Page 147 of At Her Will

She squatted, her slip smoothed tidily beneath her, and caressed his shoulder, his mouth, his brow. “Do you ever think of having me the way an animal would do it, Rev? From behind, your body covering me?”

“Sometimes, Mistress. Yes.” Especially now that she’d mentioned it. She liked that Shakti-Shiva pose, her straddling him in an upright position. Or, if they were in bed, she enjoyed having him upon her. It never felt like she held any less control, even as she celebrated his masculinity and strength that allowed him to bring them both pleasure in that position.

“How often? Often enough it makes you even harder to imagine it now?”

“Yes ma’am.”

A little hum came from between her moist lips. Her hand dropped to the cuffs. They were locked with small padlocks, unable to be removed except with the key she had hanging around her neck, strung on the chain with her pentacle.

She rarely did that, put him in restraints he couldn’t remove himself. Him obeying the hold she dictated was proof of his devotion to her, his willingness to submit.

He didn’t care much for restraints he couldn’t take off, but he’d found he did sometimes need that.

Like when the more administrative things the church demanded kicked his ass and made his head hurt, trying to read the documents that needed to be reviewed. Mrs. Byrd was helping him as much as she could, but at those times, he longingly thought of just being a janitor who could sing at church and do spontaneous ministering.

But God didn’t ask of a man what he couldn’t give, and right now he was doing what he was meant to do. When he was with Veracity, everything steadied. If it didn’t, she knew how to make it steady.

He didn’t ask for that from her. He much preferred to serve her in all things, but his Mistress decided what she would give, and she was as generous as the Lord Himself. And as strict when needed, to ease his heart, and calm his agitated mind.

That was one of the reasons they were here tonight, and she was pushing him so hard. They’d been sentenced this week, Witford and Tisha. Aggravated kidnapping. Eleven years each, eligible for parole in five. They could have received a much harsher sentence, but Veracity had used her connections to ask for leniency.

He also hadn’t asked for that, knowing he had no right to do so. But she’d done it anyway. It humbled him, that she’d done that for those who’d wronged her so deeply. She’d sat with him in the courtroom on sentencing day, the first time she’d seen them since it had happened. When Tisha turned around and saw her next to Rev, her face had frozen, but she’d looked defeated. Older. Veracity had stared at her, expressionless. Rev held her cold hand in his, warming it.

Rev hadn’t wanted to come, but had known he should. For Teena Joy. This was her sister, her nephew. He held onto that thought throughout it all.

When it was over, and he’d left the courtroom, Veracity’s hand in the crook of his elbow, he thought he would be okay. Butthen he found himself coming to a full stop in the parking lot, his body rigid with things he couldn’t explain.

Veracity turned to him and he reached out to her, grateful for letting him hold her, and for her holding him.

When she eased back, she searched his face, seeing the things he had no words to express. “We’re going to the club this weekend,” she’d said. “After church.”

His mind was brought firmly back into the present as Veracity shed the rest of her clothes. Blouse, slip, then garter belt and bra. All with her back to him. His gaze touched the tattoo on her shoulder, the black cat curved around the pentacle. The symbol of her faith, like the cross was for him.

His gaze slid down. While he always appreciated the sight of her gorgeous breasts, her backside had enough temptation to keep his mind occupied. He lingered on the heart shape of it, the lengths of her thighs.

Then she raised her arms to lift her unpinned hair off her neck, her chin bending toward her shoulder. His mouth went dry with the beauty of the pose, his head spinning at the miracle of knowing he belonged to her. And she to him.

She looked over her shoulder, a long measuring moment. Then she knelt, her back still facing him. “Come to me, Rev.”

He rose on his knees. It was just a few short movements to get there. He laid his hands reverently on her hips, the chain between the cuffs stretched across the curve of her ass. When he looked down, the head of his cock brushed her wet sex, and she shuddered.

“Mistress?”

“You have my permission, Rev. Come into me slow and easy.”

He would never do otherwise, unless she had a different direction for him. He eased in, the feel of it drawing forth another deep groan. The angle was tight, her muscles gripping him. She lifted her head up and back, her throat arching. Herbreath drew in as he slid in, and in, and all the way home, his pelvis pressed against her buttocks.

“Cover me, Rev. Touch me as you desire.”

He guided the chain over her head and braced both hands on the floor beneath her. She went to her elbows, and he suppressed another reverent oath as her breasts filled his hands. He fondled the nipples, pinched and tugged on them how she liked as he pulled back and then slid in deep again.

Her hair fell forward, and he buried his face in it and the back of her neck, breath hot as he set his teeth there, bit, and earned a cry from her. Her hips pushed back against him, telling him the pace she wanted, the demand she wanted to feel. He could give her that. When she unleashed this part of him, hungry and male, and wanting to take everything she would give, he could lose himself in her. Lose control. It had worried him the first couple times, but now he understood it was a form of service as well.

His Mistress wanted all versions of him. Just as he wanted the same from her.

“Now, Rev,” she said softly.

All that energy he’d channeled and banked for hours before this, overflowed the river of arousal for her that never ended. The current was strong through them both, unable to be resisted a moment longer. She let herself go at the same time he did. She covered one of his hands as their lower bodies worked together. Her breast quivered in his palm, nipple stabbing into it as their movements pushed them forward, jerked them back, and then forward again.

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