She’s bent over the narrow bench, palms flat on the worn leather kneeler, skirt rucked up around her waist. Her ass is flushed pink from my earlier grips, thighs slick and trembling, p***y swollen and glistening—still stretched from her own fingers, still dripping with need. The tiny booth smells like s*x now: her arousal, my c*m on her breath, the sharp tang of sweat and forbidden desire thick in the air.
I’m buried inside her to the hilt, one brutal thrust that tore a scream from her throat. Her walls clamp down around me like a vice, hot, wet and greedy. She’s tighter than I imagined, tighter than any fantasy I’ve ever tried to suppress. I hold still for a second, savoring the way she flutters around my c**k, trying to adjust to the sudden invasion.
Then she starts praying.
“Hail Mar
