He smiled against my neck. “There we go.”
Each thrust now hit something deep inside me that made coherent thought impossible. My body responded to his without my conscious direction, hips rising to meet his thrusts, seeking more of that exquisite pressure. The discomfort had dissolved entirely, replaced by waves of pleasure that built with each movement. I didn’t understand what he was doing to me. How it could be this… this incredible.
He shifted his weight onto one elbow, his other hand sliding between our bodies to find where his cock was thrusting inside me. He found my clit and his fingers circled that sensitive bundleof nerves and I was gone. Floating somewhere without sound, without sight, crashing against Judah again and again. Like I was liquid and gas, and all the other states besides. Moans spilled from me, one after the other. I couldn’t contain them.
When it finally broke, it was like nothing I'd ever experienced — a wave of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain, radiating outward from where we were joined until every nerve ending in my body sang with it. He covered my mouth with his, swallowing the sound as his thrusts became more urgent, more demanding.
The second wave hit me unexpectedly, building on the first before I'd even come down. This time I bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming, the taste of salt on my tongue. His rhythm faltered, became erratic, and I felt him swell inside me.With a groan that seemed torn from somewhere deep within, Judah thrust in one final time. His body tensed, every muscle going rigid. I felt it. His release, mixing with the aftershocks of my own. It was so intimate and… primal, almost.
For several long moments, we remained locked together, our labored breathing the only sound in the room. The weight of him pressed me into the mattress, — but all of it feltright.
When he finally moved, it was to brush the damp hair from my forehead, his touch impossibly tender.
“Okay?”
I nodded, unable to form words just yet. My body felt different—used in the most exquisite way, tender in places I'd never been aware of before, but humming with a satisfaction so complete it bordered on spiritual.
He withdrew from me slowly, and I winced at the strange emptiness that followed. There was a smear of blood on the sheets between us — less than I’d expected.
Judah disappeared into what I assumed was an adjoining bathroom, returning moments later with a warm, damp cloth.
“How do you feel? Actually?” he asked as he started running the cloth down my thighs — so gentle.
I considered the question, taking inventory of my body — the pleasant ache between my legs, the lingering tingles of pleasure, the heaviness in my limbs.
I shrugged. “Fine.” There it was. That word again.Fine.But it was more than that. Only I didn’t know how to put it into words. “I… It was different than what I expected.”
I watched his forehead crease slightly as he cleaned up the last of the blood from my skin.
“And what did you expect?” he asked.
I smirked. “You didn’t grunt nearly enough, Preacher.”
His hand froze with the damp cloth against my skin, and his eyes lifted to look at me. “Preacher,” he echoed, the corners of his mouth gaining an odd tilt. Like he was trying not to smile. “I think yours and William’s friendship is becoming a cause for concern.” He tossed the cloth aside and pulled me against him, settling us both among the plush pillows.
“He’s fun,” I said, resting my head against his chest.
“I don’t contest that,” he said, his fingers trailing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. “But I promise to make improvements. More grunting next time. Less… whatever that was.”
“Next time?” I echoed, tilting my head to look at him.
Something flashed in his eyes — possessiveness, perhaps. “I have spilled your blood, Mercy.” He paused, his voice growing deep. “Without the shedding of blood, there is no remission.”His thumb traced my collarbone, unhurried. “We areboundnow. You understand that.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not, but I didn’t feel like questioning him. Not now.
“Do you actually know the scripture by heart?” I asked instead. I did wonder because I knew my father hadn’t known more than some chosen few sentences he’d kept repeating adnauseam — and even twisting them into non-recognition if it so pleased him.
“Most of it,” Judah admitted, his fingers continuing their lazy exploration of my skin.
“I'm impressed,” I said, watching the way the lamplight caught the planes of his face. “My father could barely get through Leviticus without making things up.”
“I have a photographic memory,” he said softly, running his fingers up and down my arm. “Helps with numbers.”
“Numbers?” I cocked an eyebrow.
He sighed, and let his hand rest against my shoulder. Simple. “Being a pastor is a lot like being a bookkeeper, Mercy,” he said. “Only instead of numbers, you’re multiplying faith.”
She was not what he'd expected, which was its own kind of reckoning.
