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The chapel was supposed to be empty this late — just shadows and silence, the smell of wax and dust hanging in the air. But Nicky had Lorna bent over the back pew, her dress hiked, cheek pressed against the cool wood.
“Praying for forgiveness?” Nicky teased, pressing in close from behind. “’Cause I don’t think God’s gonna like what we’re about to do.”
Lorna let out a shaky laugh, her fingers clutching the worn hymnbook rail. “You’re wicked, Nicky… making me do this in here…”
“Yeah,” Nicky murmured, her voice low and dark against Lorna’s ear, “wicked, but you love it.” She pressed forward deliberately, and Lorna gasped, her whole body jerking against the pew.
The noise that followed wasn’t the sweet sighs of fantasy — it was raw, sharp, almost desperate.
“See that?” Nicky whispered, one hand sliding up Lorna’s back to hold her down. “You can’t even keep quiet when I’m inside you like this. You don’t want fairy tales, baby. You want this. You want me.”
Lorna bit into her own hand to stifle the sound, but the tremor in her legs gave her away. “God, Nicky… it feels so— it’s too much…”
“Too much?” Nicky’s grin was pure sin, her rhythm unrelenting. “Nah, sweetheart. It’s just enough to remind you who owns you. And you’re gonna take it, every damn bit, until you’re shaking apart.”
The chapel creaked with every movement, a dangerous hymn all their own. Lorna’s moans grew ragged, and Nicky only pressed harder, holding her bent over the pew like she was built for this moment alone.
When Lorna finally broke, voice cracking into a muffled cry, Nicky leaned down, lips brushing the damp curls at her temple.
“Confess it, baby,” she murmured. “Say who did this to you.”
“You, Nicky,” Lorna sobbed, breathless and undone. “Always you.”
Nicky’s smirk softened into something fierce and tender, her chest heaving against Lorna’s back. “Damn right. And don’t you forget it.”