The Naughty Girl
My everything.
Except my wife. Not yet.
“Read faster, priest,” I grit out, checking to make sure his back is still turned. It would be a pity to murder a man of God. “Make her my wife while I make her a mother.”
The other man’s pitch increases, along with his speed. Slapping flesh mingles with Georgina’s whimpers, scripture. My own grunts of desperation join the chorus as I near my own end. Sin swims through the room, colliding with salvation. But I’m only concerned with giving that salvation to Georgina, so I release her throat to reach between our bodies, rubbing the pad of my middle finger on her clit.