Mia's POV. 8.
I couldn't sit still.
My thighs kept pressing together. My fingers gripped the edge of the pew like I'd fall apart if I let go. I could still feel him. God, I could still feel him.
Father Thorne's cock... thick, angry, stretching me open like I was made for him.
He wasn't even looking at me. He sat in the confessional, the dark wooden divider between us now felt like a lie. A weak, pathetic cover for what we had just done.
And I was sitting here like a fool. No panties. No shame. Just a girl with a soaked p***y, trembling in a church seat like I was waiting to be saved.
The worst part? I wasn't sorry.
My p***y kept clenching, aching for him. For more. I bit my lip, trying to stop the tremble in my legs. But it wouldn't stop.
"Next," he said.
His voice.
Low. Cold. C
