Forgive me, I thought and then carried Poppy up the shallow stairs. I set her down and turned her to face the altar, happy to see that it would be the perfect height with her in those heels.

“The altar,” she murmured. “Am I your sacrifice tonight?”

“Are you offering?”

In response, she put her hands flat on the altar cloth, a move that curved her back and highlighted the round contour of her ass.

“Oh, very good, lamb, but not good enough.” I pressed a hand against her back and pushed her down, watching the skirt ride slowly up the back of her thighs as she bent over. I pushed until her turned cheek was sideways against the altar, and then I found her wrists and stretched them above her head.

“Don’t move an inch,” I whispered low in her ear, then walked to the sacristy, where I found a cincture. When I came back out into the apse, she was still as I left her, which deeply pleased me. I would reward her for that later.

I made quick work of knotting the white rope around her wrists and hands, thinking of the prayer priests were supposed to say as they tied their cinctures. Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of lust…

Wrapped around her wrists, binding this woman to my desires, the cincture was doing the exact opposite of its purpose, quenching nothing. My entire body was on fire for hers, flames already licking every inch of my skin, and the only way to douse them was to sink balls deep into her sweet cunt. I should feel bad about that.

I should.

I stepped back to admire my work: the way her arms looked stretched forward and bound together, like a captive in supplication; the way her black heels dug into the carpet; the way her ass was displayed and at my disposal.

I came back to her, lifting the hem of her skirt with one finger. “This shows an awful lot, little lamb. Do you know how much?”

She was staring at me over the curve of her shoulder. “Yes,” she said. “I can feel the air on me…”

I knelt behind her as I had that time after her confession, but this time only to examine. The skirt indeed only just covered what it needed, and the slightest lift would have revealed the shell-pink seam of her cunt.

“Why did you wear this dress today, Poppy?”

“I wanted…I wanted you to fuck me in it.”

“That’s naughty. But not quite as naughty as being in public, at work, with your bare cunt so exposed.” I stood up and then ran my hands up her thighs, catching the soft fabric in my fingers and moving it above her hips.

“What if the wind had blown your skirt up?” I caressed her ass as I spoke. “What if you’d happened to uncross your legs and someone was looking from just the right angle?”

Her voice was muffled by her arm. “I used to get naked for money. I’m not worried about it.”

Crack.

She sucked in a deep breath, and I watched as a red handprint bloomed on her ass, clear even in the dim late-evening light.

“I’m worried about it,” I said. “You know how fucking jealous I am of the men who got to see you like that? How jealous I am of Sterling?”

“You shouldn’t be—”

Crack.

She shuddered and then widened her stance to push her ass closer to my hand.

“I know I shouldn’t be,” I said, “that’s not the point. I don’t hold your past life against you. But this—” I let my hand slide down to cup her pussy, which was hot and swollen and wet “—I’m taking this tonight. I’m making it mine. Which makes you a bad girl to be so reckless with it today.”

I spanked her again, and she moaned against her arm. “I don’t know what it is about you,” I told her, leaning close to her ear. “But you bring out the fucking caveman in me. Look at me, Poppy.”

She did, one beautiful hazel eye peeping up over her tied arm. I squeezed her pussy, and she was so slippery against my palm, it took everything I had not to show how wild that made me, that she could get this turned on by the spanking and the submission. But I had to check this one box, settle this final question, because I didn’t want to go to feminist ally hell on top of the other hells I was destined for.

I squeezed her again and she struggled to keep her gaze on me. “Poppy, I…I want to be like this with you. Rough. Possessive. But you have to tell me it’s okay.” I rested my head on her back, rolling my face into her neck. “Tell me it’s okay, Poppy. Say those words.”

God, that lavender smell and the silky brush of her hair against my cheek and the feeling of her wet cunt pulsing in my hand. “Just…fuck.”

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was urgent, clear, loud. “Yes, please.”

“Please what?” I had to be sure. Because the things I wanted to do to this woman—Leviticus had not even come close to covering all the ways I wanted to defile her.

I could hear the smile in her voice along with the neediness. “Tyler, you are exactly what I want. Use me. Be rough. Leave marks.” She paused. “Please.”

That was all I needed. I kissed the back of her neck and then straightened so I could smack her ass again, rubbing the spot right afterwards to soothe away the burn. “Stand up and turn around,” I ordered, and she complied right away. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to make me come on its own—she looked like she would do anything, anything, to be fucked just then, and I had a lot of things in mind for her to do.

But first.

I untied her wrists, kissing the faint indentations left behind by the rope, and then I reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to her feet, leaving her completely naked with the exception of her heels. I took a minute to stare at her, at the ripe teardrops of her breasts, big enough to squeeze, small enough to support themselves. Her supple stomach, slender and soft and slightly rounded, with the kind of hips you could dig your fingers into. The naked V of her pussy, smoothly delicate, and the irresistible curve of her ass.

“I just realized you aren’t wearing your…” she gestured at her throat.

“Day off,” I said, my voice hoarser than I expected. I reached behind my neck and grabbed the fabric of my t-shirt, pulling it over my head and off my body, relishing the way her lips parted and her hand drifted to her mouth as she stared at me. I unbuckled my belt, sliding the leather through the loops of my jeans and dropping it on the floor. I kicked off my shoes and took off my jeans.

I normally liked to stay at least partly clothed during sex, but I wanted to give her this, my nakedness, as a gift. And selfishly, I wanted to feel every inch of her skin against mine. This was my first fuck in three years and I refused to miss a single thing.

“Come here,” I said. “And kneel.”

She did, her breath audible now, kneeling in front of me and crossing her ankles behind her, taunting me with those heels.

“Take them off,” I said, jerking my chin down to indicate my black boxer briefs. She did, impatiently tugging them off my hips, and I groaned as my erection was finally, finally let free.

She pressed soft, red lips to the silky skin of my cock. “Let me suck you,” she breathed up at me. “Let me make you feel good.”

I found her lips with my thumb, running it along her lower one and pulling it down to open her up more. “Hold still,” I told her, and then I guided my cock into her waiting mouth.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, that felt good.

It had only been since Saturday, and yet I’d forgotten that this woman’s mouth was like a slice of heaven, warm and wet and with that flicking, fluttering tongue that danced along the underside of my dick.

I laced my hands through her hair—fucking up whatever adorable hairstyle she’d had it in—and then slowly withdrew, savoring every single second as her lips and tongue kissed against my skin. And then I slid in again, less gently this time, my eyes darting from her lips to her heels to the way her hand circled her clit as I slowly fucked her mouth.