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His arms were white with flour. I threw my arms around his back as he leaned over the heavy butcher block island and went back to working the dough. My sinew had returned. I let him bear all my weight, pressing my body from my cheek to shins into his back, letting myself be rocked with the motion of his kneading.
A reverberated through his back and lit a fire inside me.
“You can wake me any morning by performing spells. Why didn’t you tell me you’re a witch?”
“Does baking artoklasia loaves qualify as a spell?”
“Mhmm.” My eyes closed, still reveling in the scents in the air and the warmth of his body. My arms couldn’t even close around him, he was so much bigger than me. I was diminutive compared to him, but he never made me feel less than. “I don’t know what that is, but you’re chanting, lighting candles and incense, calling on the Holy Spirit to bless your activity. I’d say this classifies as a spell.”
I dropped my arms and peeked around him to see his face. His mouth twitched. I thought he was heading toward a smile, maybe even a laugh.
He merely nodded and continued with his baking. He was very serious when it came to his role as a priest. It was something I loved about him.
Honestly, I probably couldn’t love a man who was capable of playing fast and loose with a faith as dogmatic as Orthodoxy. Whatwould be the point of all those years of seminary? Why subscribe to something that rigorous, just to treat it like a joke?
I was surprised when he started to explain. It was something he didn’t always do. “The artoklasia is about breaking bread together as a Church. The five loaves represent the five loaves Christ used to feed the multitudes who came to hear him speak in the desert. People bring in the bread, along with wine and oil, as part of a service of personal devotion. Some do it because they feel the need to re-consecrate their lives to Christ. Some seek answers to prayers. I’ve performed the service often enough, but I’ve never offered the five loaves before. I thought it was the right time for our parish to celebrate together.”
He put the ball of dough into the oven and set the timer. Four others were lined up on the table, so this must be his last.
“Why now?”
He looked up from the ticking hen timer. “I have a lot to be thankful for.”
I let out a laughing yelp as he sprung himself on me, bending his body practically in half to dive into my neck and graze his teeth across my skin.
My legs gave out, but he caught me. “Come up here.”
He grabbed me by the waist, dough-hands and all, and whisked me atop the island. , it felt good to have his hands on me. My legs immediately parted for him to stand between them.
“Good morning, Crow.”
“Good morning… Father.”
He let out a little groan. “That should not have that effect on me.”
“What does it make you want to do?” I said it to tease, but I was almost afraid of his answer. The fierceness in his eyes, the way he was tugging at his lower lip with his incisors. The way he wasgripping my thigh so tight it made my flesh resemble the dough he’d just been manhandling. It was intense.
“I want to force you onto your knees.”
“Yes, Father?” I widened my legs a little more.
“I want to make you beg for my cock. For the taste of my cum.” He licked his lips as his gaze drew downward.
The hem of my nightie rose even higher as my legs opened, not yet exposing my pussy, but the little shield only increased the tension of the moment. I was dripping, and the exposure felt too cool. I needed his hands on me to warm me up.
“Please, Father, let me suck your cock. Let me taste you.”
He groaned again, kneading my thighs now, sliding me toward him until my pussy practically sheathed his rock hard length, still encased in his sweatpants. I felt the contact everywhere, from my scalp to my shoulder blades. All the way to my fingernails. The pleasure was already building.
A thin strap slipped off my shoulder, pulling the fabric with it, exposing my right nipple. It was hard and begging for attention. His mouth, fingers, anything. I was a ragdoll, wanton and desperate to feel his whole body against mine again. I didn’t know how I could make it back up the stairs.
I rocked myself against his cock. It was almost too much. I was already on the edge of coming and I didn’t want to come that fast.
“What else, Father?”
“Oh, Jesus Christ. It makes me want to… no, not want to…needto bend you over, lick you from behind, bury my face in your ass and eat you everywhere.”
A moan broke from my lips. Gus gripped harder. It was painful now. Suddenly, the pressure eased. His hands flew to waistband, tugging it down, pulling out his hard cock and stroking himself once, twice.
