Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115344 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 577(@200wpm)___ 461(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
I protest like we’re really in church and my heart is fluttering like a nervous bird. We’re whispering now. When I breathe, I can smell the incense, the varnish. I can hear the rustle of someone’s shoes sliding across the floor. I can hear the swish, the whispers of someone adjusting in their seats. The clearing of throats. The sighs. I can see them standing up, one by one, frowning, trying to figure out what’s going on. I can feel their gazes stabbing me, throwing stones at me.
I’m so turned on. I’m flushed and sweating like I’m on fire. Like I’ve swallowed the sun itself. I can hear Abel’s breaths next to me, all excited and growing more feral by the second.
And I never — not ever — want him to stop.
“They won’t.” He licks the side of my mouth and I have no choice but to catch his tongue, suck on the tip of it, drink his flavor.
“Why not?”
“Because when I lift your dress all the way up…” He’s doing it right now, inching the fabric up, until my wet panties come into view. I’ve totally slipped into my role and I try to close my thighs, but he doesn’t let me. He splays his palm open on my flesh and parts my legs, opening me up. To himself. To the town.
“Your panties are gonna be drenched. Look.” He rubs his glossy fingers up and down the wet spot, hitting my clit through the soggy cloth, making me jerk and twist my hips.
We both look down at where he’s rubbing me. It’s so dirty and obscene and so fucking erotic. My pale thighs open, scraping against his jeans. Then he pushes the crotch of my white underwear to the side, baring my pussy. I grab hold of his wrist and stare at him fearfully, aroused out of my mind.
“No, th-they will see.”
His gaze is wicked and desperate. Every part of him is dying to do this, has been dying to do this for years, expose me. “But they gotta see it, baby. They gotta see how wet and pink you are. They need to see it because only then will they get it. They will finally get why I’m a fiend for you. For your body. They need to see your cunt and how tight it is, how it drives me fucking crazy, how I’d do anything for you.”
I gush even more at his words, my clit buzzing with the sound of his rough voice. I let go of his wrist and let him pull the useless fabric all the way to one side, exposing my clenching hole.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispers, his fingers swirling in my wet heat, dragging around in my sticky arousal. Then he pushes a long finger in and I arch up, pressing my hips into his hand. “Yeah, that’s so nice and tight, Pixie. See, now they know. Now they know that your pussy is magic. They’re all nodding their heads now. Now they get why I’m kneeling at your feet and lapping at you like a dog. And why I’m humping the air. Now they understand why I need you so bad.”
His voice seems to be coming from a distance. I’m in a daze. I’m here in this room with him and I’m also in the past, hundreds of miles away in my old church. I’m everywhere. I’m in every person. I’m in every living thing.
I’m in Abel and he’s in me. His Pixie.
He’s watching me with hooded eyes, his lips parted, harsh breaths coming out of his mouth in gusts. “What do I do now, Pixie? How do I get rid of this ache, huh?”
In a burst of energy, I stop his wrist, and somehow manage to sit up. “You cure me every day, don’t you? Now I’m gonna cure you.”
But when I go to stand up, he stops me. He looks into my eyes, all deep and meaningful and my heart starts slamming, even more than before. Somehow, I already know what he’s going to say. “Everyone’s watching, Pixie. The whole world.”
The camera. The red blinking light.
It’s on. It’s recording.
The shaggy-haired guy must have left it on by mistake, I think. If I stand up and take my clothes off, and sit on Abel’s dick, the camera will capture it all. Forever and ever. Then the clip of it will be put out in the world, in front of a million people, who might see me with my husband. I can already feel their beady eyes on the screen, watching us, judging us, criticizing us, getting aroused by us.
But hasn’t it already happened before? That night when my mom dragged me out without letting me wear clothes, so I could bear my shame. People have already seen me, judged me, criticized me. They have already burned me at the stake.