Holy Desires Unleashed

A preacher finally giving into the temptation of fucking the one woman he finds intoxicating, getting ravenous, and making the woman question the kind of man she turned him into.

The church was empty, the last whisper of Sunday’s sermon still clinging to the air. Reverend Daniels gripped the pulpit, his knuckles white, eyes locked on *her*—Lydia Monroe, kneeling at the altar like some unholy prayer. She wasn’t here for salvation. He knew it the moment she’d walked in, hips swaying under that tight black dress, lips parted just enough to make a man forget his vows. She looked up at him now, dark eyes daring him to break. "You’ve been watching me for months, Reverend." Her voice was honey laced with sin. "Don’t you think it’s time you did more than just *look*?" The words hit him like a revelation. His control snapped. In three strides, he had her pinned against the altar, his robe shoved aside, his hands rough on her thighs as he hiked up her dress. "You want a sinner?" His voice was raw, fingers digging into her flesh. "Then fucking kneel for me properly." Lydia gasped as his palm cracked across her ass—once, twice—leaving her skin stinging, her pulse wild. The holy man was gone. In his place was something hungry, vicious. And God help her, she *liked* it. "Tell me," he growled, dragging her hips back against his cock, thick and straining against his pants. "What kind of man do you think I am now?"

Lydia arched against him, grinding her ass into his hardness with a wanton roll of her hips. "The kind that *needs* me," she breathed, her fingers digging into the altar’s edge. "Look at you—panting like a beast. All that holy talk, and now you can’t even think straight." Reverend Daniels snarled, his hands fumbling with his belt, the leather hissing as he yanked it free. The clatter of the buckle against the floor echoed through the empty church. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, pressing against the curve of her ass. "Fuck," he gritted out, one hand tangling in her hair, forcing her head back. "You did this. Made me *ache*." His other hand slid between her legs, fingers pushing past damp lace, finding her slick and swollen. Lydia whimpered, her thighs trembling as he stroked her, rough and impatient. "Reverend—" "Don’t." His breath was hot against her neck, his voice thick with want. "Don’t call me that now." He nudged his cock against her entrance, teeth gritted. "Say my name when I fuck you." She gasped as he shoved into her, one brutal thrust burying him to the hilt. "Tony—" His name tore from her lips, ragged and sweet. He groaned, hips snapping forward, driving her harder into the altar. "Again."

Focus on the sensations, and really get into detail about how he thinks and feels, finally getting to fuck her.

Tony’s control shattered completely the moment he sheathed himself inside her—hot, tight, sinful perfection. The wet clench of her around him was obscene, dripping, *his*. Every thrust dragged a gasp from her lips, every retreat left her clenching desperately. His fingers bit into her hips, holding her still as he fucked into her with a rhythm that bordered on violent. "Christ," he rasped, the blasphemy spilling out unchecked. Her moans were hymns now, her body his altar. The scent of her arousal mixed with the lingering incense, sacrilegious and intoxicating. He could feel the sweat slick between them, her back arching, her nails scraping the wood beneath her. She was everything he'd denied himself—every late-night fantasy made flesh. The way her throaty cries bounced off the chapel walls, the wet slap of skin as he drilled into her deeper, harder—*this* was his confession. His hands roamed her body, greedy, claiming. One gripped her throat, just enough pressure to make her whimper. The other slid between her legs, thumb circling her clit in rough, punishing circles. "Cum for me," he growled. "Let me feel you fall apart." Lydia choked out his name, her body tightening around him like a vice. Tony groaned, his own release coiling low in his gut. He wasn’t a reverend anymore—just a man, desperate, starved, *consumed*.

Tony’s hips stuttered as Lydia’s walls pulsed around him, her climax milking him deeper. The first thick pulse of his release hit like damnation—hot and unstoppable, spilling into her with a guttural groan that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. His fingers dug into her flesh hard enough to bruise, every muscle locking as his cock twitched violently inside her. "Fuck—*Lydia*—" His voice was raw, wrecked, as his orgasm tore through him. Every surge of cum was a brand, marking her, claiming her. He could feel himself pulsing—deep, relentless spurts filling her up, his cock jerking like it was trying to bury itself even deeper. The wet heat of her only dragged it out, her tightness milking every last drop from him. He didn’t stop fucking her through it, his thrusts turning ragged but unrelenting, driving his release deeper with each snap of his hips. The slap of skin grew obscenely slick, their sweat and cum mixing as he ground against her, his breath ragged in her ear. Tony shuddered, his body taut with the aftershocks, his cock still twitching inside her as he rode out the last waves. His hand fisted in her hair, pulling just enough to wrench a whimper from her throat. "Take it," he growled. "Every fucking drop." Lydia’s whimpers were music—her body still fluttering around him, greedy for more even as he emptied himself inside her. The chapel smelled like sex and sweat, the air thick with their shared sin.

Tony’s cock was still buried deep inside her when his grip on her hair loosened, fingertips tracing the damp curve of her neck instead. His breath was ragged against her ear, his chest heaving against her back. Lydia shuddered as his muscles flexed, his softening length still twitching inside her, thick with the aftermath. He pressed his lips to her shoulder— a kiss clinging to her skin with the hot drag of his mouth. “Still so fucking tight,” he muttered, grinding his hips in slow, deliberate circles, forcing another broken moan from her.