A/N- This work of fiction involves religious connotations and has sexually explicit content. Please keep in mind that this is not meant to offend anyone. Special thanks to sub-josh on tumblr for the inspiration and suggestions, and as always, my wonderful beta, Court81981 for her amazing editing.

I stared up at the stained church windows forlornly. It was raining outside, and the numerous images on them appeared drenched with tears. I sighed, breathing in the faint scent of incense and old bibles. If I could put a taste to the scent, I would say that it was not much different from that of cinnamon applesauce, as strange as that may sound. I had always liked the odor of Catholic churches. I mean, they even smelled chaste.

I was not as pure as everyone presumed me to be. Sure, I got voted "Most Likely to Become a Nun," in seventh-grade parochial, but that had just been a game, and it was only because nobody else wanted to take the title. I was just too shy to turn it down in front of everybody. Over the years, I had come to the conclusion that the best way to ensure that your daughter remained a good Catholic was to not send her to Catholic school. But this only convinced my mother that I needed to go to church and pray about it so that I would stop doubting my faith.

And that's where I met Peeta Mellark, whose combed blond curls I was currently staring at as I knelt in the pew behind him, my hands clutched together in silent prayer. Peeta was the sweetest, most innocent and religiously devoted man I had ever met. In fact, he was the newest seminarian in town. I knew that it was silly and probably wrong to have a crush on him, but I couldn't help it. He would never notice me anyways.

If only I could remember that when I touched myself to obscene thoughts of him.

Peeta, Peeta, Peeta. He was all I ever thought about nowadays. His soft hair, his cornflower blue eyes, his impossibly long eyelashes, his flushed cheeks and faint rosy lips. He was so kind and handsome and impossibly beautiful in every single way I could think of. I knew that I was infatuated; I hardly ever spoke to him. Moreover, I knew that I shouldn't like him, not only because he obviously wasn't interested since he had hardly ever spoken to me, but because he was training to become a priest. Yet as I watched him stand up to receive communion, I couldn't help but let my eyes drift down to his perfect ass as he headed towards the priest. Good lord, Katniss, I chastised myself as I continued watching him, captivated. His lips parted open slightly when Father Plutarch placed a wafer in his mouth, and his pink tongue slipped out for a millisecond to capture it. I had no idea why I was so fascinated by this, but I gulped when he came walking back after taking a sip of wine, his tight slacks hugging him in all the right places. Dear sweet baby Jesus, please help me stop thinking about Peeta Mellark's loins, I prayed as I watched his chiseled jaw move as he chewed, his palms pressed together in front of him.

It was useless, of course. There was no way I was ever going to step back into a confessional again in my life, not after the thoughts I kept having. I couldn't imagine myself telling Father Plutarch that I watched porn in hopes that I would find a Peeta Mellark look-alike. Besides, it wasn't like I was sorry, and it probably didn't count if I wasn't truly repentant of my actions. And I really wanted to know if he was blond all the way down, was that so bad?

"Katniss," Prim whispered in my ear as she nudged me.

I turned to me little sister in annoyance. "What?" I asked, tearing my eyes away from the crucifixion statue above the altar, where Jesus was gazing down at me sadly. I gulped.

"Are you coming?" she raised an eyebrow in question as our row stood up to receive communion.

"Oh, um yeah," I said hurriedly as I stood up. I gave Peeta Mellark one last look as I passed him, and I could've sworn I saw him wink at me. I blushed and looked away.

"See, this shit is why I'm an atheist," Johanna exclaimed at our lunch table the next day.

"Because you like condoms?" I asked, confused. I still couldn't believe that contraception wasn't allowed in the Catholic faith, and apparently everyone knew that except for me. I was sixteen for fuck's sake; I should know this stuff by now. I doubted anyone followed that rule, anyway.

"No, Brainless, because I don't have to feel guilty about not following some ridiculously strict rules," she scoffed. "I'm only going to this school because my parents are forcing me to."

"Well I don't think they're ridiculous; there's a reason for everything, Jo," Madge told her patiently. Everyone knew that Madge Undersee was a future nun; she was seriously planning on heading straight to a convent after finishing high school.

"Well I'm not having twelve kids," Delly said to her boyfriend, Thom, as she took a huge bite of her turkey sandwich, and we all laughed.

"I hope Finnick and I have children someday," Annie said dreamily, gazing at him as he sat at the table across from us, chattering animatedly.

"You don't even know him, Annie," Gale reminded her gently. "Maybe I could introduce you?"

"No!" she screeched in panic as we all snickered.

"Don't worry, Annie, I understand how you feel, except I don't want a whole litter of kids," I said.

"Maybe this is why the pope quit; he didn't want to deal with this kind of crap," Johanna said.

"That is not why Pope Benedict quit," I argued.

"Whatever, we're getting off topic. The point is that Annie wants Finn's dick, but she won't go after it because for some inane reason, she feels bad about wanting him, right? Just show up wearing nothing but a trench coat at his doorstep and you're all set. You'll never feel bad about wanting it once you get it," she said suggestively as Annie and I frowned at her.

Gale and Thom burst out laughing at this, and Delly and Madge shook their heads sadly. "Aww, cheer up, Annie, I'll put in a good word to him for you, 'cause I'm a good friend like that," Gale teased.

"Finnick Odair is a womanizer," Madge said disapprovingly. "It's not Annie's job to change him."

"But maybe he could decide to change for her," I said hopefully.

"Why should he change? I'm sure he wouldn't complain if he found out Annie wanted him," Thom argued.

"But I don't just want to have sex with him," Annie whined.

"Then you can suck his dick too," Johanna said brashly as she bit into her plump, red apple.

"That's not what I meant!" she exclaimed exasperatedly, turning to me for help.

"Annie's right. She likes Finnick, but she wants him to like her too. She wants to stay with him so that they fall in love and get married someday." I explained.

"And then you would have sixty-nine kids," Johanna said casually as she took a swig of her Dr. Pepper.

Gale snorted. "That reminds me, Finn did mention wanting to get married and having a lot of kids one day," he turned to Annie.

"See? We're meant to be," Annie grinned. "And don't worry, Katniss, I'm sure you'll find someone else someday and you'll get married and have kids with him too."

"I don't want kids," I groaned.

"No one wants kids at this age, but you'll probably change your mind eventually," Delly pointed out as the bell rang, signaling the end of our lunch break. I sighed. If only they knew who I was really after.

"Hey, Katniss," Peeta said cordially the next day as he sat by me in youth group. I looked up from my Bible in surprise. We were supposed to be looking for our favorite quotes, but the only ones I kept reading were about wanton women.

"Peeta?" I asked stupidly, wondering if this was just another fantasy about him. I pinched myself, then instantly regretted it. Definitely real.

He smiled and gifted me with his beautiful azure gaze. I practically drooled. "So what do you think?" he asked.

"What?" I asked, suddenly realizing that he had been speaking, and I hadn't been paying attention.

He chuckled. "I said, would you like to come help set up the art exhibit tonight? I'm a tutor for some of the kids who submitted artwork, and I'm required to find helpers, but I mean, you don't have to if you're not interested, I can understand if…"

"Yes," I gasped out immediately before he could ramble any further. "I mean, yes, I would love to go help," I squealed eagerly, hardly believing that this was happening to me.

He grinned, a stray curl falling on his forehead. God, he was adorable. "Okay, but you have to dress up since it's a formal event. It starts at seven; you'll need to be there by six."

"Sounds great," I said cheerfully.

"All right, I'll see you later then?" he asked. I nodded and watched him walk away, nearly chastising myself as I stared at his perfect ass once more. I slammed my forehead against the palm of my hand. What the hell was I going to wear?

"You should go naked." Prim giggled as I threw all of my clothes out of the closet. I had nothing nice to wear. I glared at her.

"Not funny, Duck," I said.

"Sure it is," she continued. "I mean, I can hardly believe it. You're going out in public. You never go out, much less for a charity event. And you're going to see Peeta Perfect Mellark, of all people. He's the dreamiest guy to ever exist. It's a pity he's a seminarian."

I frowned. "Prim, this isn't a date, I'm just going to help out at the art exhibit, and you're too young to think about boys," I chastised her. "And don't' talk about Peeta like that." I tossed a shirt on the floor in irritation.

She snickered. "Oh, and what about you, Katniss?" she challenged. "I've seen how you stare at him during church. You don't even pay attention because you're too busy drooling over him. I bet you have naughty thoughts about him, and he's going to become a priest," she taunted.

I gaped. "Primrose Everdeen! Get out of here!" I threw some clothes at her, trying to mask my embarrassment for anger as my cheeks burned.

"Fine, I'll go get Mom, I bet she has something you can wear," she decided as she stood up.

"No way, don't tell Mom, I'll kill you!" I cried out in panic. My mother would probably dress me in an old lady skirt or something. "I'll just call Johanna," I said as I searched for my phone underneath the mountain of clothes piled up on the floor.

Prim shrugged. "Fine, suit yourself," she said as she left the room, probably to gossip with her twelve-year –old friends online.

"This painting is amazing," I gasped as I stared at a beautiful sunset. "Did you do this?" I asked Peeta.

He grinned. "I sure did," he said proudly. "This was my contribution to the show," he explained as he walked me through the exhibit. We had just finished setting up all of the art work, and the guests would start arriving soon. Peeta had stopped to show me his own work, telling me about how the church was raising money for 'Food for the Poor.'

"So what does your painting mean? Why is it called The Death and Resurrection?" I asked as I read the label.

"Ah, that's a good question. You know, my original idea was to paint the actual resurrection of Jesus, but if you look around, you'll see that it's been overdone." He pointed to the rest of the work, and sure enough, he was right. It was hardly surprising, considering the Easter festivities. "So I decided to do something a little different," he continued. "Every evening, I open my bedroom window before I go to bed and watch the sunset. And when I wake up, the window is still open, and I watch the sunrise. So then I wondered to myself, which one did Jesus see when he resurrected on the third day after his death? After some research, I came to the conclusion that he came back in time to see the sunset, which was convenient, because it happens to be my favorite."

"Why is it your favorite?" I asked.

"I just love the colors. That perfect combination of soft, muted orange only happens in the sky during sunset. It's not quite the same as the sunrise, you see. Sunsets are more vibrant due to the particles scattered around the sky. The sunrise doesn't have quite as many because they fall to the ground during the night. As a result, the sunrise has more of a faint yellow color, whereas the sunset has a warm, bold combination of red, yellow, and gold that creates my favorite shade of orange," he replied dreamily, his hands deep in his pockets.

"Wow," I breathed. "You really know a lot about sunsets. Were you also thinking about the metaphor between them and life and death?"

He nodded. "I'm doing a sunrise as well, but I'm calling that one The Transfiguration. It would signify Jesus' rise to heaven, obviously. I think it is all about embracing your humanity. You have to live and die so that you can come back to life permanently. I just wasn't able to get that one finished on time for the show. As for Jesus' life and death, I believe he was buried at sunset and came back to life at sunset. I know it's not a very common teaching, but it's just based on some calculations that I've done independently." He shrugged. "Either way, some people will probably see it as just a sunset, and that's fine with me, it's a painting open to interpretation."

As he spoke to me, I watched him in dumbfounded admiration; he was so deep and thoughtful, and so eloquent with his words. And when he described something that he was passionate about, such as the sunset, his blue eyes would light up like a bright Sunday morning and dimples would appear on his rosy cheeks when he smiled. I sighed. He was so beautiful. I licked my lips. "Peeta, do you think anything can be forgiven?" I asked.

He turned to me in surprise and raised an eyebrow. "Well of course, Katniss. That's why Jesus lived and died for us. That's why the sun comes down every night and comes back up the next day. So that we can start fresh. Why do you ask?"

I blushed. "Um. I don't know. I was just wondering, I guess." I said flustered, my mind scrambling to find something else to say so that we could change the subject before I said too much. "I really liked everything that you explained to me. Do you have a favorite Bible verse based on that? I'm having trouble finding one for youth group," I said, biting my lip nervously.

He smiled. "Oh, yes. There's Matthew 17:2, "He was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his garments became white as light." And as he said this, I couldn't help but think that his face always lit up like the sun.

"Thanks, Peeta, I'll definitely use that one," I said gratefully.

"Anytime, Katniss. Let me know if you ever need help on something. Now I really have to go tend to the guests." He nodded towards the people who were now streaming in through the doors as he excused himself. After he left me alone to tend to other things, I was free to walk around aimlessly for the next few hours, admiring the paintings and sculptures with everyone else. I had also promised to help clean up for the night so that I could spend more time with Peeta.

"What's up, Brainless?" Johanna snuck up behind me, and I jumped.

"Jo! I thought you weren't coming!" I exclaimed.

She laughed. "Yeah, well I came here to look after you. I needed to see if that dress I let you borrow was being put to good use. Plus, I brought Annie with me." She pointed behind her, where Annie was chatting with Finnick a few feet away.

I gaped. "She's actually talking to him!"

Johanna grinned. "Yeah, well, it's all thanks to Madge and Gale, actually. They're working on a project with him for Abernathy's World Religions class, and they told him about Annie. I just gave her a ride here so that they could meet."

"Where is everybody else?" I asked. "I know Madge and Delly were helping set up with me, and I saw them earlier, but then I think Delly ran off with Thom."

She shrugged. "I don't know, probably around here somewhere. I asked Gale to bring me some punch. Oh, there they are!"

I looked up to see Madge and Gale approaching us from the drinks table, each holding two cups of punch. "Here you go, babe." Gale told Johanna as he handed her the drink. Johanna purred and kissed him on the lips. I nearly cringed. They would probably start making out any second now.

"Hey Katniss, I brought you some punch, I figured you might some," Madge said to me as she handed me one of the clear plastic cups in her hands.

"Oh, thank you, Madge, how sweet of you!" We decidedly ignored Gale and Jo, who were starting to get handsy even though they were in the middle of a church charity event.

"You're welcome. Do you want to look around with me?" she asked, and I nodded enthusiastically, relieved that I wouldn't have to spend the next few hours alone.

As we perused the exhibit, I kept an eye on Peeta. I saw how he bent down to double-knot his shoelaces after he nearly tripped on them once. I noticed that he didn't put any sugar in his iced tea when he went to the refreshment table. I overheard him discussing pastries with an old lady; in fact, women gathered around him all times, complementing his baking skills and his beautiful artwork. When I discovered that he had made the scrumptious cheese buns on the snack table, I ended up eating ten, and then was disappointed to find out that there were no more.

"You really liked those cheese buns," Madge chuckled as she suckled on a chocolate-covered strawberry a few hours later. It was nearly time to close the exhibit, and people were leaving and taking the last of the food.

"Yeah, and you couldn't stop eating strawberries," I countered as I flipped my braid back over my shoulder.

She shrugged. "Yeah, well they were delicious." She sucked on her fingers as if to prove her point.

"So were Peeta's cheese buns," I said.

"Did I hear someone say they liked my buns?" I flipped around to see Peeta approaching us, grinning.

"Oh, yes, they were a huge hit," I said before I could stop myself, and then blushed when I realized how that had sounded. It was him who had brought it up, though.

"You're a very gifted baker, Peeta," Madge said politely.

"Thank you, ladies. I'm glad you enjoyed them," he said modestly. "I came from a family of bakers, so I know quite a few things. Would you like to help me clean up here?" he asked, and we nodded as we got to work quickly.

That night, I got home late thinking about all of the new things that I had learned about Peeta Mellark. His favorite color was orange. He was a baker. He was a painter. He liked to sleep with the windows open. He never put sugar in his tea. And he always double-knotted his shoelaces. I dug my face into my pillow, knowing that he would never be mine and that he could never be. I touched myself again and again until I drifted off to sleep, holding back the tears.

I thought about what Peeta had said about forgiveness. I prayed on a rosary every night, just like my mother had taught me, begging God to help me get over my obsession with a forbidden man. I knew I wasn't allowed to masturbate either, but I did that too. Maybe I had to stop doing that first. I had to stop touching myself to fantasies of him and going through porn looking for his doppelganger. Perhaps getting rid of one vice would help me get through the others.

Only it didn't work. Months passed. I went to church. I tried to be as chaste as possible and stop admiring him from afar, but it was no use. I tried hard, but I failed often. And sometimes I could even swear that he noticed me too. Sometimes he winked at me, and when he met my eyes, he always smiled. It was as if he had no care in the world. One day he gave a touching speech about how he decided to become a priest, saying that he used to have a girlfriend until he realized that it wasn't the right path for him. He said that he felt the presence of the Lord calling him, and he ended up leaving his girlfriend to join a seminar. I would have been devastated if I had been that girlfriend. Not that I wasn't devastated already. All he ever talked about was serving Jesus, and all I ever thought about was sucking his dick (Peeta's, that is, not Jesus').

This wasn't right. I had to do something. Peeta was probably on a path to becoming a saint, for all I knew, and here I was having selfish, lustful thoughts about him. I knew what I had to do, but it took me a lot of courage to do it.

I went to confession. I didn't want to, but it was my last hope, and my best shot at redeeming myself. I was sure that Father Plutarch was probably used to hearing horny teenage girls going on about Peeta by now. Surely I couldn't be the only one. He was too damn attractive. I thought about this as I walked into church, turning left towards the room labeled Confessional. Our church didn't have a fancy confession box with curtains; this was simply a wooden door with an uncovered window that led to a small, carpeted room containing the confessional screen and a prayer bench on either side of it.

I walked into the confessional and got on my knees in front of the screen. I began with the sign of the cross, and told the priest that my last confession had been seven months ago. It was exactly the amount of time that Peeta had been in town, but I didn't add that. Instead, I recited the easiest sins first. How I always fought with Prim. How I sometimes cursed. How I always rolled my eyes at my parents when they told me to do something. And then I said other things. How I couldn't stop masturbating or watching porn. How I kept having inappropriate thoughts, even during mass. By then I knew that it was time for me to start mentioning Peeta.

"But I think the biggest struggle that I've been dealing with is a forbidden crush that I've had on someone," I began, my voice shaking. "He's the seminarian, Peeta Mellark. I know you probably get this a lot, since he's so attractive and everything. But I feel really guilty about it, and for good reason, too. Peeta has been nothing but kind and respectful towards me, and I keep having salacious thoughts about him. I keep wondering what he looks like naked. Sometimes I even wish that I could down on him. Sometimes I wish that he would go down on me." I was probably saying too much now, but I continued, the words stumbling out of mouth as I purged my sins out. "When we're at church, I keep wishing that he could just take me right then and there on that pew." I was crying now. God, I was such a horrible person.

"Are you crying?" I heard his concern first, and then his intrigue. He sounded young. He didn't sound like Father Plutarch. He wasn't Father Plutarch.

"Peeta?" I asked.

He opened the screen and stared at me, his blue eyes wide, and I almost died of mortification. We stared at each other in horrified silence for a few seconds. And then I felt defensive anger. "What are you doing here; you're not a priest yet!" I yelled furiously as I wiped my tears. "You weren't supposed to hear my sins!"

"K-Katniss, I didn't know, I'm so sorry, I can explain—" But by then I was standing up and heading towards the confessional door, wishing that the ground would just swallow me whole.

"Wait!" he shouted in desperation, and I turned around, remaining in the confessional with him as I left the door shut. He had left his side of the booth and was standing behind me now, with a pleading look in his eyes. He licked his lips tentatively. "I feel the same way about you." It was a nearly inaudible whisper, but I had heard it.

"What?" I asked, appalled.

"I know what you're thinking. What about all of those things that I said about being a Man of God? Well I tried, Katniss. I tried to forget about you. I tried to tell myself that this was just a trial, that the Lord was testing me, or that the devil was taunting me. But I couldn't stop thinking about your braid, or your gray eyes, or your smiles that are so hard to come by. I would hear you sing during church and dream about your voice every night. I've never felt like this about anyone before, and I never thought that I would." He paused to allow the weight of his words to sink in. "So I came here for the same reason that you did. To seek contrition. But then I remembered that Father Plutarch was sick and that he had cancelled confessions at the last minute, and that's why no one else was here." He was right. The church was empty save for us two, but I hadn't even thought about that until now.

"So then why did you stay?" I asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to pray, I guess. But then I wondered what it was like to be a priest, hearing people's sins every Saturday afternoon. I wondered if I would have to hear other priests and seminarians going through these same temptations. So I sat there and pretended, and then I realized that this isn't what I really wanted, after all. But then you came in, and when I heard your voice, I instantly recognized it. I thought about stopping you, but I was intrigued. And then I heard you mention me…"

"Stop," I snapped. "If you're going to mock me for saying that I wanted to go down on you—"

"No!" he cried out in alarm. "I would never mock you. I thought I was making that clear, but I guess not." He took a deep breath, gathering courage before continued. "Katniss, I kept thinking that I wanted to go down on you, right here in this confessional."

I was stunned. "I-I, wait, what?" My voice was small, and I began to wonder if I was hallucinating.

"You heard me. And after today, I'm no longer going back to the seminar. I'm breaking my vows, no matter what you decide." He then approached me with purpose, taking my face in his large hands and pressing his petal-soft lips firmly against mine. I held my breath in shock and closed my eyes as he tugged on my bottom lip gently before letting go. I gasped out loud as he then began to kiss my neck, lavishing it with his tongue while rubbing one hand across the expanse of my back and the other one gripping my ass under my skirt. I held on to his shoulders as he backed me up against the door. I felt the hard length his erection against my heated center, and I moaned when he moved his hand to knead my breasts over my white button-up shirt. I wanted him so much it hurt.

I pushed him back. "So you're going down on me?" I gasped out before I could stop myself. "Right here?"

He rubbed his neck, flustered, "Ah, well…I guess, if you want me to…" he trailed off, staring down at the carpet. My eyes drifted down as I saw the prominent bulge in his khaki pants, and when he glanced up at me, his blue eyes were dark with desire, my knees trembling under the weight of his gaze.

"You know how to do that?"

He chuckled. "I had a girlfriend before, Katniss."

Oh, right. I had conveniently forgotten about that. "And you're completely okay with us doing this here?" I pressed on, still unable to believe it.

"Well I don't think we have any other place to go, but now that you put that way…"

I cut him off with a kiss as I reeled him back in, wanting to feel his wonderful mouth against mine once more. He groaned as I fisted his collar, my overeager lips clashing awkwardly against his when I tried to move them. He stumbled back and tripped over the prayer bench as I fell on top of him, our teeth grinding painfully against each other's mouths from the sudden impact. "Ow!" we both cried out in unison as we landed on the carpet beside the benches.

"I'm sorry," I said as I pressed up a little, my face still inches away from his.

He shook his head, smiling. "It's okay, at least now we're in a perfect position to do what we were planning. Here, come sit on my chest."

I scooted forward and then sat on him with my legs sprawled open in front of him, unsure of how to follow his instructions. But he grinned wolfishly when I gave him the perfect view of my white cotton panties beneath my blue plaid skirt, and he reached up to stroke my thighs until they reached the waistband of my panties. Goosebumps erupted from my skin as he pulled them down slowly, his eyes taking in my newly exposed flesh until they were completely off.

"Jesus, Katniss," he groaned. "You're so wet." He took them in his fist, letting go of them when I spread my legs open wider and moved up to hover on top of him. He stared up at my pussy before I covered up his face up with it.

My knees straddled his head, clenching his ears as my legs trembled when I felt his mouth on me. He held on to my thighs tightly, kissing me over my folds chastely at first, then looking up at me with his heavenly blue eyes as one of his hands drifted up to grope my small breasts over my clothes. He inhaled deeply, and then I felt the first tentative lick of his tongue as he parted my folds, seeking my aching bundle of nerves. "Peeta!" I cried out.

"Shh, Katniss, we're in a church," he chastised me when I jumped up, as if I didn't know that already. He chuckled, and I shivered as I felt his hot breath on me. Bastard. I pulled his hand beneath my shirt, and he pushed it underneath my bra. I hissed when he teased my nipple with his thumb and forefinger at the same time that he captured my clit with his lips.

"You naughty Catholic schoolgirl," he said when I kept hovering above him every time he touched me. I settled back down and he licked up and down my labia as I began shifting my hips forward and backwards, reveling in the feeling of his tongue as it darted inside my entrance. My entire body quivered when his other hand squeezed my ass, his mouth speeding up its movements and adopting a pattern: lick, nibble, and suck. As I rotated my hips faster, I clasped his hair with both hands, messing up his perfectly combed blond curls.

I bit my lip hard when he moaned and twisted my nipple. "You taste so sweet, like cinnamon applesauce," he told me as he pulled me back, and I stopped. He looked at me questioningly.

"That's what I think churches smell like." I confessed to him.

"Well even better then." And then he dug back in and continued to feast upon me like I was his last supper. He hadn't lied when he said that he had done this before. Every single ministration was perfectly timed and orchestrated so that I couldn't accustom myself to it, and I found myself screaming and crying out his name despite his constant reprimands.

"Oh, sweet lord Jesus," I prayed as he began fingering me with the hand that had been clutching my ass. He pumped his fingers in and out of me as he moved his tongue side to side over my nub.

His other palm continued to rub my erect nipples as my juices covered his face, dripping from the corners of his mouth and chin as I gripped at his chest. He sucked my swollen clit between his lips, flicking it gently with his tongue while his finger curled into a come-hither motion inside me and his other hand pinched my nipples hard. He pressed the tip of his tongue from top to bottom, in and around, out and in, pressing his tongue flat and then in between the crevice of my folds. As he did this, I kept grinding against him so that I almost felt his nose rub against my clit, and he kept fondling me everywhere he could. He drifted his hand down from my chest to tickle my stomach while he watched my reactions, entranced.

I couldn't take it anymore. I wouldn't last much longer with his altering speeds and motions, or his penetrating stare. He licked and explored me, my walls clenching at his supple tongue as he stroked me. He played with my clit, spelling words on it that should not be said out loud in a church, much less expressed in this manner. His fingers thrust in and out of me faster and faster, sucking my clit as deeply as he could until I began convulsing. I squeezed my thighs tighter around him as I came, a wave washing over me and drowning me in it. I felt my tremor expand from the tips of my toes to the ends of my fingers, my vision blaring white.

Afterwards, he proceeded to kiss the insides of my thighs before going back to my core until he had his fill, lapping up the rest of my arousal greedily. I breathed deeply in relief, and he pulled me up and made his way up my body with kisses, straddling my heated center on his lap so that I could feel his rigid cock. He blew hot air on my breasts when he pressed his mouth over the still-clothed mounds. He kissed my neck, biting it lightly with his tongue as he suckled on it, then teased and glided along the skin beneath my ear until reaching my lips, an electrifying jolt passing through me as our lips reunited. I kissed him back clumsily as his lips guided mine patiently until I granted his tongue permission into my mouth so that I could taste myself on him. I pulled his head closer and rubbed my hips against him desperately.

I couldn't get enough of him; I wanted more. "We should stop." He warned me as he broke the kiss.

"But I haven't even seen you yet!" I whined, reaching down towards the button of his khakis.

He stopped me. "Later," he promised. "Not here, where we could get caught; we've already pushed our luck by spending too much time here."

He then helped me stand up and bent down to pick up my discarded panties, pressing them to his nose and inhaling them deeply. "I'm going to keep these if that's okay with you," he said as he shoved them into his pocket before I could reply.

"When are we doing this again?" I asked.

"Soon." He winked as he opened the door.

"Wait!" I pulled him back.

"What?" he asked.

"I have to know: are you blond all the way down?"

He chuckled. "Of course. But now I'm off to find a new vocation." And with that, he left.

But I knew that he would be back.