All Chapters of The Reverend And His Plaything : Chapter 31 - Chapter 36

Thorne's~~~~~~~ I grabbed Mia’s arms, pulling her up from her knees, her body trembling, her lips still wet from sucking me. I spun her around and slammed her chest against the bathroom counter, her tits pressing into the cold surface, making her gasp. I lifted one of her legs, hooking it over the counter, her other foot still on the floor, spreading her wide. Her pink, swollen clit was glistening, her pussy dripping, the oil and her juices mixing in a slick mess that ran down her thighs. I stepped closer, my cock throbbing, my breath heavy with want.She folded her arms on the counter, her face turned toward the mirror, her eyes meeting mine in the reflection, dark and needy but still carrying that flicker of hesitation. I grabbed my cock, still slick with oil and her spit, and rubbed the tip against her ass, teasing the tight hole between her cheeks. “Mmm, fuck,” she moaned, her voice shaky, her hips pushing back slightly, chasing the sensation. I kept rubbin

Thorne’s POV The room’s too damn quiet now. Mia’s gone, slipped out early, leaving just me and the weight of God’s things—crosses on the walls, the Bible on the nightstand, the faint scent of incense clinging to the air. Morning mass is looming, a ticking clock in my head, but my body’s got other plans. My skin’s burning, itching with the memory of last night—her nails, her gasps, the way we tore into each other like the world was ending. Fuck, I can’t shake it. I stumble into the bathroom, crank the shower to scalding. The water hits me like a slap, streaming down my chest, my abs, pooling at my feet. I brace one hand on the cold tile, trying to focus, to pray, to do anything but think about her. But it’s no use. My cock’s already hard, throbbing, betraying me with every pulse. Last night’s still clawing at my brain—Mia’s thighs wrapped around me, her moans, the way she arched when I—shit. I grip my cock, slow at first, testing, like I can stop if I want.

Thorne’s POV. Mary had a little lamb. But Sister Mary here didn’t have a lamb—she had a cunt. And I was struggling, really struggling, not to tear it apart with my teeth and tongue right now. I cleared my throat and dipped the soft bread into the tea. Took a bite. Then slowly picked a few slices of fruit. Chewed slower. She watched me—innocent, gentle. Too sweet for her own good. I swallowed. "So… even if Sister Annalisa comes back," I started, voice calm, "would you still like to remain in this parish? Or you’d rather leave?" She tilted her head a little, brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. Her habit shifted just slightly. Enough to show a bit of her neck. Creamy. Smooth. Fuck. “I think I’d like to stay,” she said softly, her voice almost like a whisper. “It’s peaceful here. And I feel like… I’m in the right place. Even if Sister Annalisa returns.” I nodded slowly, but my thoughts were wild. Peaceful? There was nothing peaceful about the throbbing bet