the affection I have for this man who has taken every part of me that I’ve so willingly given. It starts in my limbs, tight and tingling and torturous as it draws to my core and settles in my pelvis.
Or do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you, whom you have from God? You are not your own, for you were bought with a price. So glorify God in your body.
But our bodies are worship. Here, linked together in the most primal, instinctual, spiritual way, we are giving glory to the creator for blessing us with this moment of pure bliss. Pure joy. Pure…
Rapture.
A cry escapes my lips before I can tell myself to be reserved. I don’t think I could if I tried. My vision sparkles with bright white. My entire body is absolute pleasure, and it feels like coming up for air after being held under the water too long. Like all my senses and the teachings of my childhood have been keeping me from really breathing all this time. And the scriptures were right. My body is not my own. It’s his. My body belongs to Friedrich, and his belongs to me. And we will pay the price for that. But right now, in this moment, all I feel is utter peace.
The only thing keeping me from floating up to the wooden rafters is the weight of Friedrich above me. His face is beautiful agony as he watches me come down from my orgasm. His thrusts have turned hard and erratic, adding to the addictive ache I’m feeling.
“Aurelia,” he pants, “Mon trésor.”Beads of sweatcatch in his hair and eyebrows, dropping on my face and chest with each meeting of our hips. “So fucking good.”
His breaths escape in moans so deliciously dirty I’ll be hearing them in all my fantasies for years to come. My prince is unraveling above me, and a strange sense of pride flows over me. I cry out at the sudden loss of him inside me as he pushes off of me, jumping to his feet just in time to turn away to the edge of the sanctuary and shout his release. My entire view is his gloriously toned backside, the muscles of his bum and thighs clenching and flexing as his body spasms and his ejaculate spatters on the stone floor again and again and again.
When he’s completely spent, he turns back to me, falling prone before my nakedness, hitching my legs around his shoulders to rest his head against my stomach. His breathing is ragged as I stroke his sweat-soaked hair. My skin is overly sensitive under his coarse beard, and I love it. The prince clings to me like I’m his hope of redemption, an object worthy of awe. Here, in this building of relics and statues and shrines, Friedrich gives me all his worship.
“I knew I’d have to let you go eventually,” he rasps, still clutching me for dear life. “But I didn’t want it to be so soon.”
“Me either.” I swallow hard. For someone who hasn’t cried in nearly ten years, I’m doing a terrible job at holding back the tears today. More proof that it’stime for this to end before I get any more emotionally involved.
“Promise me you won’t settle.” I’m still running my fingers through his hair, trying to memorize the feeling of his weight over me, the smell of him that wraps with mine to make the perfect blend of floral and spice and wood underneath sweat and sex. I want to burn this moment in my mind, the beauty and the pain. “Promise me you’ll pick one of the women who will care for you and give you all the love and support you need. Don’t just pick the one parliament wants you to choose.”
He’s silent. I can feel his pulse beating against my lower stomach, and his breathing has slowed, but each inhale seems to cause him pain. We stay on the carpet in front of the altar for a long time. The sun has already set, and the only light comes from the eternal flame burning above the altar and the smattering of small votive candles before a statue of Mary.
