Then his lips dig into mine once more and he’s lifting me, one arm around my waist, dragging me over the partition into his side of the confessional.
“Forgive me, child, for I plan to sin.”
“Is it wrong that I think I’ll enjoy it?” I lean down to lick his lips.
He grabs my legs, adjusts me so I’m straddling him and runs his hands down my back to my skirt. “Only enjoy it? Oh, I think we can do better than that.” He toys with the waistband for a moment, then drops his hands farther, reaching for the hem at my knees.
I grab at the hem of the thin shirt he’s wearing, but he catches my wrist.
“Clothes on,” he whispers, more a command than a request.
My heart skips a beat.
Then he shoves up the hem of my too-long, too-proper skirt. It bunches around my waist, but he leaves it there and hooks a finger through my thong, tugging it down my legs inch by inch. The edge of his finger skates across my pussy, just a teasing brush, as he pulls my underwear down. “Wet already, I see. Why, it’s almost as if you’re more than enjoying this.” He stops when the thong is halfway down my thighs, and I wriggle, trying to pull it the rest of the way off.
He holds me still with one firm arm around my waist.
Fine. That’s how he wants to play it? My turn.
“Seems like I’m not the only one enjoying this.” I drop my hand between us. Even through his jeans, I can feel the hard press of his cock. I trace the outline, feel him twitch when I press my fingertips against his tip.
Suddenly, he grabs both of my wrists, pulls my arms behind my back so I can’t reach him, can’t touch him.
I swallow a groan of frustration. “What?”
He keeps holding me there, gazing up at me through a lock of hair that’s fallen across his face. If I’m not mistaken, he’s smiling. “Just you first,” he says.
I open my mouth, about to say I don’t understand, when he pushes me onto my feet, slides off the confessional bench and drops to his knees between my legs.
He grips my ass hard with both hands, pulls my legs toward him. If anyone opened the door now, they’d have a face full of my . . . everything. I squeeze my eyes shut, heart pounding with nerves. Nerves, and something more. Something a lot like thrill.
I’ve never done anything like this before. Fucking in the film room late at night in a near-abandoned library basement with a locked door and no windows was hardly the same thing as being in a hastily constructed box with a party raging outside.
This is such a terrible idea.
And yet. Adrenaline floods my veins. Added to the lust already pulsing through them, there’s no way I’m telling him to stop.
His lips brush my inner thigh. I forget the party. I forget everything.
His tongue flashes out to trail up my leg. I shiver, and he laughs, a puff of hot air that burns against the sensitive skin he just licked. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he says, his voice almost a growl.
“Fuck me,” I gasp.
Another laugh. “Not yet,” he murmurs into my skin. “Not until you’re ready to burst.” His teeth nip along the crook of my leg and my hip. Nerve endings I didn’t know existed start to fire. Shivers ricochet up my spine. I can’t help the soft moan that breaks free.
That earns me another laugh, this one right against my . . . oh GOD.
His tongue swirls across the skin between my legs. His fingers clench my ass again and I jerk forward involuntarily, press myself hard against his face. I let one hand drop to cup his head, and when his tongue glides over my clit, I can’t help but clench my fist in his hair.