All Chapters of Dirtiest Desires (Steamiest Short Stories): Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

I reach into my front pocket, pull out a foil wrapper, and tear it open with my teeth.Abigail glances over her shoulder.Her eyes catch the silver wrapper in my hand and a smile spreads across her face.“Aww,” she purrs. “You came prepared.”"Yes," I murmur, my thumb smoothing the condom over my rigid cock. "And I promised myself I wouldn't rush you this time."I step up behind her, my bare chest pressing against the soft curve of her back.Wrapping one arm around her waist, I pull her flush against my heat while my free hand reaches down between her thighs.My fingers slide into her slickness, tracing the swollen flesh of her opening before gliding up to find her clit.Abigail lets out a low, shuddering breath, her head dropping forward against the leather."Does that feel good?" I whisper against the shell of her ear, my thumb rolling over her clitoris in a slow, steady circle."Yes..." she gasps, her fingers digging into the couch cushions. "Stop teasing and put it in.""Not yet,"

~ Calista ~The town's beloved holy man is gone.I wipe a tear from my eye, but it isn’t grief. It’s guilt, the unbearable sting of secrets I can never speak aloud.Surprisingly, my body still aches for him. I crave his mouth on my pussy, his kisses and thrusts.But he’s a corpse now. And I need a substitute.My eyes drift toward my boyfriend.Daniel stands at the edge of the courtyard, listening to a local fanatic preach about how Father Romanus spent his nights battling hellfire to keep our town safe.He turns and catches me watching him. I nod toward one of our usual spots, and he gets the message.I head toward the crumbling log shed five houses down the lane. The faint sound of wailing still drifts through the air as Daniel steps into the shadows beside me.“Where have you been?” he asks, wiping his hands on his dusty trousers. “I’ve been expecting you for over a week.”I sigh, looking at his boots. His dressing reminds me of the Normandy boys in one of the books I read.Those bo

“...Amen.”I whisper the final word of the new priest’s prayer under my breath.At the altar, Father Martins makes a sign of the cross. The congregation stands, their pews creaking as people begin to stream toward the exit.My father rushes up to the altar rail, leaning in to whisper something to the new priest.I glance around the nave.Mrs. Monroe is waiting near the back, looking poised and impatient. Her so-called aide is nowhere in sight.A few rows over, another woman lingers with her arms crossed over her chest.They're the same people who were frowning the other day. Now they're waiting behind to meet him, just as they always did with Father Romanus.If these older women get their claws into him first, I won't stand a chance of getting close to him.I need a plan.Maybe I’ll play possessed.“Calista,” my mother’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Time to go home.”I turn.My little brother is standing by her side, pulling at his collar.“Come on,” I say, taking Jason’s hand to

The cause of death wasn't a sudden illness. It was a fatal cardiac arrest brought on by severe physical exertion during sex.It’s a secret I plan to uncover, but hearing her call that man holy grates on my nerves.“I pray for every departed soul,” I say, pushing back my chair and stepping around the desk.She doesn't flinch.I stop behind her and rest a comforting hand on her shoulder. She's wearing a conservative yellow dress that covers every inch of her body, but somehow, the fabric does nothing to hide the exceptional shape beneath it.“We pray for the saints too,” I murmur near her ear, “just as they pray for us.”She turns her head to look up at me, tears glistening in her eyes. I remain planted behind her, my hand firm on her shoulder like a shepherd guiding its flock. She dabs at the corners of her eyes with my handkerchief.“I understand, Father,” she says softly, rising slowly from her chair. “Now that you’re here, I trust you’ll be everything the old priest was to us.”My e

I go limp again, letting my eyes fall shut as I crumple to the floor.My father’s prayers have become a distant blur. Then I hear footsteps.I keep my eyes shut.My father’s voice rises with relief. “Father.”Father Martins says nothing at first. He simply walks closer.My heart begins beating faster.Don’t move.Don’t ruin this.Latin exorcism prayers reverberate off the high ceiling.It sounds terrifying, but it does nothing to me.I let out another shrill scream, copying every ridiculous possession trick I’d read about in that book this morning.Father Martins closes in. The heavy scent of frankincense fails to hide the sweet, sharp cologne underneath.He presses the cold silver crucifix firmly against my forehead. I roll my eyes back and go completely still, pretending to lose consciousness.I expect him to keep going.Instead, his hand stays against my forehead for one second longer than necessary.Then he removes it.I can’t tell whether I’ve fooled him.“Father!” my dad gasps,