Our gazes locked, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
My eyes dropped to his lips—full, slightly parted, soft-looking in a way that seemed criminally unfair—and I saw him do the same, his gaze flickering down to mine with an intensity that made my stomach flip.
Then, as if compelled by the same unspoken force, we leaned in at the same time and our lips met.
He made a sound against my mouth—not protest, just surprise—and then his hand was at my jaw, cradling my face. The other braced against the mattress beside my thigh, and he was kissing me back.
His tongue slid against mine, hot and insistent, and a shiver tore down my spine. My hands found their way to his neck, feeling the rapid thud of his heartbeat.
I wanted more. I wanted everything he could give.
He broke the kiss first, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with need. “Wren…”
I was breathing harder than the occasion strictly required. Something warm had settled behind my ribs that I hadn't budgeted for.
"You know," I said, keeping my voice light, watching his pupils in the lamplight, "I could still teach you a lot." I let my eyes carry the exact right shade of mischief. "Lucky for you I'm hurt right now. Otherwise I might feel compelled to demonstrate exactly how much."
His jaw shifted. Color moved up the side of his neck in a way I found disproportionately satisfying. "You know I…"
"The walls are quite thin in old buildings," I continued, in precisely the tone of someone making innocent observations. "You can hear everything from the next room very clearly. Including when someone thinks they're being very quiet. Late at night."
He went completely still as the flush reached his face properly. It was… I didn't have a word for it. Except that it was genuinely, inconveniently wonderful.
Mikael Rios, respected priest and witch-hunter, man who had walked into a demonic possession with silver implements and absolute cold authority, was kneeling before the edge of a farmhouse guest bed turning crimson because I'd heard him getting off through plaster walls the other day.
What a beautiful, perfect, absolutely devastating image.
"That's…" he started.
"It's alright," I said, and I meant it, which surprised me. I brought my fingers to his jaw, felt the muscle there jump under my touch. "I understand pretending you don't want something when wanting is inconvenient. I've done it for years."
My thumb traced the line of his cheekbone.
"But you've been pretending at me specifically, and that's starting to seem like a waste of everyone's time."
Something broke in his expression—not collapse, more like surrender chosen rather than forced. He turned his face into my hand the way I'd seen people turn toward warmth, unthinking and helpless, nuzzling in it.
"This isn't what I was supposed to be," he said quietly. "I had a life that made sense and…"
"And now you have me," I said. "Those aren't mutually exclusive."
It was a lie. Everything about my presence here was its own kind of weapon. And some small, teeny tiny honest part of me knew it even as a larger, less disciplined part of me reached for him.
"Come here," I murmured, tugging him up onto the bed with me.
He followed, letting me pull him down until we were stretched out on the mattress. I kissed him again, slower this time, deeper, letting my hands explore the solid warmth of his chest through his shirt, sliding down over the hard planes of his stomach.
“Here,” I murmured, guiding his hand between my legs, pressing his fingers against me through the damp fabric of my panties.
His breath hitched, such a scholar, always cataloging every reaction, every shift in my breathing, and I watched his face as realization dawned. “You’re…”
“Wet?” I finished for him, smirking. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you kiss me like that.”
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, and then his fingers were moving. Exploring. Testing the give of me through the soaked cotton, learning the shape of what made me gasp.
“Hell…” he muttered, so eloquent for a man who could quote scripture in three languages, and then his fingers were pushing beneath the fabric, sliding through my folds with a reverence that made my breath stutter.
“Firmer,” I corrected, gripping his wrist. “Like you mean it.”
Mikael obeyed instantly, pressing two thick fingers against my clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks shooting up my spine.
Oh, fuck.
Mikael learned fast. Adjusting when my hips jerked, when my thighs started trembling, when my breath came in short, sharp gasps that I couldn't control. His other hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back so he could watch my face.
His thumb dragged lower, teasing my entrance before pushing inside, just barely, just enough to make me whimper.
“Like this?” he asked, already knowing the answer, and I could only nod, my nails digging into his shoulder.
“Yes… fuck, yes.”
Too good. This is too good. How is he this good at this already?
"Tell me," Mikael murmured, his voice rough with want as his fingers worked me with increasing confidence. "Tell me what you need."
You. I need you. All of you. Forever.
I shoved him backward onto the mattress with more force than necessary, climbing over him before he could protest. Before he could think. Before either of us could remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea. "Wren—"
"My turn," I said, straddling his hips, feeling the hard length of him pressed against my core through too many layers of fabric. "You had your fun. Now I want mine."
His hands found my hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and the possession in that touch made something feral wake up inside me.
My hands went to his belt, working the buckle open while he watched me with those warm brown eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but didn't stop me. I popped the button of his pants, slid the zipper down, and then I was freeing him from the confines of fabric and…
Holy mother of Jesus.
He was huge. Like, the man was six-foot-three and built like he could bench-press a small car. Proportions being what they are, I'd done the math.
But this? This was not what I'd calculated.
Thick and long and already leaking at the tip, and for a moment I just stared.
My mouth went dry and my brain very helpfully provided several detailed scenarios about exactly how this was supposed to work when I was five-foot-two and he was apparently blessed by God in multiple ways and doesn't know how to use it yet.
Well. That's... that's a problem. A very large virgin problem, literally.
"Wren?" His voice was uncertain, almost vulnerable, and I realized I'd been staring in silence for several seconds.
"I…" I swallowed hard, trying to find words. "You're... I mean, I knew you'd be big, but I didn't expect you to be that big."
The flush that spread across his face was absolutely worth the momentary speechlessness. "Is that... is that a problem?"
Yes. No. Maybe. Definitely going to file this under 'things to worry about later.'
"Well," I said, letting a teasing smile curve my lips even though my brain was still frantically recalculating. "I'm already hurt, remember? Wouldn't want to add injury to injury. Pretty sure I'd split in half."
His face went from pink to crimson in approximately half a second.
"I'm joking," I said quickly, even though I wasn't entirely sure I was. "Mostly. But we should probably... take things slow. Work up to the main event."
The strangled sound he made when I stroked slowly from root to tip was absolutely worth any future anatomical challenges.
"How does this feel?" I asked, keeping my voice light, teasing. "A woman's hands on you? Different from your own?"
He was breathing hard, his hips shifting restlessly like he couldn't quite control his body's response. "It's good. It's very…"
He broke off with a groan when I tightened my grip slightly.
"Just 'good'?" I challenged, stroking him with more purpose now. "That's all?"
"Wren." His voice was strained, desperate. "You know it's more than… It's not just—"
"Not just what?" I prompted, enjoying watching him struggle for words.
"It's not just that it's a woman's hands," he managed finally, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "It's that they're your hands."
Something in my chest cracked open at those words, at the raw honesty in his voice. At the fact that he was looking at me like I was the only woman in the entire world who could make him feel this way.
The words had wormed their way past my defenses, settling somewhere dangerous near my heart.
I let him go to hook my fingers in the waistband of my panties and slid them down my legs, kicking them off somewhere onto the floor.
"Wren." His voice was wrecked, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. "We can't. I don't have—"
"I know," I said, even though every cell in my body was screaming at me to just sink down onto him and damn the consequences. "We won't. But I want to feel you, all of you. No barriers."
I positioned myself over him, not taking him inside, just pressing his length between my folds, and the slick heat of skin-on-skin contact made both of us curse.
"Hell," he breathed, his head falling back against the pillows.
"More like heavens," I moaned, and started to move.
I rolled my hips slowly at first, sliding against him, coating him in my wetness. Every thrust dragged the underside of his cock directly against my clit, and the friction was perfect. Too perfect. Absolutely devastating.
I leaned forward, changing the angle, and suddenly every slide of him against me hit exactly right. My thighs were trembling, my breath coming in short gasps, and I was so close I could taste it.
His hand slid up to cup my breast, thumb brushing over my nipple, and the dual sensation sent sparks shooting down my spine. I ground down harder, faster, my movements becoming desperate and uncoordinated as I chased my release.
"Mikael," I gasped, and saying his name out loud was apparently all it took.
The orgasm slammed into me like a freight train, pleasure radiating out from my core in waves that made my entire body shake. I bit down on my lip hard, but couldn't stop the whimpers, couldn't stop my hips from grinding down as I rode out every aftershock.
"Oh God. Wren. I'm—" Mikael's warning came too late.
I felt him pulse beneath me, felt the hot rush of his release between us, painting both our stomachs as his hips jerked up with a groan that sounded torn from his soul.
Yes. Yes. Perfect.
I collapsed forward onto his chest, both of us breathing hard and trembling and covered in evidence of what we'd just done.