SISTER SERAPHINE: THE UNHOLY NUN
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A prayer fought its way up her throat, strangled by a moan when his mouth pressed against her shoulder—open, hot, sinful.
The fabric lifted. Just an inch. Bare skin met air. His fingers brushed lower, grazing the delicate curve of her thigh.
Her gasp broke the silence, raw and sharp. Her knees gave out, but his grip was unyielding.
"Say it," he coaxed, voice silk and steel. His fingers traced higher, unbearably slow. "What do you beg for, Sister?"
Her thighs pressed together, clamping down as if she could hold in the ache flooding her. Her lips parted, words failing, shame drowning her.
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