midnight mass

unholy

Father John Pruitt had been denied many things in his life. Denied a wife, a family, fun, sex, drugs,  you name it. Denied any of the simple pleasures others indulged in so freely. Denied anything but a rosary in his hand and the words of the lord on his lips. And he had done a damn good job. He had control, he said no. But that was his old life. He had done good in his old life, but he wasn't John Pruitt anymore. He was Paul Hill. And he deserved a reward for all he had denied.

And when you came to him so freely, so open in your advances, well, he decided to deny himself no longer.

Who was he to do anything but squeeze your waist between his sinning hands and engulf your mouth with his? To clash tongues and grip hair and press one immortal body and one mortal body together? To pull you on his lap in the pew and let you grind down in front of the eyes of the lord?

And who was he to stop you unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off of him? To stop his wandering hands from crawling up your naked thighs under your dress to rub you over your panties? To stop the hasty undoing of his belt and your knees sinking to the floor?

How could something so heavenly as your mouth on his cock ever be denied? How could his grip in your hair and the moans filling the church ever be a sin?

If God wanted him to stop his cock sliding into your cunt so sweetly, he could of. But he didn't. He could've stopped Paul's mouth crawling over your neck, tongue almost feeling the pulse beneath it, almost seeing the blood rushing through your veins as you bounced up and down on him. But God didn't.

John had been good at denying himself, but he was Paul now.

So he dug his teeth into your skin, the blood flowing freely into his mouth making him groan out loudly. He faintly heard you gasp somewhere in the back of his mind, but his grip on your hair kept you in place.

The blood flowing into his mouth was so hot and so sweet and your cunt was so tight around him. He could feel himself growing close to release and the hand in your hair gripped even tighter.

The pain in your scalp sent you over the edge, and Paul followed not long after, his mouth still sucking the blood from your neck making you grow dizzy with blood loss.

Paul emptied himself inside you, wondering how he ever lived without this. He had long since become full, but he couldn't stop indulging, couldn't stop licking the delicate skin of your neck, staining his mouth red with blood.

You were limp in his lap when his mouth finally departed from your neck and he stroked a strand of hair from your peaceful face, more liberated than he had ever been in his whole life.

Yes, Paul certainly was a new person.

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I'm so sorry for not updating this book sooner. I literally SMASHED my fucking phone so I couldn't write for like ever. Please let me know if you liked jt !