Lessons in Sin - Pam Godwin Page 0,80
as his dark chuckle reverberated through the church. “I’m doing this for me.”
That was the answer I needed. He wanted me for himself. No matter the punishment or consequences. He would be breaking his vows for his own purpose.
Reaching back, I locked the steel bolt on the door. The sound crashed through the consecrated space, the fall of a heavy hammer, blaring its warning.
No turning back. My boots were already moving, following the path I’d chosen, chasing my one great passion.
Halfway down the aisle, I yanked them off. My scarf, hat, coat, and socks left a trail behind me. I tried to discard my nerves, but they clung, turning my insides into a jittery mess.
By the time I reached his back, he still hadn’t turned to look at me. His rigid posture vibrated with tension.
He stood at the base of four wide steps which led to the altar. I ached to touch him, to run my hands up and down his gorgeous body, but more than that, I needed to see his face.
I circled him, climbing two stairs to stand before him. At eye level, he still had the ability to glare down the length of his nose at me, and he did with those fierce glacial eyes.
Good thing he didn’t scare me, or I would’ve run straight out that door. But all the same, he made me nervous as hell. It was his silence. His unflinching eye contact. The motion of his thumb rubbing against his forefinger.
“Stop doing that with your hand.” My heart pounded. “You’re freaking me out.”
His expression darkened. His fingers went still. Then he slowly, menacingly moved toward me, setting one foot on the step. I backed up. He stayed with me. Just like the night I met him. He had the power to push me through a room without even touching me.
I kept retreating, and he continued to advance, his features stern and the tendons straining above his white collar.
When my back hit the altar, my hands flew up in defense. He grabbed them and pinned them to my sides. A half-second later, he spun me away. I wobbled with my back to him and my palms flat on the marble surface.
Fingers curled around my waist, hooking into the belt loops of my jeans and yanking my butt tight against his groin. He angled us over the altar at a slight incline, his chest hot against my back and his lips closing around the shell of my ear.
My body reacted instantly, heating, pulsing. I arched my spine and pushed back against his cock.
He caught my hips and set them away, controlling the pace of this, making me wait. His mouth went back to my ear, my neck, teasing and kissing sensitive skin, seducing with the rush of his breath.
“I’m nervous,” I whispered.
“You should be.” Standing behind me, he opened the fly of my jeans and lowered the zipper. “I’m going to tear your pussy in half.”
His huge hand sank into my pants, beneath my panties, fingers sliding over my clit and pressing into my folds. His other hand captured my throat, bringing my head back to his shoulder. All the while, his mouth continued to assault the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
Despite his verbal threat, my nerves subsided because he was so achingly gentle and caring and loving. By far the most beautiful, sensual man I’d ever had touch my body.
He flattened my spine against him, working those expert fingers in my pants, playing with my slit and teasing my opening. The palm on my throat controlled my head, which he kept tucked against his own. The stubble on his jaw abraded my cheek as he nuzzled my face and neck.
Then he pushed two stiff fingers inside me.
My heart stopped. My legs gave out, and my lungs caved in.
I’d never felt more alive.
Everywhere I was, he was there, invading me with his heat, stroking me with his touch, his digits sinking through flesh, and his sensuality consuming my awareness.
He shoved my jeans and panties to my thighs and fingered me until I whimpered and moaned for release. Then he removed all my clothes and sank his hand back between my legs, torturing me.
Quivering and naked, I gripped the edge of the altar, staring up at the life-size crucifix of Jesus on the wall.
“I’m going to hell.” I rocked my hips, riding the thrust of his fingers.
“Not without me.” He nipped my jaw, his breath heady and delicious.
He surrounded me. Arms, hands, lips, and masculine need—he