His Forbidden Obsession

I flinch at the profanity, so rarely heard by my ears, but the chemical reaction in my body is the opposite of scandalized. No, it seems to thrill to the gruff cursing. The bluntness. The honesty. I can only watch in fascination at the way Private Griffin’s teeth sink into his lower lip, his gaze zeroed in on my mouth.

His fist moves slowly at first, then with more and more urgency. Because I’m sitting directly on top of his actions, I don’t feel like a bystander. I feel like a participant—and while I know that is truly, dangerously wrong, I cannot seem to stem the excitement that rocks me. I think…I enjoy seeing his pleasure and knowing I am having something to do with it.

They should strip me of my habit and cross this instant.

“Look at that sweet fucking mouth. It whispers prayers when it’s made for screaming into my pillow.”

“Is it?” I breathe, my fingertips lifting involuntarily to trace my lips.

“Yes,” he grinds out. “God help me, I’d like to grab you by the hair and plow my cock right into it until cream drips down your chin.”

A shock ripples through my body at the way he speaks to me. It’s inappropriate and filthy and it makes muscles tighten where I didn’t know I had any. I should recite a scripture about temptation, but I can’t seem to remember a single word in the Bible. That wetness is growing worse and I have the most shameful urge to circle my bottom around in his lap.

Don’t you dare.

It’s bad enough that I’m allowing Private Griffin to…pleasure himself.

Yes, that is what’s happening here, isn’t it? His low grunts and the punctuated upward pumps of his hips are the telltale signs of mating. Even that I learned from the Bible.

“I’m almost done, angel baby,” he pushes through clenched teeth. “Let me see your hair. Let me imagine it in tangles on my stomach.”

I know I shouldn’t.

I know I’m probably going to fall from favor with the Lord, but my hands seem to perform the deed all on its own. I want to show him my hair. I want…no, I need to help him find release. That responsibility is like a throb inside of me that grows stronger with every passing moment. My veil comes off first, and that alone is egregious. Being so bold makes my fingers shake as they untie the white wimple at the back of my head. I hesitate for one heavy moment, but I can feel Private Griffin’s hand start to move faster, his upper lip beading with sweat and his chest heaving with anticipation and I can’t deny him. I don’t know how.

Pulling the final tie of the wimple, I let my auburn hair bound free around my shoulders and the private makes a choked noise, his hips jerking so wildly, I’m nearly unseated. There’s a squelching sound that makes my blood tingle, along with his blind eyes and slack jaw. Watching him in the throes of catastrophic pleasure, the strangest thing happens. A coil beneath my belly button tightens to the point I think something is going to burst, but it doesn’t. It simply remains like that, on the edge of destruction of oblivion. How can I be sure?

It scares me how much I want to find out.

How much I want to find out everything about Private Griffin and what just took place inside of his body. There’s even a part of me that wants to peel his pants down and explore what he looks like and find out what his satisfaction looks like after the fact. To witness what we did.

I want this forbidden knowledge so badly, I know I have to put distance in between us. Now. Surely the last little while has been the product of exhaustion, the darkness, and grief over leaving my home. It can’t be that I want him.

I’m not allowed to want him or any pleasures of the flesh. I’ve already crossed the line considerably and now I will spend my life repenting.

“Sister Mercy,” says the private, directly beside my ear. “You need relief. Climb your sweet ass back up on my lap and let me give it to you.”

“Relief from what?” I say, too quickly, hurrying to put back on my wimple and veil. “I f-felt nothing. I’m fine.”

A skeptical eyebrow goes up. “Isn’t lying a sin?”

“What we just did is worse,” I breathe, heat rushing to my cheeks. “And it will never, ever happen again.”

Before he can respond, I turn away as much as possible with his large body taking up most of the seat, and press my face to the ice-cold window. Don’t wish you were still in his lap. Don’t wish you were still in his lap.

With a frustrated sigh, Private Griffin scoops me up and deposits me back in the position I woke up in. “I can’t relax when you’re shivering.”