“I’m so sorry. It must’ve been awful. You should’ve told me.”
Throwing me his lopsided smile, he shakes his head. “You made it all bearable.”
Swallowing a lump of emotion, I kiss his lips softly. I love this man so much. I’m constantly surprised by how much I love him, how I keep falling in love with him every day.
When we break apart, he says, “As for the rest of the town, they don’t care what’s happening either. They are all at church.”
“Oh yeah. Sunday.” I nod. “Church.”
I haven’t been to church ever since we got to New York. I don’t want to. Somewhere deep inside, I’m mad at God too.
I thought He’d help us when the time came, do the right thing. But He didn’t. He watched from the sidelines while they beat up my Abel, humiliated me. Lightning didn’t strike. The sky didn’t crack open with outrage. Maybe it wasn’t going to anyway, but I would’ve appreciated someone stepping in and stopping it. That would have been miracle enough.
“Do you miss it?” Abel asks. “Going to church?”
“No. I don’t think so. Do you?”
Scoffing, he murmurs, “The only reason I went to church was to see you.”
I bite my lip, making his eyes glitter. “I can’t believe you went just to see me. Especially in the beginning, when we didn’t even talk.”
“Eh. It wasn’t too bad. I kept myself busy.”
“With what?”
“With you. I used to stare at you. A lot. I’d watch you whisper something in Sky’s ear or laugh at something quietly. And then I’d close my eyes at night and see your smiles in my dreams, smiling myself. Yeah, Sundays were pretty exciting for me.” He kisses my nose, making me giggle, like I’m back in church. “And then I used to draw you, sitting there, while Father Knight talked about life and death and all that bullshit.”
I gasp, sparks running under my skin. “You used to draw in church? That’s why whenever I looked at you, your head was down.”
“You used to stare at me, Pixie?” He smirks.
“No. I mean, sometimes. Sermons are boring,” I mumble, getting embarrassed.
“Yeah. I don’t think it’s that. I think you always found me hot.”
I try not to smile. “Oh please. You were the one who fell for me first. The very first day.”
He licks his lips, his warm breath puffing over my mouth. I wish I could eat it up, all of his breaths, his sighs, his grunts. Him.
“Yeah, I did,” he admits. “I was so angry that day, and then I saw you, surrounded by the fields, the woods. My Pixie. And it all went away.”
My heart’s racing now. We’ve come so far from that day. We’ve grown and endured so much. Years of lying and sneaking around, and then running away. Even through all of that, he still gives me the butterflies. Still makes me think I’m that naïve, innocent girl who fell in love with the new boy.
“I always wished that I could sit with you. In church. Or maybe at school so we could eat lunch together.”
“Maybe you can.” He smiles, even though his eyes are smoldering. “You are. Sitting right next to me on the pew. We’re sitting all the way in the back, while Father Knight’s talking smack and everyone’s looking at him like his words are gold.”
Something happens to me at his words. A shift in my thinking. A crackling on my skin. There’s meaning in his eyes. Meaning and power and magic, and it makes me aware of the fact that for the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been sitting on my husband’s very hard lap, my butt pressing into what’s now becoming an impressive hard-on.
“All the way in the back?”
“Yeah.”
“By that… stained glass window? Where you first saw me? When you came in with Mr. B?”
“Fuck yeah. The light’s shining down on your hair, making it all pretty and beautiful. And my fingers are aching to touch it. Curl the strands. Pull them into my fist.”
“I-I think you can, now.”
“I can?”
I nod. “I’m your wife now, aren’t I? You can do whatever you want with me. And guess what? Me too.”
A dangerous glint enters his gaze; it makes me shiver. My heart purrs and pounds in my chest, and I fist his cross.
“You don’t wanna give me free rein, Pixie. Not with the whole town so close.”
I squirm in his lap, but somehow it feels like the back of my thighs are sliding down the shiny wood of the pew, my toes brushing against the floor of my hometown’s church.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m gonna do some very dirty things to you while you listen to your priest, and I won’t even let you keep your screams in check. In fact…” His chest rumbles, the vibrations echoing in my heavy breasts, which are crushed against him. “In fact, I’m gonna make sure you scream so people turn their heads and see you. The town’s princess moaning in pleasure, or maybe in pain. And you know where I’ll be?”
“Wh-where?”
“I’ll be kneeling on the ground, my head under her pink dress, licking her cunt.” His hand gets under my dress as he slides his callused fingers up my trembling thigh. “They won’t be able to see me at first, Pixie. They won’t be able to tell why Evangeline Elizabeth Hart, such a good little girl, is arching her back, thrusting her tits out, squeezing her cherry red nipples through her dress. They won’t understand why you’re moaning like that. Why you’re looking at the sky, cursing, telling someone to stop but then a second later, you’re telling him to keep going.”
Abel’s fingers are now at the hem of my panties. He can feel how wet I am, how drenched. How my pussy is pulsing, gaping open and closed like a fist, through the thin fabric. She’s dying for him, for his fingers, for his tongue, even his teeth.
“Abel…” I whimper when I feel him tucking his fingers inside my panties and rubbing the slick lips of my core.
“Fuck, baby. You just told them. You just whispered my name and outed our secret. Now they’re all beginning to rise from their seats. They are staring at you. Father Knight’s wondering what the fuck is going on. But I can’t stop.”
He nudges his hard dick under my butt as his fingers pick up speed. He isn’t touching the one place I want him to: my clit. But he’s burying his fingers in the seams of my cunt, in my wet curls.
“I can’t stop eating you out. You’re too tasty. Too delicious. Like sugar. You make me so horny, Pixie.”
“B-but they’ll take you away. Even if I’m your wife. They’ll lock you up if you do something like that. I-in church,” I protest, getting closer to him, rocking in his lap, trying to guide his fingers to where I need him.
I protest like we’re really in church and my heart is fluttering like a nervous bird. We’re whispering now. When I breathe, I can smell the incense, the varnish. I can hear the rustle of someone’s shoes sliding across the floor. I can hear the swish, the whispers of someone adjusting in their seats. The clearing of throats. The sighs. I can see them standing up, one by one, frowning, trying to figure out what’s going on. I can feel their gazes stabbing me, throwing stones at me.
I’m so turned on. I’m flushed and sweating like I’m on fire. Like I’ve swallowed the sun itself. I can hear Abel’s breaths next to me, all excited and growing more feral by the second.
And I never — not ever — want him to stop.
“They won’t.” He licks the side of my mouth and I have no choice but to catch his tongue, suck on the tip of it, drink his flavor.
“Why not?”
“Because when I lift your dress all the way up…” He’s doing it right now, inching the fabric up, until my wet panties come into view. I’ve totally slipped into my role and I try to close my thighs, but he doesn’t let me. He splays his palm open on my flesh and parts my legs, opening me up. To himself. To the town.
“Your panties are gonna be drenched. Look.” He rubs his glossy fingers up and down the wet spot, hitting my clit through the soggy cloth, making me jerk and twist my hips.
We both look down
at where he’s rubbing me. It’s so dirty and obscene and so fucking erotic. My pale thighs open, scraping against his jeans. Then he pushes the crotch of my white underwear to the side, baring my pussy. I grab hold of his wrist and stare at him fearfully, aroused out of my mind.
“No, th-they will see.”
His gaze is wicked and desperate. Every part of him is dying to do this, has been dying to do this for years, expose me. “But they gotta see it, baby. They gotta see how wet and pink you are. They need to see it because only then will they get it. They will finally get why I’m a fiend for you. For your body. They need to see your cunt and how tight it is, how it drives me fucking crazy, how I’d do anything for you.”
I gush even more at his words, my clit buzzing with the sound of his rough voice. I let go of his wrist and let him pull the useless fabric all the way to one side, exposing my clenching hole.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispers, his fingers swirling in my wet heat, dragging around in my sticky arousal. Then he pushes a long finger in and I arch up, pressing my hips into his hand. “Yeah, that’s so nice and tight, Pixie. See, now they know. Now they know that your pussy is magic. They’re all nodding their heads now. Now they get why I’m kneeling at your feet and lapping at you like a dog. And why I’m humping the air. Now they understand why I need you so bad.”
His voice seems to be coming from a distance. I’m in a daze. I’m here in this room with him and I’m also in the past, hundreds of miles away in my old church. I’m everywhere. I’m in every person. I’m in every living thing.
I’m in Abel and he’s in me. His Pixie.
He’s watching me with hooded eyes, his lips parted, harsh breaths coming out of his mouth in gusts. “What do I do now, Pixie? How do I get rid of this ache, huh?”
In a burst of energy, I stop his wrist, and somehow manage to sit up. “You cure me every day, don’t you? Now I’m gonna cure you.”
But when I go to stand up, he stops me. He looks into my eyes, all deep and meaningful and my heart starts slamming, even more than before. Somehow, I already know what he’s going to say. “Everyone’s watching, Pixie. The whole world.”
The camera. The red blinking light.
It’s on. It’s recording.
The shaggy-haired guy must have left it on by mistake, I think. If I stand up and take my clothes off, and sit on Abel’s dick, the camera will capture it all. Forever and ever. Then the clip of it will be put out in the world, in front of a million people, who might see me with my husband. I can already feel their beady eyes on the screen, watching us, judging us, criticizing us, getting aroused by us.
But hasn’t it already happened before? That night when my mom dragged me out without letting me wear clothes, so I could bear my shame. People have already seen me, judged me, criticized me. They have already burned me at the stake.
Now, this will happen on my terms. I’m already ashes. But now, I will rise like a fucking phoenix. We will rise like a phoenix.
I face the man I love. He’s waiting for me, hard and aroused, but still waiting. I love him so much I might burst.
With a slight smile, I get up. My surroundings tilt a little, but it’s okay. I’ll survive. Abel’s hands fall to his sides, his hair all messy as he looks up at me. I fist the hem of my dress and take it off in one shot. Then off come my bra and my panties. I don’t stop or think until I’m all naked and flushed, standing in front of him.
If there’s a name for what happens once you’ve passed the stage of lust, then that’s Abel’s name, in this moment. His nostrils flare with every drag of his breath. His teeth are bared. Every vein on his arms, on the side of his neck, is bursting through the skin.
I put both hands on his shoulders and straddle his lap on the bed. My wet, soft pussy brushes over his jean-covered bulge.
“Then let them watch,” I whisper, bringing my hands down to his fly and opening the zipper. “Let them watch what you do to me. If you’re a fiend for me, then I’m your little monster. I have sharp nails like you have sharp teeth. If you’re sick, then I’ve got a little fever of my own.”
Once his hot, hard dick is out and in my hands, I line it up with my hungry cunt, his pre-cum-oozing crown brushing against my folds. He hisses and I moan. Then, in the next breath, I slide onto his erection, stabbing my core with the most delicious knife God’s ever made. My Abel’s cock.
Instantly, his palms grab onto my ass and his hips jerk up. I’m in heaven, my head thrown back, my long hair probably tickling the back of his hands as I moan, loud and high.
When I lower my face, I kiss his lips and he bites mine. “If you eat me out like a dog, then I’m going to fuck you like I’m your bitch in heat.”
I begin rocking, grinding on his length, slowly, carefully. This is a new position for me. Abel’s always the one in charge. But I’m determined to make it good, make him feel everything that he makes me feel when he’s moving inside me. So I twist my hips, go side to side, letting him feel the soggy walls of my core.
“Is that right, Pixie?” he rasps, watching me fuck him, watching me find my own rhythm. “You’re gonna fuck me like that, huh?”
I nod, now rising up on my knees before sliding back down on his erection. “Unh…”
Abel helps me glide over him, fisting the flesh of my ass. “God, Pixie. You aren’t as good as everyone thought you were.”
I look into his dark eyes. The eyes of a demon. A demon I love and adore. “I guess not.”
He smacks my ass, making me gasp and squirm over his length. Chuckling, he does it again. And again, as I move up and down and find a pace.
“Maybe your parents should’ve spanked you more. Or maybe Father Knight should’ve purged the sin out of you.”
God, why’s that so arousing? It makes my cunt clasp him even more tightly. This is sick and wrong and so fucking beautiful. Because it’s mine. It’s ours. Abel was right. Nothing we ever do together can be wrong. The relationship between a wife and a husband — a man and his woman — is the most sacred of all. Sacred and unique and pure.
“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” I confess, picking up speed as my knees grind into the mattress and my body jumps. “I was born this way. For you. For my sick Abel.”
“Fuck yeah, you were born for me.” With his free hand, he winds my hair around his wrist and pulls my head back, arching me up.
He noses the bottom of my throat, my breastbone, the valley of my tits, and I close my eyes, sighing in wonder and pleasure and satisfaction. I have no control over this fucking now. Maybe I never did. It’s okay.
With my hair in his hand, he fucks into me. He moves his hips and pushes into my channel. I’m suspended over him on my knees, kept steady by his hand, while I grip his shoulders and hold on to him. He’s riding me hard, brutal, his rough jean-covered thighs smacking into my flesh, leaving it all raw and red and horny.
He bites the flesh of my breast, making my eyes water and my mouth sputter. He tugs on my hair viciously, while he scrapes his teeth over my nipple, whispering, “You feel good, Pixie?”
My neck’s arched and tight at an angle, but it feels nothing but good. So I moan my assent.
He lets go of my hair and brings my face down, still fucking me, still nudging me with his dick, deep inside. “You wanna tell them, baby? You wanna tell them how good it feels?”
My eyes go wide, my heart pounding in my lips, where he just whispered those words. I’m confused. What does he even mean? Tell them how.
When I focus on him, I understand. He needs this. He needs this power. I only tasted people’s open condemnation a month back, but he’s been facing it for years now. No wonder he’s so wounded.
He needs this validation to complete the fantasy, this ritual of ours, and I’m happy to give it to him.
I get up from his lap and off his cock. I’m teetering; my feet have no energy, no life. Abel grabs my sides and turns me, and I slide down on his dick, my back pressed to his wildly breathing chest, his thighs on either side
of me.
My legs are closed and it looks like I’m simply sitting, innocently, casually. It might as well be that I’m sitting on a church pew on his lap. Only I’m naked and my pussy is speared on his big dick. He’s so big behind me, still clothed but lustful. All-powerful.
His breaths are fanning along the side of my cheek as he fists the flesh of my hips, moving me, rocking me with one hand, hitting the upper wall of my pussy.
With the other hand, he forces me to look into the camera. The red-blinking light, the black, inanimate object makes me gush like a river.
“Imagine everyone in that town, Pixie. Every single one of them. They watched. But they never came to help.” His whispers are making him wild as well. The force of his hands on my hips has increased. I’m grinding down, rocking against him, and my mind’s flying to that night in the past.
“Now tell them. Tell them how good it feels. Tell them how good I fuck you.”
My heart’s slamming, trying to break the bones of my ribs. My bounces on his dick become embarrassingly haphazard at his words. I don’t have to be embarrassed though, because he groans in my ear and pinches my nipple. A dam breaks inside me, then.
My mouth opens and I say it. I say it all. I tell them how good it feels. I tell them how amazing it is when he’s inside me, fucking me like a madman. I tell them that I love him and I can’t live without him. And I don’t care what they think. I don’t care that they hate him or hate me. I married him anyway. I’m his for life and he’s mine, too.
I say it proudly, my chest thrown back, my eyes open and staring at the camera. I say it with my hands on my tits, worrying my nipples because I just can’t stop. I can’t fight what he does to me. I don’t want to. I’m in love and I want them to know it.
He seems to grow even bigger, even stronger, even more seductive as I say the words. I lose myself in it. I lose all sense of myself, my awareness, and it pushes me over the edge. I come, gushing, my pussy fluttering over his shaft, as Abel’s still pounding into me, breathing with exertion, all sweaty and musky.
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