“Yep. Not like the thing we just did.”
Silence.
I tense as he approaches.
“Come here.” He points at the end of the bed.
My stomach knots, but I obey, crawling to the spot. I’m apprehensive, but giddy that he’s still here.
“Up on your knees, legs spread apart.”
Again, I obey, this time wearing a shy grin.
“Now put your hands in prayer.”
The order is a slap to the face and I balk, my heart thudding. I stay frozen, but he grabs my wrists and places my palms together firmly in front of my chest.
I remain still, reluctant.
His hand floats between my parted thighs, and his fingertip finds my entrance. He circles the raw opening and presses at the tear.
I wince, but stay posed, my body trembling under the intense gaze of this man.
“Morgan Leigh Montgomery, the dumb preacher’s daughter. She got her little pussy ripped, and now she wants a pastor to fill the ache I left.”
He looks at the ceiling and points. “Pray to him. Ask your God for forgiveness.”
My chin quivers. I’m embarrassed and confused, like God is watching. And worse, as Jack’s finger toys with that sore spot, I’m aroused despite the pain.
“Pray,” he repeats, darker. “Say dear God.”
My throat tightens, and to my surprise, I speak.
“Dear God.”
“Good, church girl. Pray for forgiveness, not because you had premarital sex, but because you slept with an atheist. You didn’t want salvation. You wanted me.”
I gasp softly. “I want salvation more than anything.”
“Do you?” Two of his fingers slide in, and the intrusion makes me shudder. “That’s why you don’t want me to walk away. You want someone to see the real you. The sinful girl you can’t show the world. The one that uses her pussy to get what she wants. Even tries to convert nonbelievers with sex.”
I try to talk, but I can’t.
He hits that sensitive flesh inside, and I lock around his finger.
“Look at you naked. Wanting my fingers to fuck you and make you moan. Be honest. Tell God what you really want.”
From somewhere deep within, dark thoughts fight to break free. My voice shakes.
“Dear God...” I inhale deeply, the forthcoming words so vile, I hardly believe they’re coming from my lips. “I want to belong to Jack. I want to be his church slut.”
His eyebrows lift, his expression as shocked as I feel.
“Morgan,” he grumbles. “You always have to make it harder for me.” Then slowly, his eyes narrow, but follows with a subtle nod. “Keep going.” He strokes the spot more firmly, and my eyes close as I suck in a sharp breath.
“I pray for your forgiveness, Lord, because I like Jack using my body for his pleasure. I like an atheistfuckingme.”
Three times.
