19. Penn

Chapter 19

Penn

T he waiting room reeks of antiseptic and fear. The chairs are hard, the air too cold. I fidget, bouncing my leg, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t control. Reagan sits across from me, her eyes fixed on some imaginary point in the distance. God, she looks like she wants to slit someone’s throat. Maybe mine. I’d let her just to stop fucking sitting here, doing nothing and not knowing what the fuck is actually happening with my brother.

He looked like himself but also not laying in the bed and connected to all those fucking machines. I could barely fucking stand it.

“How long can this take?” Lincoln mutters, his voice a strained whisper. His fingers drum relentlessly on the armrest. The hospital’s fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over his pale face.

“Longer than we want,” Jeremiah replies, not looking up from his phone. He hasn’t stopped glancing at Oakley every few seconds, as if making sure she’s still there. As if she would go anywhere without him.

Ramsey paces near the vending machine, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “This place is a fucking torture chamber,” he says, glaring at the machine like it’s personally responsible for Graham’s accident.

“No, but I wish I was near mine,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. My stomach twists into knots, and the sterile smell makes me want to puke. I’d rather smell blood and vomit.

“Psycho,” Reagan’s voice cuts through the fog. Her tone is ice cold, meant to slice through my bullshit. “Can you stop fidgeting for one damn minute?”

“Why? Is it bothering you?” I shoot back, my sarcasm sharp enough to wound. Her eyes narrow, and for a second, I think she might actually pull that switchblade she always carries. I’m lashing out when she’s been nothing but fucking soft and kind since I walked out of the locker room earlier.

“Both of you, knock it off,” Jeremiah snaps, finally tearing his gaze away from Oakley. “This isn’t helping.”

“Like anything helps in this shithole,” Ramsey grumbles, kicking the base of the vending machine. It clatters loudly, making Oakley jump. She’s been silent, tears streaking her cheeks, clutching Iris’ hand like a lifeline.

“Ramsey, stop being a dick,” Lincoln warns. “You’re gonna get us thrown out.”

“Let them throw us out,” Ramsey challenges, crossing his arms. “I’m not leaving until I know he’s okay.”

“None of us are,” I say, standing up, feeling the tension coil tighter in my muscles. The hours drag on, each second heavier than the last, pressing down on us, suffocating. I can taste the metallic edge of my own frustration, bitter and unyielding.

“Anyone got any good jokes?” I ask, trying to break the oppressive silence. No one laughs. Figures. Even my charm can’t cut through this level of dread.

“Not now, Penn,” Reagan sighs, rubbing her temples. She’s exhausted, barely holding it together. But then again, aren’t we all?

“Just trying to lighten the fucking mood before I go postal,” I reply, sitting back down. The chair creaks under my weight, the sound echoing in the almost-empty room. The clock on the wall ticks loudly, each second mocking our impatience.

“Well, stop,” she snaps. “It’s not helping. Take your mommy issues and deal with them instead of defaulting to humor in fucked up situations.”

“Fine,” I mutter, folding my arms across my chest. “I’ll just sit here and stew in misery until I snap, and then we can deal with that fucking aftermath. And speak about my ‘mommy’ a-fucking-gain and you’ll end up just like her, wife or not.”

“Good plan,” Lincoln comments dryly, his eyes never straying from the double doors that we all watch like hawks.

“Great, glad you approve,” I retort, rolling my eyes. The energy in the room is ugly, filled with sludge just cloying at our senses to swallow us. And when it does, I have a feeling it’ll be foul.

“Think they’ll come out soon?” Oakley asks softly, her voice trembling. All eyes turn to her, and Jeremiah reaches out to squeeze her hand.

“Yeah, they will,” he assures her, though his voice lacks conviction. We all know he’s lying, but no one calls him out on it. We need to believe it, even if it’s a lie.

“Keep telling yourself that. Robert probably is offering to build them a new wing if he doesn’t make it,” I mutter under my breath, earning a glare from Reagan. She opens her mouth to say something but stops herself, biting her lip instead.

“Shut up, Penn,” Jeremiah says quietly, his tone more weary than angry. “Just... shut up.”

“Whatever,” I reply, slumping back in my seat. The waiting room feels like a prison, and we’re all serving life sentences.

Two hours pass by and I’m ready to climb the fucking falls. I have to get the fuck out of here. I move to get up from this hard as fuck chair when a noise has my head whipping to the side.

The double doors swing open and a doctor steps into the waiting room with everyone’s father of the year. Robert sneers at us before walking right past and away from the doctor. Instantly, we all snap to attention, eyes locked on the doctor like he’s the goddamn messiah. His white coat is pristine, but his face tells a different story—it’s drawn and tired, worn down by his day. Well, get the fuck in line doc because we’re all fucking tired and beat down. You ain’t fucking special.

“Family of Graham Blackwood?” His voice cuts through the air, sharp and cold.

“Yeah, we fucking are and you know it. Now tell me about my goddamn brother,” I answer, standing up. The others follow suit, a tense, quiet army ready for battle.

He takes a slow breath, almost like he’s stalling. “Graham has severe brain swelling. He’s sustained numerous broken bones, and…we have him in a coma. We explained all this to your father as he’s his next of kin.”

The words hit me in my sternum like a sledgehammer. My vision darkens at the edges, rage surging through my veins. Jeremiah clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. Lincoln swears under his breath, looking like he wants to punch something—anything. Ramsey just stares, mouth agape, as if he can’t process what he’s hearing.

“Fuck,” Jeremiah mutters, his voice cracking. He punches the armrest of his chair, the sound echoing in the sterile room.

“Fix it. Fix him or I swear to fucking Lucifer, God, and all the in-between’s you’ll wish it was you laying in a hospital bed,” I spit, stepping closer to the doctor. He takes a step back, eyes wide.

“Please,” he says, raising his hands defensively. “I understand this is difficult?—”

“Understand? You don’t understand shit,” I growl, feeling every muscle in my body coil tight. I itch to slice his throat and let his blood flow out if he opens his mouth one more fucking time to placate me. It’s only the touch of Reagan’s hand on my arm that keeps me from completely losing it. My eyes cut to her and narrow, but she doesn’t back down. Of course, she doesn’t.

“Chill, psycho. Not the place,” she whispers, her voice a thread holding me tethered to sanity.

“Goddamn it!” Lincoln shouts, kicking a chair, sending it crashing into the wall. Oakley shrinks back, tears streaming down her cheeks. Iris wraps her arms around her, both of them collapsing onto a chair.

“How long?” Ramsey asks, his voice barely above a whisper. “How long will he be like this?”

“There’s no way to know,” the doctor replies, his tone softening. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“Everything you can?” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, that’s just comforting. I’ll make sure I use that next time.”

“Penn, stop,” Reagan pleads, gripping my arm tighter .

“Stop what, Reagan? Stop caring about my brother?” I snap, turning to face her. Her eyes bore into mine.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says softly, but the damage is done. I pull away from her, pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Fuck this,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. The scent of antiseptic fills my nostrils, making me feel even more trapped. I want to smash something, break free from this hellish waiting room and the bleak reality it holds.

“Please, just try to stay calm,” the doctor urges again.

I turn and punch the wall at hearing the fucking word calm one more goddamn time. Pain shoots up my arm, but it’s nothing compared to the ache inside me, knowing my brother isn’t himself. The doctor jumps back, fear flashing across his face before scurrying back behind the ‘do not enter’ door.

“Penn, enough!” Lincoln barks, stepping between me and the doctor. “You’re not helping.”

“News flash, none of it is going to help.” I challenge, but I know he’s right.

A voice shouts from behind us, startling everyone. I turn to see Memphis Hartford striding toward us, his expression full of desperation. “Where’s Graham?”

“Who the hell are you?” Lincoln demands, stepping forward protectively.

“Memphis fucking Hartford,” I answer, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Graham’s…fuck buddy.”

“Christ Penn, have some tact,” Memphis says, ignoring Lincoln’s glare. “What happened to him?”

“Bike accident,” I say flatly. “He’s in a coma.”

“Fuck,” Memphis whispers, running a hand through his hair. “I need to see him. ”

“Not happening,” I growl, stepping in front of Memphis. “Family only.”

Memphis’s eyes flicker with something—guilt or perhaps fear, maybe both. “Look, Penn, this isn’t the time for your crazy bullshit. I need to see him.”

I take a step closer, the distance between us reduced to mere inches. The smell of stale aftershave clings to him. I tilt my head, eyes narrowing as I peer into his goddamn soul. “How the fuck did you even know he was here?”

His jaw tenses, and for a moment, he looks like a cornered animal. “I have my ways,” he mutters, eyes darting around the room, refusing to meet mine.

“That’s not an answer, you fucking junkie,” I growl, fists clenching at my sides.

Memphis’s gaze shifts, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “I…I just heard, alright? People talk.”

“People talk,” I mock, my voice a dangerous whisper as I lean in. “Bullshit. You were there, weren’t you? At the accident site.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares to the side, jaw clenched tight.

Reagan squeezes my arm tighter, which should be grounding but only makes me want to explode further. Memphis holds his ground, though; either he’s brave or too stupid to realize how close he is to getting knocked out.

“Tell me,” I demand again.

He hesitates. “I was just around.” His voice is shaky.

“Bullshit,” I spit back before swinging at him, feeling my fist connect with his jaw. My knuckles split open and finally I feel something.

A flurry of movement as Lincoln and Ramsey rush to hold me back while Memphis stumbles backward, eyes wide .

I barely register the nurse walking past us with a gurney until she snaps at me.

“Chill the fuck out,” she snaps, her voice grating on my damn nerves. “This is a hospital, not some goddamn cage match.”

I throw my hands up at the nurse before my mask falls over my face and I smirk and give Nurse Ratchet a shrug. “Sorry, emotions are high. My brother is in a coma, ya know?”

“Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed everyone has a loved one here. If you don’t calm down, security will drag your ass out of here!” the nurse yells over her shoulder as she hurries away.

“Come on,” Reagan says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the hallway. Her touch is firm and unyielding. I can feel her nails sink into the wrist and I glance down at them before dragging my eyes up to her face. She smirks and shrugs and I hate her. I want to strangle her because the fact that she knows that I needed the pain, the reminder to ground me. I let her lead me away, my mind still reeling from the news.

“And just where are you taking me, hellfire?” I ask, following her down the labyrinthine hallways.

“Somewhere where you aren’t going to stab the doctor,” she answers, not looking back. We walk in silence, the only sounds being our footsteps on the linoleum.

Finally, we reach a small chapel. Reagan pushes the door open and ushers me inside. The air is cool and still, a stark contrast to the turmoil outside.

“Great,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe we can pray for a miracle. I’m sure I have a fuck ton of karma built up that the Almighty sky daddy will grant my wish.”

“Just shut up. ”

“Fine,” I mutter, slumping into a pew. “But don’t expect me to suddenly find God.”

“Would be a bit hypocritical of me,” she retorts, sitting beside me. The tension between us crackles, but for now, it’s enough just to sit in silence, letting the weight of the world press down on us.

I glance around the dimly lit chapel, its stained-glass windows casting muted colors across the polished wooden pews. The flickering candles at the altar throw erratic shadows, making the place look haunted. “Isn’t there supposed to be a priest or some shit here?” I mumble, my voice echoing in the emptiness.

Reagan snorts, a small sound that cuts through the silence. “It’s a chaplain, and he’s probably doing room visits right now.”

“Great,” I say with an exaggerated roll of my eyes. “Chaplain plantain. And here I was hoping to confess all my sins.”

“Not Catholic,” she says, her lips twitching into a wry smile. “This place is non-denominational.”

I lean back, letting my head rest against the cool wood of the pew. “You know way too much about this place. You got a secret past as a holy roller?”

She shrugs, looking away. Her profile is bathed in the shifting colors from the stained glass, making her look almost ethereal. “I’ve spent some time in places like this years ago.”

For a moment, her words hang heavy between us. The chapel feels like it’s closing in, and I want to know why the fuck she’s spent time in hospitals and chapels and everything fucking else.

A sudden urge to break the tension makes me blurt out, “Ever thought about fucking in a confessional? Like a ready-made glory hole. ”

Her laugh is sharp but genuine, cutting through my dark thoughts like a knife through butter. “Again, this isn’t a Catholic chapel, you fucking pervert.”

“Fine then,” I say, throwing up my hands in mock defeat. “No pious fantasies for me. Still, the glory hole could do it for me.”

Reagan rolls her eyes at me, but I can see the hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. “You know, it’s either fight or fuck with you. Ever since we crossed that line, it’s like sex is the main thing on your mind.”

I snort, shifting closer to her on the wooden pew. The scent of old wood and burning candle wax mingles with her mint and eucalyptus scent. “I’ve always been this way, hellfire. Don’t flatter yourself thinking you’ve escalated it. Horny is just my baseline.”

She shakes her head, but she doesn’t pull away when I slide my hand between her thighs. My fingers toy with the frayed edges of the holes in her jeans, tracing light circles on her skin. The chapel around us hums with a quiet reverence, but inside me, chaos is running free.

My eyes drill into hers. “If Graham dies…if they tell me he’s not going to wake up or walk out of this hospital, I’ll fucking lose it. You’re my wife, so you can’t say shit about fuck when it comes to what I do next.” My voice is low, dangerous, swimming in the depths of rage and despair.

She scoffs, but it’s bitter and tight. “When have I ever given you the impression I’m going to cry to the law about any-fucking-thing?” Her eyes burn with something fierce and untamed.

We stare at each other in silence, the weight of our words pressing down on us. The light on her face now makes her look wilder, more dangerous. And it draws me in like a moth to a flame. My obsession with fire might finally have a match because my obsession with Reagan Goddamn Blackwood is battling for the top fucking spot.

Reagan breaks the silence first, her voice softer now. “Look, Graham’s your brother, Penn. We do whatever we have to protect our siblings or seek vengeance for them.” Her tone is cool and composed, but there’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “You’ll get no judgment from me on how you do that, but you need to keep your wits about you. Make sure you cover your tracks. You don’t look good in orange and I’m not a wife who’s going to stand by while you do a bid.”

I look at her, like really look at her. Her eyes are fierce, but there’s a sadness there too, buried deep under layers of anger and resolve. Her lips are set in a determined line, and I feel something shift inside me. It’s not just attraction or obsession anymore. It’s something rawer, more visceral.

My hand moves almost on its own as I reach out and grab her arm, hauling her into my lap. For a split second, she resists. Her body tensed like a coiled spring ready to snap, but then she melts into me.

I don’t give her a chance to say anything else before I crash my lips against hers. It’s not gentle or sweet; it’s raw and consuming.

Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting into my skin through the fabric of my shirt as she kisses me back just as fiercely. Every ounce of rage and fear inside me channels into this moment, this connection that feels like both our salvation and our damnation.

Reagan pulls back slightly, her forehead resting against mine as we both struggle to catch our breath. “You’ve got your demons,” she whispers, her voice rough around the edges. “So do I. Maybe they’ll cancel each other out. ”

I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to meet my gaze again. “Or maybe they’ll fucking destroy us,” I growl.

A dark smile curls on her lips. “Maybe,” she agrees, unflinching.

Without warning, she sinks down to her knees in front of me, the action itself laced with defiance and submission. The way she can switch between both is so goddamn hot. Reagan’s eyes meet mine, daring me to stop her as she unbuckles my pants with practiced ease. I should tell her to stop, but I really don’t give a fuck.

“You’ve been…decent to me, Penn,” she purrs, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders as she looks up at me. “I guess now it’s my turn to give the monster a little attention.”

She unzips my jeans, and her hand reaches in, and I feel her nails scrape down my length before she pulls me out.

“Fuck, Reagan,” I groan.

“Be a good boy and shut up and enjoy it,” she snaps at me, and I bare my teeth at her. My wife is full of barbed wire and razor blades, and I love that she’s not some very demure, very cutesy person.

She doesn’t give me a chance to protest, even if I had been inclined to. Reagan’s warm, wet mouth engulfs my cock, her tongue swirling around the head, then teasing the underside before she takes me in deeper. Her hands grip my thighs, nails digging in as she bobs her head up and down, her soft moans vibrating through me.

“Fuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth, my hands fisting in her hair as she takes more of me, her lips and tongue working in tandem, exploring every inch of my length. The sight of her on her knees, servicing me in this sacred space, should be blasphemous, but all I can think about is how fucking hot it is.

Reagan pulls back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to my cock as she smirks up at me. “Tell me you don’t enjoy this, psycho. I’ll wait.”

The challenge in her eyes is clear, and I can’t help but smirk back.

“You’ve got a death wish, haven’t you, my ray of hellfire wife?” I growl, before roughly grabbing the back of her head and pressing her face into my crotch. “Suck my dick. Show me how much you love it.”

Reagan moans, the sound of her finding pleasure in this undoing me. She doesn’t protest as I force her to take more of me. My eyes roll back in my head, pain and pleasure coursing through my veins straight to my dick, making it throb with need. I wrap one hand around her throat, not squeezing, but applying just enough pressure to let her know who’s in control.

“That’s it, baby,” I groan, my voice low and guttural. “Suck your husband’s cock like the good little wife you are.”

Her moans grow louder, her cheeks flushing as she takes me deeper, her tongue swirling around the head, teasing pre-cum from the slit. I can feel my balls tightening, the pressure building, but I’m not ready to let go yet. I want to draw this out, to brand this moment into both our minds.

“Yes, that’s it,” I hiss, my grip on her throat tightening marginally. “You like it when I talk dirty, don’t you, my filthy slutty wife?”

Reagan moans her agreement, her hands fisting my pants as she takes me even deeper, her throat working around my length. I can’t take it anymore. I don’t want to hold back any longer.

I feel her grip my balls, rolling them around in the palm of her hand as her nails drag across the sensitive skin. Fuck me, I’ve never had someone play with them like that before. The way she’s slurping and sucking on my dick has saliva rolling down my shaft, and I feel it spread between her fingers and my sac.

She never breaks contact as she keeps bobbing up and down on my length until I feel the wet tips of her fingers glide across the thin skin behind my balls that has them contracting toward my body.

“Goddamn, that feels fucking good. You’re gonna make me cum.” She hums in response which feels like a vacuum on my cock but then I’m jolted out of it when her hand swipes across my tight asshole, spreading her spit around the ring.

“I’m going to cum, baby,” I warn her, my voice a hoarse whisper. “Swallow every drop, understand?”

Instead of responding, Reagan redoubles her efforts, working her mouth and throat like a pro. I shoot my load down her waiting throat, my entire body tensing as I spill myself into her mouth. She moans around my cock; the vibrations sending me over the edge again and again, until I’m spent, my body a limp, quivering mess.

Reagan pulls off my dick, her lips glistening with spit and cum. Her eyes have that wicked glint, the one that tells me she’s not quite done. Before I can catch my breath, she grabs my face and crashes her mouth onto mine.

The taste of myself is unexpected, and then I feel it—her tongue pushing my cum back into my mouth. The sensation drives me wild. I grip her face, pulling her closer, our kiss turning desperate and feral. I spit the cum back into her mouth, my hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp.

“Swallow it,” I growl, my voice rough. “Every. Last. Drop.”

Her eyes flutter as she obeys, her throat working to swallow everything down. It’s filthy, it’s raw, and it’s impossibly hot.

“Good girl,” I murmur, loosening my grip on her neck. My other hand slides down her body, gripping her ass before flipping us around. She lands on the pew, looking up at me with her pupils blown wide.

“Now it’s your turn,” I say, dropping to my knees, intending to return the favor because I’m a fucking gentleman to my wife and shit. But Reagan shakes her head, those eyes narrowing in challenge.

“Penn, no. You got me off earlier. It’s fine.”

“Fine? You think I give a damn about ‘fine’?” I retort, inching closer. “You know I don’t like being told no.”

“Well, tough shit,” she snaps back, crossing her arms. “I started my period at the game earlier.”

“Is that right?” I smirk, thinking back. “Guess when I fingered you, it knocked things loose, huh?”

“You’re such a fucking weirdo,” she huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

“Well, call me fucking baptized by the blood,” I say, locking eyes with her. “Because I’m about to eat your pussy, and the thought of getting covered in your blood in any way I can has my cock jumping to attention again already.”

Reagan’s eyes widen just a fraction before they flick downwards. Sure enough, my cock’s already twitching, stiffening as it hangs out of my pants.

“Jesus, Penn,” she mutters, shaking her head like she can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. But she doesn’t stop me; hell, she barely even tries.

“Yeah, Jesus ain’t got nothing to do with this,” I smirk. My fingers hook into the waistband of her jeans, yanking them down along with her panties. The scent of her arousal mixed with the iron tang of blood hits me like a wave. It’s primal, raw, and it only fuels my hunger.

I stop to pull her fucking bitch boots off so I can pull the fabric blocking me from getting up close and personal with my wife’s bleeding cunt. Offending fucking items.

“Fuck, you’re wet,” I murmur, slipping my hand between her thighs. She’s trembling, but not from fear. My fingers part her slick folds, seeking out the string but finding nothing.

“Where’s the goddamn tampon string? It’s like trying to fucking find Waldo,” I growl, frustration settling in deep. Reagan bites her lip, a smile curving her mouth.

“Not wearing one,” she breathes.

“Then what the fuck—” My fingers delve deeper, searching for an answer.

“Figure it out, genius,” she taunts, her tone laced with challenge.

“Goddamn, you are one complicated woman,” I mutter, feeling around until I find something foreign. My mind races, and realization dawns.

“You’re using a cup, aren’t you?” I inquire, a dark grin spreading across my face. Reagan nods, her cheeks flushed.

I slip my two fingers further inside her, feeling around until I find the loop. With a gentle tug, the menstrual cup slides out, half-filled with dark, viscous blood.

“Like a shot glass, just ready for me,” I chuckle darkly, lifting the cup toward my lips.

“That’s disgusting. Don’t you dare,” Reagan snaps, her eyes flashing with revulsion.

“Why not? It’s all you,” I smirk, bringing the cup closer.

“Don’t,” she hisses, reaching out and slapping the cup from my hand, her fingertips grazing the side of my face. That sting, that brief connection, sends a jolt through me .

“Brat,” I growl, grabbing her legs and draping them over my shoulders. Her resistance only fuels me, makes me want her more. I bend down, my breath warm against her skin, and dive in.

“Fuck,” she gasps as my tongue finds her clit swirling around it with maddening precision. The taste of her blood mixes with her juices, a heady, metallic sweetness that drives me wild. I lick, suck, and bite every part of her, reveling in her moans, her gasps, the way she writhes beneath me.

“Penn,” Reagan pants, her hands clawing at my hair, pulling me closer. Every sound she makes, every tremor of her body, pushes me further into madness.

“Keep going,” I command, though it’s more for me than for her. I need this, need her like this. My fingers join my mouth, pressing in and out of her, feeling her tighten around me. The smell of blood and sex fills the space, a potent reminder of our depravity.

“More,” she whispers, her voice breaking, and I oblige, losing myself in the taste, the feel, the overwhelming sensation of consuming her completely.

“Holy shit,” Reagan pants, her nails digging into my scalp as I devour her. My tongue flicks her clit, fingers plunging in and out of her soaked pussy. Her moans are manic, each one pushing me further, harder, deeper.

“Penn, oh God,” she gasps, hips bucking against my face. Her legs tremble over my shoulders, every muscle tightening, as her thighs become my new fucking earmuffs. I can feel her getting close, can sense the wave about to break.

“Cum for me, wifey,” I growl against her center, the vibrations making her cry out. I bite down gently, then suck hard, my fingers curling inside her to hit that perfect spot.

“Shit, yes!” she screams, her body convulsing, back arching off the pew. Her orgasm crashes through her, waves of pleasure rippling from her core. I’m relentless, milking every drop, savoring every second until she’s a quivering mess above me.

Finally, when she’s spent and breathless, I pull away. My mouth and fingers are coated in pink-tinged cum, and I leisurely lick my lips, catching every last bit of her essence. “Delicious,” I murmur, eyes locked on hers, the predatory glint still there.

“You’re sick,” she pants, but there’s a glimmer of sick admiration in her eyes.

“And so are you. Don’t act pious now, not when we both know you love it.” I smirk, standing up and adjusting myself. My dick is still rock hard as I force him back into my jeans. “This was a good timeout, but we’ve got shit to handle.”

She rolls her eyes but starts pulling her panties and jeans back on. “You always know how to ruin a moment, don’t you?”

“Part of my charm,” I reply, tucking my cock away with a wince. “Come on. Time to face everyone and tell them about my come to Jesus talk I just had.” I sling an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as we head out of the chapel.

“Can we at least stop at the bathroom or water fountain so we can clean your face?” she asks, touching my lips.

“No, let them ask,” I say, grinning wickedly. “I dare them.”