Page 127 of Held-
I’m so close, balanced on that exquisite edge when I hear it—not a door this time, but a sound. My father’s call.
“Cecelia? Are you here?”
My hand flies to my mouth, my entire body locking in panic. Brayden stills instantly behind me, buried deep inside me, his breath hot against my ear.
“Cecelia?” The word carries from the foyer, followed by footsteps approaching the sanctuary.
I'm torn between mind-numbing terror and the traitorous throbbing of my body, still desperate for release. Brayden's cock pulses inside me, and I know he's fighting the same battle.
“Don’t. Move.” The words barely make it past my hand, my heart thundering in my chest, loud enough to betray us both.
But Brayden has other ideas. His hips make the slightest adjustment, pressing against that perfect spot inside me, and his fingers resume their torturous circles on my clit.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, but my body betrays me, inner walls clenching around him.
“Come for me,” he whispers, barely audible, “Right now, while he's looking for you.”
It’s twisted and wrong and absolutely right. The orgasm crashes through me with shocking intensity, my entire body seizing as I bite down on my own wrist to silence the scream building in my throat. Brayden's hand covers mine, pressing harder a wave of pleasure rocks through me, made impossibly stronger by the fear and adrenaline coursing through my veins.
“Cecelia? Brayden?” My father sounds closer now, echoing up from the sanctuary below us.
I'm still vibrating with aftershocks when Brayden carefully withdraws, every movement deliberate and silent. We fumble with our clothes, hands shaking as we try to make ourselves presentable in record time. My legs feel like jelly beneath me, my body still humming with release as I yank my jeans up and button them with clumsy fingers.
Brayden tucks himself away and zips up. He presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips before helping me smooth down my hair.
“Up here, Dad!” I call out, my voice embarrassingly breathless. I clear my throat and try again. “We're in the choir loft!”
I hear my father's footsteps change direction, heading toward the staircase that leads up to the balcony. Brayden and I exchange a panicked glance, stepping apart to put a respectable distance between us just as my father's head appears at the top of the stairs.
“There you are. I stand frozen, willing my face not to betray what just happened. My legs still feel wobbly, my body humming with post-orgasmic bliss that I desperately try to hide as my father's gaze travels between us.
“Sorry we didn't answer right away,” I manage, smoothing my hair again just to have something to do with my hands. “We were...admiring the renovations.”
My father looks tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they were a year ago. Still, he smiles when he sees me, genuine warmth breaking through the exhaustion.
“Cecelia,” he says, opening his arms. “I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you arrived.”
I cross to him, acutely aware of how I must smell—like sex and Brayden and guilt—but my father seems to notice nothing as he wraps me in a hug. Over his shoulder, I see Brayden adjusting his belt, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips even as he nods respectfully to my father.
“How's Mrs. Holloway?” I ask, pulling back from the hug. The genuine concern in my voice helps mask any lingering breathlessness.
My father sighs, worry creasing his brow. “Better now. They think it was just dehydration, but at her age, they're being cautious. She insisted I come back to greet you both.” He turns to Brayden, extending his hand. “Son.”
Brayden straightens, every trace of mischief tucked neatly behind the polite smile he uses on people he respects. “Good to see you again.”
My father shakes his hand, oblivious to the way Brayden’s knuckles are still a little red from gripping the edge of the pew a few minutes ago. “You’ve been taking good care of my daughter, I hope.”
“Yes, sir,” Brayden answers without hesitation. “Always.”
Something in his tone makes my chest tighten. My father seems satisfied, giving a small nod before glancing toward the sanctuary. “We’ll have dinner in the fellowship hall in an hour.”
“Thank you,” I manage.
When he walks away, his footsteps echoing down the aisle, I finally let out the breath I have been holding. My pulse is still racing, my body still warm from what we did, but now it mixes with a rush of relief.
Brayden steps closer, his hand brushing the small of my back. “Think he suspects anything?” he murmurs.
“If he does, we’re both going to need to find new identities.”
That earns me a quiet laugh. He leans closer, his lips near my ear. “Worth it,” he whispers.
I glance toward the sanctuary, where the choir is gathering, and the scent of poinsettias hangs in the warm air. Outside, palm trees shimmer with Christmas lights, and a soft breeze carries the faint sound of carolers from the courtyard. The evening feels peaceful, touched by something good and simple.
Brayden’s fingers find mine, his grip steady and sure. For a moment, we just stand there, the hum of laughter and music wrapping around us like a promise.
Some people find faith in hymns and candlelight. I found mine in him.