Page 34 of Audacity

‘Jesus fuck,’ he rasps. Now, I’m no Catholic, but that particular juxtaposition feels like another level entirely of profaning the Lord’s name. He fists my hair hard with the hand still on my neck and then,then,he shoves that glorious organ so hard, so fully, inside me that I let out a strangled, involuntary moan of pleasure.

‘You want what you deserve, hmm? This is what you deserve, you little fucking vixen, for committing sacrilege and making me remember what a pathetic flesh-and-blood man I am when I should be doing God’s work.’

He puts his other hand back on my neck, his strong fingers more a vice than a cradle around my jaw, and for a long moment we simply stare at each other, I gagged and subservient, he splendidly aflame. I exhale slowly through my nose as I find his ball sac with one hand and press the palm of my other hand against the rigid, hair-strewn muscle of his quad.

Then he moves, and his groan as he slides his length slowly out of my mouth and surrenders to his desire is the best kind ofdefeated. His eyes drop to where my lips are closed around his crown, and I have the distinct pleasure of seeing raw, animalistic need etched on his gorgeous features. I give his tip a decadent swirl with my tongue, and he shudders. When he ruts back inside me, it seems something shifts for him. He may still hate himself for wanting this—and resent me for provoking him so effectively—but it appears he decides to chase his prize.

‘Slap me on the thigh if it’s too much,’ he grits out, and then he’s fucking my face in fine style, hips pistoning and his dick, impossibly, ominously hard, driving in and out.

This is my Eden: on my knees at a powerful man’s feet, my elite education and dazzling business brain forgotten, in his mind, in favour of my unctuous mouth and sinful tongue. I abandon his sac—the rhythm is too punishing—and get a good grip of his arse with both hands, revelling in the way his glutes contract with each merciless thrust.

‘I have never, ever fantasised about violating a parishioner like this,’ he tells me, and he sounds really fucking pissed off, ‘untilyoushowed up. And God knows, I’ll never, ever be able to un-see this.’

I moan my approval around his cock.

He works me, and I take it valiantly, breathing hard through my nose as my mascara runs and my saliva escapes, sluicing him with moisture. It’s slippery and messy and fucked-up, and I adore it. My clit throbs more every time he twists my hair and plunders my face. I give myself over to the sensation, closing my eyes and focusing on surviving the onslaught as he hardens even more, thrusts even more aggressively.

And then: ‘Coming,God,’ he groans, his manners intervening as he loosens his grip on my head and tries to pull out, but I dig my fingers more firmly into his arse and hold on tight, and then he’s erupting down my throat in warm gushes, his body wracked with convulsions and his breathing frantic. I wait untilhe’s emptied himself before pulling off him just enough that I can swallow, and then I proceed to lick him clean.

He stands there, sighing out his pleasure, his fingers teasing my hair as he watches me minister to him. When I look up at him, there’s nothing but a quiet, replete kind of reverence on his face. He stills as our gazes lock, and I have the oddest realisation that in any analogy where this guy is Jesus, I am most definitely Mary Magdalene, the blow job I just gave him the most pornographic take possible on washing his feet.

There are acts of service, and then there’s the epic servicing I just provided.

Nevertheless, I feel nothing but satisfaction as he helps me to my feet. His gaze drops to my painfully hard nipples, which are forging a path through lace and silk.

‘Did that really turn you on?’ he murmurs, searching my face.

‘God, yes.’ I dab as delicately as I can at the saliva pooled at the corner of my mouth.

‘Show me. On the sofa. Turn around.’

I take this to mean that I should kneel up on the sofa, facing the wall, so I do. I gather my skirts all the way up to my waist and spread my knees wide, turning my head so I can watch him take in my mostly bare bottom in its ivory lace thong and suspender belt.

He crouches to hoist up his boxer briefs and trousers, fastening the latter blindly, his eyes firmly on the view in front of him.

‘Bend over for me,’ he says, and I do. I lean forward and rest my forearms on the back with the generous silk of my dress gathered in the crook of one elbow.

His touch, when it comes, is a fingertip drawn straight down the centre of my thong. I shiver at the sensation, which is delicious and yet nowhere near enough.

‘Absolutely soaked,’ he observes neutrally as he bends to kneel behind me on the floor, putting himself level with my pussy. ‘That really did turn you on, you dirty girl.’

He hooks his thumbs through the sides of the thong and peels it down, leaving me bare and glistening and right there in front of him. His breath is a teasing warmth on my sensitised flesh.

‘I have been looking forward to this for the past month, you know that?’ He slides a leisurely finger inside me, and my greedy, greedy flesh contracts around it. ‘How many guys have you fucked since I last saw you, Athena, hmm?’

‘Only one guy right before Christmas, and my old boss,’ I manage. ‘During my notice period.’ I’m perfectly still on the sofa, braced for whatever touch he’ll give me.

‘Really? No one else? You expect me to believe that? You must have men coming out of your ears.’

‘I’m extremely selective.’ It’s true. I’m highly selective about who I fuck in my personal life, and when I’m in a professional relationship that’s sexually rewarding, I don’t tend to sleep around much. I don’t need the extra orgasms, and I’d rather keep myself under-serviced and hungry for whatever my employer sees fit to give me. It makes the dynamic more charged.

Ironically, I’m not selective in a professional setting. If Gabriel rounded up his entire team and got me to work my way through the lot of them, I’d luxuriate in the whole sordid process. It’s the kink factor rather than the guy, or guys, that does it for me in that context.

‘So you’ve had a few orgasms, then.’

‘Only self-administered ones, really.’

‘Your old boss didn’t make you come?’

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