Page 126 of Held-
Brayden doesn't stop. His fingers continue their relentless rhythm as his other hand covers my mouth. “Come for me,” he whispers against my ear. “Right now, while they're walking in.”
It's too much—his command, the footsteps growing louder, the knowledge that we could be caught any second. I fall apart against his hand, my cry muffled against his palm. My body convulses, inner walls clenching around his fingers.
“That's my girl,” he murmurs, slowly withdrawing his hand. I strain my ears, but don't hear any more footsteps. The sound must have come from outside, or maybe it was just the old building settling. After a moment of breathless silence, I relax against Brayden's touch.
“I think we're still alone.”
Brayden rises up, pressing his body against mine. “Good,” he growls, his lips finding my neck. “Because I'm not done with you yet.”
The thrill of almost being caught has left me hypersensitive, every nerve ending firing as his hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up to expose my skin to the cool air. I should feel ashamed, doing this here of all places, but I don't. Maybe it's the year away, maybe it's the woman I've become with Brayden by my side, but all I feel is desire burning through me like wildfire.
“Are you sure?” I ask, even as my hands are working his jeans down his hips. “What if someone really does come in?”
“Then we'll hear them, and we'll stop.”
But we both know we're past the point of stopping now. His hands make quick work of my jeans, tugging them down my legs until they pool around my ankles. The wooden pew is hard and cold beneath me, but I barely notice as Brayden positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock pressing against me. I'm still sensitive from before, my body convulsing with aftershocks as he pushes inside me with agonizing slowness.
“Fuck,” he groans, his forehead falling against mine. “You feel so good, princess. So tight.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. The pew creaks beneath us, the sound obscenely loud in the empty sanctuary. I should care—I really should—but all I can focus on is the delicious stretch of him filling me, the weight of his body pressing mine into the hard wood.
“Someone could walk in any second,” I whisper against his mouth. “My father could walk in.”
“Then we better make this quick,” he growls, his hips snapping forward with new urgency.
I bite down on his shoulder to muffle my cry, my nails digging into his back through his t-shirt. He sets a punishing pace, each thrust pushing me closer to the edge again.
“God, I've missed you like this,” he pants, one hand gripping my hip while the other braces against the pew. “Wild. Desperate.”
I arch beneath him, meeting each thrust with one of my own. “We had sex this morning,” I remind him.
“Still too long,” he growls, suddenly grabbing my hips.
With a swift movement, he pulls out and shifts us both. He drops onto the pew, his erection slick and standing proudly between his thighs. “Come here.”
I barely have time to process the change before his strong hands guide me to turn around, bending me over the pew in front of us. The polished wood is cold against my palms as Ibrace myself, my jeans still tangled around my ankles limiting my movement.
“Brayden,” I gasp as he positions himself behind me, one hand splayed across my lower back, pushing me down until my chest nearly touches the bench.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice husky but sincere, always checking even in the midst of our most reckless moments.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please.”
He enters me with a single powerful thrust that steals my breath. From this angle, he feels impossibly deep, hitting places inside me that make stars burst behind my eyelids. I bite my lip hard to keep from crying out, the taste of blood mixing with the forbidden thrill of what we're doing.
“Look at you,” Brayden murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips as he sets a relentless pace. “The preacher's daughter bent over a pew, taking my cock so beautifully. I wonder how many Hail Marys we’ll have to say to repent for this.”
“If God is watching right now, I think we're beyond salvation,” I gasp, my fingers digging into the polished wood of the pew as Brayden's thrusts grow harder, more insistent.
“Then let's make it worth the damnation,” he growls.
The sound of skin against skin echoes in the sanctuary, mixing with our heavy breathing. The Christmas lights cast moving shadows across our bodies, red and green and gold dancing across my bare skin. I feel exposed, wanton, transformed into someone I never thought I could be.
“Harder,” I beg, beyond caring about being caught now. The thrill of it burns through me like wildfire, consuming every last shred of the good preacher's daughter I once was. “Make me feel it tomorrow during the service.”
Brayden groans, his grip tightening as he complies, driving into me with punishing force that makes the pew groan andtremble beneath us. His free hand slides around to find my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.
“I want you to think about this,” he pants, rough and breathless, “every time you sit in this church. I want you to remember how you begged me to fuck you right here.”