Chapter 32

I was just like any other woman, full of desires and needs that throbbed inside me, leaving me needy and a little melancholic. I craved a love — one of those all-consuming, heart-wrenching kinds — but life, that old bitch, always seemed to swing doors wide open only to slam them in my face. I’d been alone for too long. Way too long. There was no one. Not a face, not a body, not even an imagined touch to ease my loneliness.

Among all the failed attempts I’d dragged myself through, I downloaded a dating app. I never expected much from it — no promises, no love — but maybe a quick distraction, something to fill my days and, especially, my nights. I picked photos where my full lips — my best feature, no doubt — stood out, looking softer than they actually felt, and set up my profile like I was staging a window display: trying to show off the best of me, even if it wasn’t much.

I paid to boost my chances. Did I need to? Maybe. With the profile ready, I started swiping, scrolling through unfamiliar faces and bodies, potential lovers down the line. One hotter than the next, but there was something… something that didn’t hit me. They seemed disinterested, or maybe I was too green in this game. I was probably doing it all wrong, like always.

That’s when he showed up. He wasn’t just another face. He was familiar. A weird shiver ran up my spine, a mix of surprise and nerves. Running into someone you know on there was prime gossip material with the girls. But him… he was different.

I knew him from church. Back then, passion was a sin, and I was already a potential sinner. Our glances were stifled by the relentless watch of everyone around us. I’d sit next to him on those wooden pews, my skin pulsing with desire like the fires of hell were already wrapping around me. He had those full lips, and during service, I’d lose myself. Lose myself in the urge to press mine against them, to feel them wet and hot, devouring me with urgency.

My skin, that traitor, tingled at the slightest brush of our elbows. It was supposed to be accidental, or so it should have been. But it wasn’t. Never was. My body reacted like it had a mind of its own, and I knew right then that no prayer could redeem what was taking hold of me. I’d soak my panties just from sitting beside him. And he knew. He had to know. The way he’d look at me, his eyes lingering on my neck, the curve of my nape, like he could already smell me.

I was nervous. My hands were sweaty, my heart pounding like something inside wanted to break free. It had been so long since I’d seen him. So long since life and distance had ripped him away from me, throwing us in opposite directions. But now, the memories came flooding back — and with them, the desire. It hit me full force, violent, like a wave crashing through me, leaving me wet, hot, and aching. With a stolen breath, I mustered the courage. I grabbed my phone. A simple message. Cool, like I could control what I felt. “You going to praise practice on Sunday?”

The question was playful, like no time had passed between us. But I knew he’d remember me. I was sure of it. He couldn’t have forgotten. The reply came quick, more lively than I’d imagined. He seemed surprised, but it was more than that. There was something in those words that hit me deep, a spark that twisted me up inside. It didn’t take long for the chat to shift gears. He wanted to see me.

We set it up at the old diner from our church days. A piece of our history was still there, amid the plastic tables and the smell of fryer grease. I knew the place well.

I spent the whole day getting ready, my body buzzing with that almost-teenage frenzy. I’d never primped so much for such a casual spot. Every detail mattered: my hair, my skin, my lipstick. It all had to be perfect. And as I stared in the mirror, I thought: being there with him would bring it all back. It’d be like slipping into a time when it was just us, in the same space, the same hunger.

He got there before I could calm down. He wasn’t the same kid anymore. All traces of that awkward youth were gone, replaced by a man. His face was more defined, mature. His body broader, shoulders filling out space like he’d been hitting the gym hard. I felt my body react before I could stop it. A tremor shot up my legs, nerves burning in my chest.

He smiled. That smile with those delicious lips. Like the years hadn’t touched us, like he could still read me with one look. We sat down. The place was the same, but his presence made everything feel smaller, tighter, like the world had shrunk around us.

The talk started shy, stumbling over old memories. A touch of melancholy. We laughed about ancient stuff, stories that seemed ridiculous now. We caught up on the years we’d lost, trading tales of what life had thrown at us in the meantime. He’d look at me while he talked, eyes locked on mine, but every now and then, they’d dip to my cleavage, no hiding it.

“What’re you up to now?”

he asked, his voice deep and gravelly. It was almost a caress, the sound slipping into my ears and sliding down my body.

“I don’t know. It’s early. I’d head home. Got work tomorrow,”

I replied, trying to play it cool, but my breathing was already shallow.

He smiled again, this time with a hint of mischief that made me cross my legs right away, like I was trying to hold back a volcano between my thighs.

“Let’s go to my place.”

The words came without pause, loaded with certainty. He leaned in a bit, eyes fixed on mine, and added:

“No one’s around to watch us anymore.”

My heart raced. I froze for a second, like my brain was fighting what my body had already decided.

We stepped into the house, but I didn’t see a thing. Didn’t notice the furniture, the walls, the smells. It all blurred because I knew. I knew why we were there. Adults now. No rules, no watching eyes, no stupid innocence from back then. The door had barely clicked shut when he walked toward me, steady and sure. The world seemed to split in two, a chasm opening the instant his lips met mine. Sweet, full, soft. They fit against mine like they were made for it, and my whole body responded, like a silent explosion rippling through every inch of me. A symphony. He was hot, and his heat consumed me. His hand slid up my nape, strong fingers tangling in my hair. My body gave in; I surrendered completely, no holding back, no second thoughts.

My breasts pressed tight against his chest, and I wanted more. Wanted his hands there, claiming me. He was trying to be gentle, like some chivalry lingered, but it pissed me off. I didn’t want gentle. I didn’t want sweet. I wanted him to take me, own me without shame. I was thirsty. Thirsty for sex, for his body, for the taste of sweat and spit mixing in that kiss. A fire climbed up my legs, burning me from the inside, turning everything into pure want. Crazy with lust, I felt my skin blaze, shivers building as the heat ramped up.

“Don’t treat me like that. Take me.”

I whispered, almost a moan, pulling his face closer.

He froze for a beat. His body stilled, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. A chill ran down my spine, and I regretted it instantly. His face changed, shutting down sharp. He looked serious, almost pissed. For a moment, I thought he’d push me away, chew me out. My chest tightened with guilt, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he grabbed me with a force that felt like he wanted to melt me into him, make me part of his body. His hands roamed over me, rough and demanding, no softness. My body didn’t fight it; it submitted totally to what he was doing, yielding to the control he took. The kisses, once sweet, turned wet and wild, starving. Sounds filled the air around us — smacks of lips, heavy breaths, muffled moans. The room felt smaller, choked by the heat pouring off us.

Clothes started coming off, yanked away like they scorched our skin. His hands didn’t waste time, fingers quick as his lips stayed glued to mine, hot and relentless. I shook, feeling the cool fabric of my bra tugged down, and when it finally hit the floor, my breasts bounced free for him to see. He stopped. Just for a second, he stared, eating me up with his eyes. The intensity of that look set me on fire. It was like he was stripping me again, but with his gaze. A quick flush of shame hit me, heat making me want to cover up, but he didn’t give me the chance. His big hands cupped my breasts, squeezing hard, and then, without warning, he took them in his mouth.

No tenderness. It was raw hunger, brutal need. He sucked, bit, explored every bit with a greed that stole my breath. My whole body arched toward him, offering more. I felt my nipples harden against his hot tongue, shivers sparking across my skin. My strength seemed to drain in that moment, each suck pulling away my resistance. Something hot and wet trickled deep inside me, arousal flooding like a dam breaking. I moaned without control, lost between pain and pleasure, as he kept devouring me with his mouth and hands, like he wanted to eat me alive.

He shoved me back onto the couch, and my body hit it without a fight, sinking into the cushions as he stood over me. The belt buckle snapped, the sound echoing like a promise of what was coming. He shoved down his pants and boxers, and there it was. My eyes locked on him, and a silly grin crept across my face.

His cock sprang out hard as rock, dark, with a smoothness that made it look like a work of art. The head was perfectly shaped, slightly pink, almost gleaming like it’d been hand-polished, a jewel on a staff of pure desire. It was big, commanding, intimidating. And impossible to resist. The skin looked silky but solid, promising equal parts bliss and ache. He stepped closer, that raw masculine power throbbing in every move. With one hand, he started stroking himself slow, like he was gearing up, fingers gripping the base as it pulsed like it had its own heartbeat. When he took another step, he grabbed my head, fingers twisting in my hair, and guided me straight to him. No gentleness, and I should’ve pushed back. Should’ve. But I didn’t want to.

I felt the hot, soft skin against my lips, its weight pressing into my mouth. He rocked slow, teasing, sliding in and out with a deliberate rhythm, making me take all of him. My spit started dripping, a warm trail down my chin, and I didn’t care. I drooled shamelessly, lost in the frenzy. The feel of him filling my mouth was overwhelming. My lips stretched tight, throbbing as he thrust in and out. It was like he was kissing me back, like that thing had a life of its own, pulsing and demanding. My eyes flicked up to him, and I saw him looking down, challenging me to keep going. I smiled — not with my mouth, but with my eyes. Awed, enchanted by that dominance now between my lips. I sucked him hungrily, devotedly. My tongue wrapped around every inch, exploring, while my teeth grazed lightly now and then, drawing a groan from him. The bitter, salty taste hit me like a punch, but instead of pulling away, it made me crave more. I bit, sucked, swallowed everything he gave, like it was nectar getting me drunk.

“I’m gonna come,”

he said, pulling me off before it happened, avoiding the mess.

“How do you want it?”

I wasn’t a woman anymore. I was an animal, wild and wordless, only moans and grunts spilling out, like my body had regressed to its most primal core. With firm hands, I yanked him by the hips onto the couch, and he dropped beside me, a bit clumsy but willing. Without pause, I climbed on top, riding him like an amazon claiming her steed. My soaked panties were the last barrier, a wet witness to what was already overflowing from me. I straddled him, gripping his cock tight in my hand, feeling the heat and throb of that thing that seemed even bigger now, like the lust made it more menacing. I rubbed against him, grinding slow, savoring the delicious friction that pulled moans from him and shudders from me.

His fingers, quick and sure, slid to my panties. With a yank, he pulled them aside, exposing me. Cool air hit my slick skin for a split second before he touched me. Then, in a near-slow motion with a precise roll of my hips, I let him sink into me. Deep. Like he was rooting himself, claiming every space inside. We both let out a sound in sync, a moan that echoed through the room, signaling pleasure had taken over. Orgasm loomed like a distant storm, about to hit us. He was under me, like a beast that couldn’t be held back much longer. I braced on him, planting my feet, and started grinding, slow and teasing at first, drawing groans from him as our lips crashed in the wildest kisses. His hands gripped my ass hard, guiding my moves, trying to set the pace. But I wouldn’t yield. I was in charge.

I felt completely filled, every inch of him invading me. Pain and pleasure blended so fiercely I couldn’t tell them apart. When he hit deep, my core ached with a dull throb that made me bite my lip to keep from screaming. But I wanted more. I slammed down on him hard, bounced, ground, like I could swallow him whole.

Then it hit. I felt his body lose it, tremors taking over. He let out a rough, desperate yell, like a man breaking apart. That pushed me over. I sped up, riding him mercilessly, slamming against him as pleasure exploded inside me. The storm broke, a violent rush that seized my mind, my body, every part of me. Amid screams and moans, I came hard, and my body collapsed. I lay there, still impaled on him, drained, like the orgasm had taken everything.

In the quiet that followed, I felt something warm trickling between my legs, slow like a river starting deep inside. I laughed softly, breath still ragged.

“Glory to God,”

I whispered.

“It’s supposed to stand tall, church…”

He chuckled, low and husky, tracing fingers over my face.

“You goof,”

he murmured, pulling me closer.

And there we stayed, for a moment, wrapped in the mess we’d made.

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