Thorne.
Her slick fingers glided over me, coated in the mess I was already leaking—thick, warm precum mixing with my spit, turning every stroke into something obscene and wet.
The sound of it filled the small office, soft, rhythmic squelches that made my jaw clench.
She pumped me steadily, wrist twisting just right on every upward pull, thumb pressing firm under the head until my hips jerked forward on their own.
“Please let me taste you, padre,” she whispered, voice trembling with raw need, eyes lifted to mine like my release was the only thing that could absolve her.
Her lips were already swollen, parted, breath ghosting hot over my skin.
I didn’t answer with words. My grip tightened in her veil and hair, yanking her head forward until her face pressed flush against me.
I dra
