Church

I love the way he looks at me when his eyes pierce mine, and I oft become drowsy at the hint of his sweet breath and the tone of his soft spoken words as he instructs me to unravel his troubled mind.    
     
The first time he took me to church, I couldn’t help but rub my hand upon his upper thigh whilst inhaling his cologne, gazing upon him lovingly during moments in which he was deeply absorbed in his faith.      
     
He was a sinner seeking redemption.      
     
And all that flashed across my mind were the scenes that unfolded between us during those early morning rituals, and the way he’d feed his gorgeous early morning wood to me before dusk broke for hours on end, until we’d both flake out for a brief moment whilst tangled in one another’s limbs.
     
His battle with addiction spanned beyond self medicating behaviours as he used sex as a tool for therapy too, it’s what bound us together.
     
By the time that service was over, my tight, wet shaven cunt was aching and dripping wet, wanting more of what he gave me before.      
     
I couldn’t wait to leave, and he knew it by the way my cherry cola breath slightly altered in its rhythmic flow, and the urgency that followed within his kiss as it slightly crushed my lips, whilst I bit his bottom lip teasingly.
 
He always pulled me up when I flashed him that fuck me hard & deep look, the one that made his cock stand to attention whilst rubbing up against him in public, just to make him hard & remind him how much I loved him.
     
He just couldn’t help himself, and we’d fuck like demons from dusk to dawn whilst he used my body to explore his most deepest & darkest perversions, without limitations.  
   
Secrets, he never told another soul, save the girl he took to church with fire in her eyes, and the hint of perfume that still lingers on his mind.