Unholy Fantasies
My fingers found my clit—already slick, already begging—and the first slow circle made my back arch so hard water sloshed over the edge.
“Oh God,” I whispered, even though I knew it was the wrong name to say.
I stroked faster. Two fingers sliding over and around my clit while my other hand came up to pinch my nipple the way I imagined he might.
The water made everything slippery, louder. I slipped one finger inside myself, then two, curling them the way I’d done every morning for weeks.
My hips rocked up to meet my hand. The fantasy took over completely—Father Chris’s voice in my ear, his breath hot against my neck, his fingers replacing mine, thicker, surer, pressing that spot that made sta
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