in the middle of the night, it pees

The stack of paper in front of me didn’t seem to be getting any smaller. I had foolishly volunteered to help one Clergy member with their workload, and then another asked, and another… All these tests would take me days. Devotion wasn’t easy.

Someone was walking toward the classroom, whistling a tune that echoed through the empty halls. I tried to ignore the sound as it drew nearer, attempting to decipher someone’s awful handwriting. In my peripheral vision I saw someone walk by the door, then heard their shoes scrape to a halt.

Glancing up, I saw them reverse back to the open doorway. He leaned against the frame and folded his arms across his chest.

“Cześć, siostra.” A voice low, smooth, and heavily accented breezed from a casual smile.

“Good evening,” I glanced at his vestments, “Vicar.”

“It is a lovely evening outside and yet I see a lovely woman surrounded by stacks of paper,” he said. I rolled my eyes and looked back to the awful essay in my hands. He came closer, of course.

“Forgive me, siostra,” he reached a gloved hand over the desk, “I think perhaps we have gotten off on the wrong foot.”

“’We?’” I scoffed.

“I,” he corrected himself, his hand still extended,“I would like to make a better impression, perhaps even your acquaintance.”

“That won’t be necessary,” I kept my eyes on my work. Plenty of young men in the Ministry treated this place as a playground, and sadly, many of my sisters did nothing to dissuade them.

“Allow me to introduce myself, at least,” he wiggled his fingers at me, still hanging over the desk.

I sighed. I hated giving into these overgrown children, but he seemed persistent, and sometimes a tiny act of concession would get a man like this out of your hair. I reached to shake his hand and took a glance at his face, then froze.

Ah, shit.

Looking down at me were the mismatched eyes of the Emeritus line, just above an amused, faintly smug smile.

“Terzo,” he took my hand, bending to kiss my fingers. He unnecessarily added, “Emeritus,” before his lips touched my skin, and that smugness was no longer so faint. “And you, my lady, are…?”

“I didn’t know you were in Kraków.” In theory the Emeritus sons were to be treated as equals and not given special privileges, but this one had the cocky air of someone who’d never been meaningfully denied anything in his life. Even if he had possessed an ounce of humility about it, his family name demanded a minimum level of politeness.

“For a few days now,” he said. I needed to get back into the more gossipy social circles. I somehow hadn’t even heard about an Emeritus arriving.

He hadn’t released my hand, and he now gave it a playful tug. “Sister, would you not much rather go for a nice stroll around the grounds?” He waved dismissively at the stacks of tests, “This cannot be fun for you.”

I pulled my hand from his as nicely as I could and forced a polite smile, “No thank you, Vicar. I am very busy.”

“With this?” he scoffed, “You would rather do this?”

“I appreciate the invitation.”

“Surely this cannot be. I am devastated to be lower than paperwork in the eyes of a beautiful woman.”

“Perhaps you might find solace in prayer, Vicar,” I said pointedly.

“How could I confess such shame to our Lord? It is unthinkable.”

“Does He not come to us in our darkest moments, when we are most in need of His light?” My patience was rapidly wearing thin.

“Ah, so true, sister,” he said, nodding extremely thoughtfully, “You are clearly wise beyond your years. Perhaps we could-”

“Do you not understand a refusal?” A part of me knew that the favor of an Emeritus would probably be worth the annoyance, but his startled eyes more than made up for it in that moment. He held up his hands in surrender and backed away.

“Apologies for bothering you, siostra,” he said. Still cocky, but a little subdued now at least. He inclined his head in a slight bow, “I wish you a pleasant evening.”

“And you,” I looked back to my work, pretending not to notice him lingering in the doorway.

An older sister pulled me aside the next morning and told me I’d been requested as a Polish tutor. Terzo Emeritus had asked for me specifically.

He greeted me with another, “Cześć,” when he strolled in almost ten minutes late - addressing me so casually, as though we were close friends already.

“Vicar,” I greeted him stiffly, “I was told you need help with your Polish.”

“Indeed, indeed.” He sat down at the side of the table, facing me rather than the materials I’d brought. He crossed his legs, smoothed his cassock, and gave me a dazzling smile. I had the feeling I’d be seeing that a lot.

“Polish has been difficult for me. What luck that it is one of the things you teach, eh?”

“You seem to speak it well enough.”

He gestured dismissively, “I get along,” then moved his hand toward me, tapping the desk close to my arm, “I know my accent is no good, though.”

“It is thick,” I said, happy to cut him a little before I realized saying the word “thick” around someone like him was probably unwise. I slid a sheet of paper toward him before he could jump on an innuendo. “You will take this assessment first. I need an idea of what you know.”

“You could just ask,” he rested his chin on his gloved hand with another wide, breezy smile. “Is that not a better way to get to know someone?”

“I will come back in 20 minutes,” I stood and his face fell.

“You are leaving?”

“You need to concentrate,” I tried not to laugh at the disappointment so plain on his face.

“Okay, okay,” he sighed. As I was about to shut the door he called out, “Sister?”

“Yes?”

As if I had any doubts this was anything but a ruse to keep me in the same room as him, he said, “...I do not have a pen."

“Will you not just tell me why?”

A week of Terzo Emeritus had me seriously considering requesting to move to another branch of the Ministry. We were at the end of our fourth tutoring session and I’d just refused to spend my free time with him for the eleventh time.

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” I started gathering my things.

“True, but I am asking for one anyway,” he pouted, his usually smug expression unhappily clouded. I was starting to think he truly hadn’t ever been rejected.

“Why do you keep asking?” I sighed, “There are hundreds of other people here who would love to show you around Kraków on a Friday night.”

“They do not interest me,” he said.

“Instead you would rather bother me.” I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder, “Good night, vicar.”

“Sister,” he said, his voice tinged with a whine, “Wait, sister!” He sprang from his seat and shut the door before I could leave, sliding his body in front of me. This was the first time I’d let him stand so close to me, and both of us realized at the same time that I was taller. Not by much, but enough that he stood up straighter, a sudden blush coloring his cheeks.

“Please,” he said, “will you please just give me a reason?”

“You…” I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself, “you want to know, Vicar?”

“Please,” he repeated, “Yes.”

“Let’s start with the fact that you think it’s okay to keep a woman locked in a room with you.”

He at least had the sense to look embarrassed as he moved away from the door.

“You don’t seem to understand rejection. You don’t take no for an answer,” I started counting on my fingers, “You bother me when I’m working. You bother me in my free time-”

“I cannot say hello if I see you in the hallway?”

“You followed me from Mass all the way back to my room!”

“I am just trying to be friendly!”

“You are too young for me,” I counted my count, loudly, “A boy your age is a waste of my time-”

“Boy?”

“You waste my time with tutoring you don’t need-”

“My accent-”

“You speak the language fine, Terzo,” I snapped, “You don’t need my help. You threw your family name around to ask for me when I made it very clear I wanted to be left alone. You are a child.” He’d stopped protesting, his brow knitting closer together.

“And lastly,” I stepped a little closer to make sure he heard me, and to make him look up at me, “People talk, you know. I’ve been hearing so very much about how you spend your nights here.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a hint of a smile.

“I didn’t even have to eavesdrop. I could probably have walked by any sibling at random and heard more than enough about you to know I’m not interested.”

That faint smile faded, and after a moment he softly said, “I am not a child,” not denying anything else. He looked away. “I am twenty-eight years old.”

As I left, I simply said, "You should act like it."

The sham tutoring sessions were canceled. Beyond a stiff exchange of pleasantries at Mass, I only saw him from a distance for weeks, always pointedly looking away from me. It appeared I’d finally gotten through to him.

Then one Saturday night, he knocked on my door.

“Ah, siostra,” he said pleasantly, as though he were surprised to find me behind my own door, “how lovely to see you again.”

“Ter- Vicar.”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he was speaking in English for some reason as he gestured vaguely around, leaning off-kilter, “Thought we might- we could have a little talk, sì?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” I moved to shut the door and he put his hand against it quickly enough that his black leather glove audibly smacked against it.

“Sorry,” he winced, “I know it is- you do not like that. But I...I would like to eh, speak with you. Important.”

He was having a little trouble keeping his eyes steady on mine, a little more staying steady on his feet.

“If it’s important then it can wait until you’re sober.”

“Sister,” he groaned, dramatically throwing his head back, “will you please just listen to me? It will only be a few minutes. Please? I will leave, I swear to you.”

Drunkards so often attract a particular kind of melancholy when alone, and the intensity in his eyes signaled its approach more loudly than a church bell. Knowing his penchant for melodrama, the possibility of an Emeritus son openly weeping at my door suddenly seemed very real.

I sighed, “Fine,” and opened the door.

He stepped past me with a wine-scented "Grazie," and stood unsteadily in the middle of the room as he looked around.

“So what is it then?” I sat on the edge of my bed and crossed my arms.

“I like your room,” he said absentmindedly, “You’ve made it very cozy.”

“Vicar,” I warned.

“Sorry. I…” he rocked his head side to side as he searched for the words, “it is difficult for me to focus sometimes, you know?”

“I’m aware.”

He grinned for a moment at that, then approached and sat heavily at the end of my bed.

“Hey-”

“I have been walking for hours. My feet hurt,” he frowned, “This is not- I am not trying to do anything. Just sitting. If I were trying something I would take my feet off. Shoes. Take my shoes off.” He rubbed at his forehead in frustration and muttered something to himself.

“I am sorry, sorella- eh, siostra, for bothering you. Those other times. And tonight. You were right, I do not take rejection well.” He gave me a lopsided grin, “I am unused to it. At least from women.”

“Thank you for apologizing. If that’s all-”

“It’s not,” he said quickly, “I got- tonight I was rejected again, in a way. And it made me think. For the hours I was walking around.”

He looked away from me, “I am thinking perhaps I am a little childish. And perhaps I am...a boy.” His voice dropped low and quiet as he continued, “I do not wish to be this, you know? I...you know my family. I will probably be Papa some day. Papa has to be a man.”

It was the most serious I’d ever seen him, staring at the carpet with a furrowed brow. And the first time I’d ever seen him use his brain for something productive. As productive as the wine would allow, anyway.

“Okay…” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Well, I’m...glad you are thinking about these things.”

“Tonight I met a woman,” he said, “She took me to her flat, and when we…” He trailed off, then finally faced me again, “She laughed at me.” He didn't seem sad or angry or even ashamed; it was like there was an insidious riddle in front of him that had to be solved. The fact that he looked more concerned than anything was what kept me from laughing in his spoiled face.

“She told me, ‘No no, Terzo, you’re doing fine,’ but once she stopped laughing she…” he looked away from me again, “she looked bored.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“’You’re doing fine,’ sì,” he laughed bitterly to himself, “So fine I actually saw her checking the time.”

With that, a delighted laugh did escape me – I couldn’t help it. I slapped my hand to my mouth, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I would find it funny too, sister,” he said, then smiled ruefully, “I think that is the first time I have made you laugh.” It was.

“Vicar,” I said, more gently than I’d ever spoken to him, “I’m sorry you had a...a bad night, but why are you telling me this?”

He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, then slid to his knees in front of me.

“Sister,” his eyes were squeezed shut as the most pleasing words he'd ever spoken to me tumbled from his lips, “you are right. I am a boy. I...I mistook spending a lot of time in a lot of people’s beds as being...eh...good at it.” He inhaled shakily.

Hopeful eyes looked up at me through long, dark eyelashes.

“Teach me,” he said softly.

My mouth opened immediately, ready to form a definitive no, then I paused. His mismatched eyes weren’t drunkenly wobbling around anymore; the flush across his face seemed more like one of embarrassment than of wine. If this was some kind of elaborate ruse, it was an odd one.

As the quiet stretched between us he started fidgeting, then sighed.

“Sorry, sorella. Siostra,” he mumbled, wobbling to his feet, “I will not bother you again.”

Before I could think, I heard myself asking, “What would this entail?” He had started toward the door but he paused. “You had hours to think about this, right?” I asked.

“I did,” he said slowly.

“So what do you…”

“Eh, well,” he chewed his lip for a moment, “I thought you could...teach me to please you.” The blush that had been fading bloomed again. “At eh, your own pace, sì?”

“My own pace, sì,” I echoed, considering.

“I am impatient,” his lips quirked into a smile, “and I always rush things. I have never learned to take my time. Or someone else’s.” He walked back toward me, awkward again, “Sister, if it-”

I held up a hand to stop him, “I will think about it, if-,” I looked into his eyes to make sure I had his attention, “if you leave. Right now. Without another word.”

His mouth reflexively opened, then he gasped and shut it. He bit down on his lip and nodded, opened his mouth again, then just bit down on one of his fingers with an exasperated grumble. He looked at me apologetically, a little desperately, then waved goodbye with his other hand as he walked to the door.

“Vicar.”

He made a little “mm?” noise as he turned and his eyes widened with panic for a moment at the sound. I suppressed a laugh when he just fully flattened his palm against his mouth.

“Come see me tomorrow. I’ll give you an answer.”

He pointed down at the floor. Here?

“Here.”

He nodded enthusiastically and waved to me again as he left.

Unable to sleep, unable to do anything but weigh my options in the dark.

He had seemed earnest, and he was handsome enough. Lithe and lean and possessing a confident grace to his movements that drew the eye. The black paint around his eyes gave them an almost uncomfortable sense of depth, and sometimes when he would look at me all I would see was the single eye gleaming white. I thought of how his tongue would flick across his lips before they curved into an easy smile and felt a tingle.

Maybe he was very handsome, actually. And it had been a while…

When I opened the door he had his hand over his mouth again. He waggled his eyebrows at me and I laughed. His smile reached his eyes when he held up two fingers. He’d made me laugh twice now.

“You can talk.”

“Praise Lucifer,” he sighed, “Hardest twelve hours of my life.”

“Don’t even pretend you could keep quiet that long.”

“I could sleep for twelve hours after a night out.”

We sat across from one another at my tiny kitchen table, the silence only disrupted by the clink of his spoon as he stirred sugar into his tea.

“So-” we both started at the same time. He gestured for me to go first, “Please.”

"Did you mean what you said?"

"What I remember of it." He looked almost shy when he said, “I want to learn from you, siostra. And about you.”

“It won’t be fast,” I warned.

“You’ll do it then?” his face brightened hopefully.

“Will you be patient? Will you listen to me?”

“Yes, sister. Yes.” He reached a hand toward me, hesitantly touching my wrist, “I will try to be patient. I will be patient. I want to take my time. With you.”

“Good,” I said, thrilling at this more subdued and soft-spoken side he was revealing to me, “Then I agree.”

“Yes?” he grinned, seemingly in disbelief, and clasped my hand. “When?”

“Now.” My heart thudded when his eyes flicked to my bed. I tossed back the rest of my tea and waved toward the small, worn-out loveseat jammed in the corner of the room. “Come sit with me.”

He followed wordlessly. I could tell he was trying to not crowd me but the loveseat was tiny; impossible for two people to not be touching while sat in it. His leg was warm against mine while the other bounced restlessly.

“So,” I crossed my legs and leaned a little closer, “we’ll pretend you have taken me out on a date. You want to get into my bed: What do you do?”

“Em…” he thought for a moment, “I like the cinema for dates.” He put his arm over my shoulders and inched closer.

“You do this on a first date?” I nudged his hand.

“Of course,” he brushed his thumb across my arm, then grinned, “The girls aren’t always interested in the film, you know? If she leans in closer and looks at me a certain way I just…” he gently touched his fingers to my chin and tilted my lips toward his. His voice dropped lower as he drew near and said, “Easy.”

His mouth was inches from mine when I looked into his eyes. Even with the afternoon light shining through the thin windows, his eyes were unsettlingly shadowed at this distance. The eerie white eye stood out like a single coin at the bottom of a dark well, and as I stared a wave of goosebumps rushed over me.

I tried not to squirm and focused on keeping my voice steady as I said, “That’s not very patient.”

He shrugged, “Like I said, sometimes they do not want to really watch a movie either. And there is a lot you can do in a dark theater,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Ridiculous as he was, I had to ask: “Such as?”

He said, “Everything short of actually fucking,” with a smile and I felt myself blushing. He added, “Have not quite figured out how to do that in a room with other people yet.”

“But everything else?” I couldn’t help my curiosity, “With all those people around?”

“If someone is seated right next to you, no, but if you have some distance…” He rubbed my shoulder again, “easy enough to get a hand where you need it. Or a mouth.”

“People do that at the cinema?” I squirmed at the sudden ache settling between my legs. Sitting so close and feeling the heat of his body...I had underestimated how alluring he might be seated right next to me.

“I am surprised you did not know. Perhaps there are a few things I can teach you, sister.”

“Well...moving on,” I said, flustered and trying to get back on track, “We are on a date at the cinema, and I didn’t fall into this little trap of yours.”

“Trap?” he said indignantly.

“I am interested in the film.”

He waved dismissively, “Then we just watch the film.” After a moment he scowled, “It is not a trap, you know-”

“Do you even converse with these ‘girls?’”

“Of course. Most women- most people - find me very charming, you know.”

“Mm,” I said, “Most. So what do you talk about with these- wait, are you actually taking girls on dates or grown women?”

“Em...young...women?”

When I raised my eyebrows he flushed a little and said, “Who am I to say no to a beautiful girl?” “You are – allegedly - a grown man,” I said pointedly, “Twenty-eight years of age, you told me.”

“And?”

“And how many women have you been with who are your age? Or older?”

“Some,” he said, a little sourly.

“And the woman who laughed at you was...?”

“Older,” said with a tartness surpassing any member of the citrus family.

“And these young women? The ones who most likely haven’t had many men in their bed?”

“No complaints,” he said with his usual cockiness, though his tone still seemed more than a little bruised.

I leaned in close and flicked his ear, “Because they don’t know any better, Vicar.”

“I wish you would call me Terzo.”

“Our relationship is strictly professional at the moment, Vicar.”

“For now,” he said, brushing his thumb against my shoulder again. When he smiled at me I understood why so many of the young women of Kraków swooned over him.

I was beginning to understand it very well.

On a miserable, rainy afternoon he knocked on my door, bearing a small satchel.

“Siostra,” he greeted me with the smile I’d found myself looking forward to seeing more and more.

“What’s all this?”

“I thought we could do, eh...inside rain activities? I do not know the word in Polish.”

“Rainy-day?”

“Sì, sì, that.” He sat down and pulled out a sketchpad, followed by a box of well-used pencils.

“I don’t think I have anything interesting to draw,” I frowned, looking around and thinking, then I walked to my bookshelf and pulled out an old encyclopedia of the animals of the world.

“This has lots of photos. And illustrations.” I handed it to him and he flipped through appraisingly.

“Ah,” he tapped his finger on a page, “Birds will be good, they are colorful. You pick a page for us.” He smiled up at me, his sweet, guileless expression a reminder of just how innocent he could look. I no longer minded that he appeared so boyish; I was rather starting to like it.

I propped the book up on a chair so we could both see. We had to sit very close to both have a good view and be able to draw. Not that it impacted me much; I couldn’t draw to save my life.

For once he wasn’t dedicating all his energy to flirting with me and instead focused on something neutral. His gaze flicked intently back and forth between the book and his paper as his tongue poked at the corner of his mouth. It was a habit of his I didn't see often; only on the very rare occasions he was giving something his full attention.

“Do you have a favorite bird, siostra?” he asked, breaking a long silence. I finished coloring in a particularly sad-looking beak as I thought.

“Magpies. They’re clever. And blackbirds. What about you?”

“I like the doves around the abbey,” he said absentmindedly, “There are some nesting near my window and I hear them sometimes in the morning.” He made a few more strokes on his drawing, then set down his pencil and stretched.

“Show me yours and I will show you mine?” he grinned. We had been hiding our paper from one another, and I turned mine around with a wince.

“I am not an artist,” I said defensively when he bit back a smile.

“I see that,” he snickered, “Em, I mean to say-”

“Oh, shut it.”

“You are a kind of artist,” his lips were twitching as he held back his laughter.

“Let’s see yours, then,” I sighed. When he revealed it, I narrowed my eyes in suspicion. “Did you pick an activity you knew you’d be good at?"

“Siostra, please. That you would accuse me of such underhanded behavior-”

“So yes?”

“Of course,” he nodded happily. He handed me the drawing to inspect, cozily settling in next to me when I leaned back against the cushions. It wasn’t masterful by any means, but for something he spent less than an hour on, it was beautiful. A scarlet macaw, he said it was; all its brilliant plumage lovingly realized with a careful touch.

“And yours is…” he looked back and forth between my drawing and the book.

“A parakeet,” I grumbled.

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Yes, I...I see the resembla-”

“Shut it!”

He snickered again and put his arm around my shoulders, the first time he'd done so since our conversation about what he got up to in theaters. He set the encyclopedia in his lap and we flipped through the pages, alternately admiring the beauties of the natural world and immaturely giggling at the more suggestively-named animals. As we talked we got closer, and when we lapsed into silence, closer still.

It felt natural. Being with him like this.

When the time came for him to leave he snapped up my drawing and tucked it carefully into his satchel, leaving the scarlet macaw for me.

“I am sentimental, sister,” he said when I protested, “and I would like a memento of such a nice day spent with you.”

Three days later he knocked on my door again and presented, with an exaggeratedly genteel bow, a bird feather he’d found.

“Black and white, like your magpies.”

This time when he smiled at me I couldn’t ignore my heart thumping, and when we sat together and his arm went around me again, I was the first to move closer. We were idly chatting as I twirled the feather in my fingers, and when we the conversation lapsed, he reached for my hand.

With a soft voice, he said, “I like this. Our time together.”

I murmured, “Me too,” as he wove his fingers between mine. When he looked at me the way he did now, he didn’t appear so young and simple. With his eyes half closed and his hair out of place just so, “handsome” felt inadequate a descriptor: He was beautiful.

He looked at my lips, then away, restlessly bouncing his leg.

Putting on my most innocent voice, I asked, “Something the matter?” and he gave me a tart smile - the other expression of his I’d grown to like. He said nothing, only squeezed my hand for a moment.

It had been over two weeks since our little arrangement had been enacted, but I still wanted to make him wait. Not only because the peevish little faces he made at me had yet to lose their charm, but because a flicker of doubt remained, and I was curious as to how much I could prolong it before he gave up. Every time he knocked on my door, it seemed less like he was visiting me solely to get into my bed, but...even knowing how impatient he was, I also knew he could be very determined when he wanted. Maybe determined enough to pretend for this long; to feign interest in matters beyond getting his dick inside me.

It was easy enough to push those thoughts aside, as so much of me was simply enjoying the anticipation. And the attention.

When his eyes would linger on my lips I would find myself looking at his, wondering when they would meet. And wanting them to, more with each passing day. I wanted to make him wait, yes, but every time he was around me - so very, very close to me - the warmth he radiated might as well have been a fire for how it threatened to burn across my skin.

When I touched my fingers to his chin and turned him to face me, he stilled. Those lips looked so soft; welcoming as a lover’s arms.

I wanted him to wait, but I had been so patient already. I wanted to kiss him and let that fire burn through me. I wanted to know what he tasted like.

The loose strands of hair around his face, the same ones that arced so elegantly to his cheekbones and across his eyes, were calling for my touch. I pushed those threads back to join the rest of his inky black crown, continuing behind his ear and down his neck. His eyes closed with a soft sigh and he sat in bliss as I gently combed his hair back with my fingers, shivering when I traced his ear and moved to the fine, sharp line of his jaw.

Just grazing my fingers against his lips, I asked, “What are you thinking?” as though I couldn’t guess.

He breathed out a little laugh, a little puff of air so warm against my hand, and said, “You could say I am cursing my newfound patience, siostra.”

“Oh?” I drew closer and his eyes opened, locking intently onto mine.

“I am trying to think of anything but what I would usually do right now,” his voice had dropped low; husky and almost a whisper, “when someone is this close to me. What I want to do.”

When I finally kissed him his whole body immediately relaxed, and I felt how tense he’d been, how rigidly he’d been holding himself. Soft sounds came from both of us as our lips met, pulled into the other’s lungs and blood and bones - the other’s touch sweetened by each day of waiting.

He pulled me closer and my hand fell from his cheek, drifting along his collarbone down to his chest. Under my palm and even through his shirt, I could feel how full it was with a racing, pounding heartbeat. I’d wanted to make this short and sweet, just to satiate myself and give him a taste to ensure he came back for more, but when his tongue slipped against mine with a soft moan I couldn’t remember why I was prolonging all this in the first place.

Maybe when it came to the bedroom he needed help, but here at least he knew what he was doing. Here, he knew how to take his time, even as our needs came more urgently. His hand slid from my shoulder to the back of my neck, smoothly working leatherclad fingers into my hair as he pulled me more to him. I let him bring me closer, willing to be consumed - wanting him to devour as much of me as he could- let him drape me more and more over his body as he started leaning away, slowly moving me more on top of him. When his hand slid to my thigh, I finally, reluctantly had to stop him. I wanted it, wanted him, but I couldn’t make it that easy for him. No matter how badly I wanted to. Which was very.

We were both panting when I finally pulled away. His hand lingered on my thigh, serving - even through the glove - as a warm reminder of what was available to me right now, at this very moment. In front of me.

He looked intently into my eyes, lips parted, breathlessly looking for any sign of hesitation that he could weasel around, before flicking his tongue along the inside of his mouth and taking a deep breath.

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“Yea. Yes,” I said, hoping my trembling wasn’t noticeable. I cleared my throat and said, “Tomorrow.”

He smiled at me; hopeful, hungry. Just a little smug.

The sun had long gone down. He’d never stayed so late – I’d never allowed him to, and now, enclosed in his arms, I wasn’t sure I’d allow him to leave. 

The dam had sprung a leak, and one would think I had no interest in keeping things under control, the way I acted around him. He was coming to see me almost every day now, and each day I permitted more, let things go a little further. His hand was a permanent fixture on my leg, resting on my knee with his fingertips just slipping under the hem of my skirt, brushing against my skin and sending a thrill through me with every movement. Every wanton moan and whimper of mine, he would echo, his hand tightening ever so slightly, reminding me where he was. As if I could forget.

There were days when I was happy to let him lead us, when submitting to his eager and enthusiastic hunger was more enticing than pushing back. Anywhere my hand strayed would go rigid as he tamped down on his base urges, melancholic whines easily drawn out anywhere my fingers kneaded into taut muscle. Yesterday had been such a day, with him nearly on top of me by the time I stopped things, barely, with his face buried in the crook of my neck. 

With one arm around me and the other sliding up my thigh, he kept me desperately close today, trying to subtly move underneath me. His mouth broke away from mine, trailing greedy kisses along my neck, moaning softly into my skin, and then I felt his hips twitching toward my body. 

I could just barely see him thrusting uselessly into the air in time with his needy sighs, and when he thrust again I felt myself clenching with equal impotence.

Let the dam burst, I thought, a little madly,

“Siostra?” His eyes widened when I moved onto my knees and across his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately went to my waist, even as he shifted uncomfortably beneath me, cheeks suddenly flushed red. I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in.

“Something the matter?” I smiled and rolled my hips just enough to make him groan.

“You are an evil thing,” he said as his eyes fluttered shut with a whimper. He had tried – Oh, sweet Lucifer, how he had tried – to hide his arousal for days, but with my heat sitting on him he had no hope. Hard as a stone, thick and throbbing, the feel of it making me ache with the need to be filled.

“I don’t think I’m evil.” When I moved my hips again he moaned against my skin, tightening his grip on my waist. 

His mouth moved up my neck, and he took a deep, steadying breath before saying, “You are feeling very warm, sister. Is there something on your mind?” he nipped at the side of my ear and thrust up against me, laughing softly when I moaned. “Very hot, actually,” he murmured, “as though there is something you might want from me.”

A  hand drifted to my hip, pushing me down enough to make us bump against one another. I lowered myself firmly onto his hard bulge, and started to move my hips with intention.

“What would I want from you?” I breathed a sigh as he mouthed along my collarbone.

“I think you want-” he whimpered as I pressed down on him a little more, then brought his lips to my ear again, “I think you want me to push those wet panties of yours to the side and slide my cock in you, sorella.”

“What makes you think my panties are wet?”

“I can feel it. How many days now have I been getting you this hot, eh?”

“You think about my underwear a lot?”

“Don’t care about the panties, sister, just what they are keeping from me.” Both of his hands were tight on my hips as he guided me, keeping my cunt rubbing against him. “Do you think about me, siostra?”

“…Some.”

His hands slid around to my ass and squeezed. “I think about you every night.”

“I’ll bet you do.”

“One day I am going to be inside you and you will wonder why you waited so long.”

I laughed, “Is that so?”

“I told you I’m going to learn how to please you and I meant it,” his nose was tracing the line of my jaw as his voice went low and sweet, “I want you to get this wet just hearing my name.”

“You don’t know how wet I am- If I am.”

He pulled back and looked into my eyes. His hands slipped down my legs to the hem of my skirt.

“Can I find out?”

When I didn’t stop him he pushed it up until he could hook his fingers into the elastic of my underwear. He moved slowly, following the edge of the fabric with a light touch, and his parted lips widened into a dreamy smile, more than a little victorious, when I shivered at his touch. He brushed his fingers along my mound, then slipped between me and his cock to cup me fully. He pulled his hand away for a moment to inspect his glove.

“You should take these off,” he said, “They are soaked through.”

“I’d have to get off your lap to do that,” I said breathlessly, “Might make me rethink this whole situation.”

“Ah, then you should stay here.” He started rubbing at my clit through my underwear, laughing softly when I whimpered and leaned closer.

“Feel good, siostra? I want to give you more.”

“I know you do.”

“You will not let me fuck you yet, I know, no matter how much we both want it. I meant I want to give you anything else I can.”

“You think you know what I want?” I bit my lip and tried to pretend my dignity was intact, “Presumptuous.”

“No? It was someone else obviously wanting to climb into my lap for weeks? This is my imagination, you grinding against my cock?”

“Just...riling you up.”

“So you do not want a nice thick cock inside you?” When I whimpered he laughed again, “It will feel good, sorella, I promise. I want to make you feel good. And get every bit of me inside you. For now, though…” he moved my panties aside and slipped his fingers along my slit for a moment, then his middle finger slid inside me.

When I gasped and fell against him, he chuckled. “So wet you can hear it, siostra...I made you this hot, eh?” I heard a satisfied hum, then his lips brushed against my ear, “Sure you don’t want something bigger?”

Of course I did.

“It would be so easy,” he said, “It would feel so nice, sì?” Another finger slipped inside me, just as easily as promised. I rested my head on his neck, breathing my moans across his skin, grasping his hair as I rocked my hips against his hand.

Why that woman had laughed at him was obvious; the grace that he carried himself with didn’t extend to his hands, and I had to keep adjusting myself to make it work properly, but he was intoxicating.

“Push- push up, with your fingers,” I breathed, “Put some pressure right- mm- right there…” He wasn’t completely without skill, and he was trying, and he was so very eager to please me. And so very, very beautiful.

As his lips dragged along my skin, kisses delivered in time with his fingers working deep into me, I heard him murmur, “I want you.” A moment later his hand left my waist and I felt him fiddling with his pants. When I heard the rasp of a zipper I put my hand on his and tried to slow my hips.

“Don’t you want it too?” whispered words as seductive as his voice, as sweet and tempting as the beautiful serpent that coiled around a fruit tree so long ago.

“That...that’s enough for today,” I breathed, looking down. His hand was in his pants, obviously wrapped around his cock.

“Sorella,” he groaned, pushing his fingers deep into me, “now? Now you stop?”

I bit hard into my lip and forced myself to say, “Now we stop.” He made a whining noise when I pushed his hand away from me, and I made one myself at the sudden emptiness. He was still gripping his cock, slowly stroking himself as he looked into my eyes and licked me off his gloved fingers.

“Sure you do not want to see it?” His eyes flicked down to his crotch, “You might change your mind.”

“I’m sure it’s very pretty,” I said.

Just like the rest of you.

“But you should go.”

“Mm,” he said, “yet you are still sitting on my lap, siostra.” The hand in his pants was working faster, and his breath shuddered for a moment. His eyes flicked down. When I didn’t move, the hand that he’d used to touch me reached for my underwear again, tugging it to the side and exposing me. He smiled a bit, “I think you like letting me see you.”

“I like seeing you so desperate.”

He bit back a moan and slid down in his seat a little, shifting me closer to his crotch.

“Who is desperate? You already know I want you. Another thing I...I like seeing is you pretending you are not desperate too.”

“You are jerking off on my couch and saying I’m desperate?”

“Why not stop me then?” his breath was coming more quickly now, “If you did not want to see it you could tell me to leave, eh?”

“...Leave, then.” The lack of conviction in my words was so obvious that his only response was a smile. He looked at my chest and licked his lips.

“Can I see them, too?”

“These?” I looked down and pulled at my shirt, feigning innocence.

“You...you jumped right from kissing to letting me finger that pretty cunt,” he grabbed a button and tugged, “Showing me your tits should be nothing now, right?”

I undid enough buttons for him to see my bra, and he almost immediately pulled it down.

“Terzo-”

He sat up and mouthed at my exposed breast, squeezing a cupped handful and briefly sucking on my nipple before sitting back with a satisfied sigh. 

Swiping his thumb across a stiff nipple, he grinned and asked, “Have you ever been fucked there?” shivering at the image conjured by his own question. I shook my head.

“I want to be the first. Someday. Someday soon.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun for me.”

“It will be worth your while. If I fuck your tits, you get to use your mouth,” he grinned again, “I am big enough for that, you know?”

“Oh, I get to use my mouth?”

“I bet you love a cock in your mouth, siostra,” he breathed, “I dream about that mouth. I think about all these unkind things you say to me and how nice it will be when my cock prevents you from saying them, you know? I want to hear how much you enjoy it.”

“I’m never going to suck your cock, Terzo,” I said, unsure which of us I was lying to.

“I think you will,” a laugh whimpered out from him, “and the only way you will shut me up is to let me lick you too.” He was panting now, whining softly as he thrust up against me while his hand worked more urgently. “I am going to spend days with my head between your legs, amore, until...until-” he tipped his head back and gasped, a growl rumbling from his throat as he squeezed his eyes shut. His hand fell from my breast as he thrust uselessly into the air, whimpering madly as he dug his fingers into my hip, then finally relaxed.

He was still catching his breath when I brushed his damp hair from his forehead, saying, “Quite a show you put on for me.”

“I was hoping for more audience participation,” he laughed breathlessly, “Maybe next time.”

I started buttoning my blouse back up, "If there's a next time."

His brow immediately furrowed in concern, "'If?'"

"Were you planning on jerking off on my couch regularly?"

"As I said, I would prefer if you participated, but if you enjoyed just watching then I am happy to oblige."

His hand slipped out of his pants, pearly smears standing out against the black leather. He considered his fingers for a moment, then flicked his eyes to mine. I couldn't help looking between his eyes and what he was silently offering me. He gave me a faint smile, then pulled at the bottom of his shirt and used it to wipe off his glove.

"You may want to wear your cassock if you plan on doing that again," I said as he tucked his shirt back in with a slight grimace.

"I can think of other solutions for the next time," he said smoothly, then added, "Unless you prefer me in, eh...in uniform, as it were."

He did wear it extremely well.

During the night, before next time could come to pass, something went wrong with the furnace in the dormitories. The calendar would have you believe it was early spring, but it was an unusually cold one, and I was one of a handful of people tasked with handing out blankets to my shivering siblings.

“Stay warm,” I said each time, working my way across the north wing. The small handcart I’d been giving for transporting all the blankets was nearly empty when I knocked on the last door of the third floor.

The door opened and Terzo was looking back at me, bundled up in a thick black sweater with a scarf wrapped around his neck. It seemed a little dramatic until the wind howled outside and I could actually feel a draft from his room as his windows rattled loudly.

“Siostra,” he said, just as surprised as I, “what brings you…” he trailed off when he saw the blanket in my hand.

He grinned at me, “Have you come to warm me up?”

I cleared my throat loudly and pulled the handcart into view.

“You and everyone else on this floor, vicar,” I said with a raised eyebrow.

“Ah,” his cheeks turned a little pink, and he smiled sheepishly, “And here I thought- never mind. Thank you, sorella,” he took the blanket from me and stood back from the door, waving me in, “Please, come in.”

“I have more to do,” I said.

“A few minutes will not hurt, sì?”

“Vicar.”

“You are colder than any dormitory when you want to be, siostra,” he sighed and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over the blanket held against his belly.

“I am a servant, Vicar, as you are,” I said, suppressing a smirk at another pained sigh from him.

“You know, I have just thought of something,” he said, artfully dodging my jab at his devotion, “If you were to come here later, we could have double the blankets, sì? Nice and toasty.”

“You say this as though you were the first to think of it,” I said, “Half the building is already doubling up in their beds.”

“If it is such a popular idea, then it must be a good one,” he said, giving me his most charming smile. “What do you say?”

“Vicar-”

“Tell you what,” he said hastily, “Do not answer me now. You just think about it. I will be here,” his eyes flicked down my body, “thinking warm thoughts.”

“Goodbye, vicar,” I said, cursing the heat I felt blooming on my face. He grabbed my sleeve as I turned away, and quickly planted a soft kiss on my cheek.

“Until I see you again,” he said sweetly.

“’Until I see you again,’” I muttered, pacing in my room.

“’Until I see you again,’” I muttered, toweling off after my shower.

“’Until I see you again,’” I muttered, shivering in the hallway, knocking on his damned door.

He opened the door with an arched eyebrow and a smug, “Good evening, sorella.”

“Vicar,” I muttered, ignoring his hand brushing across my back as I walked past him into his room. Surprisingly clean, though it seemed he was still living out of a suitcase and some boxes. A faded rug, luxuriously patterned and maroon in the past, covered most of the floor. Nothing on the walls except…

“You hung this up?” I flushed at the sight of the embarrassing blob that insulted every parakeet on the planet.

He looked puzzled. “Of course I did.”

He walked to the kitchenette, just as tiny as mine: a small sink and smaller countertop with a hotplate and kettle vying for space. And a little table. With two steaming mugs sitting on it.

He picked them both up and held one out for me. The scent of chamomile wafted to my nose.

“How…” I frowned at the mug in my hand, “how did you have this ready?”

“Well,” he waved toward a little sofa, not much bigger than mine. His blanket was already spread across the seat, as though he’d been lying down. He sat and patted the seat next to him.

“I thought about how you would respond to my invitation,” he said, pulling the blanket over both our laps. “I figured you would either-” he started counting out on his fingers, “One: follow your pitiless, uncaring spirit and decide to stay in your room, shivering triumphantly as you laughed at my broken heart.” He dramatically clutched his chest as he said it, and I did laugh at him. He patted my knee and continued, “Two: you would see what a good idea it was and come back when you were finished, since you are an intelligent and sensible woman, who would see my kind, generous offer in the right light, recognizing how very clever and giving I am-”

I poked his ribs and he grinned at me, “Three: you would see what a thoughtful gesture it was, but only after thinking about it for a while. And four: you would decide to come, but only after thinking about it for a while, and then making me wait for as long as possible, as is your cruel and unkind nature.” Finished with his list, he put his arm around my shoulder and moved closer.

“That doesn’t explain the tea being ready,” I tucked the blanket around my back and leaned into him.

“Sì, sì,” he said quietly, “Well, to tell true, siostra, this is not the first cup I made.” I looked at him curiously and he explained, “I did think you might come back as soon as you finished, fool that I am. So I made some tea soon after you left. When that went cold, I said to myself, ‘Terzo, of course she would not come back immediately, she thrives on your torment and suffering, after all,’ so-”

“If you keep saying I love to see you suffer, it’s going to come true,” I said, poking him again, “You seem to enjoy thinking of me like that.”

“You did not let me finish!” he said innocently, “I was going to say, ‘She thrives on your torment and suffering, but she is too bright to spend a long, cold night all alone, and she seems to enjoy your company at least some of the time,’ but you interrupted me, siostra. Rather cruelly, one could say- stop poking me!”

I snickered and sipped at my tea.

“Anyway,” he rubbed my shoulder amiably, “I did some very impressive calculations and made some more tea, that is the point. And here you are, having thought about it and come to a wise decision.” He gently touched his head to mine, adding, “I appreciate you not making me wait too long to see you.”

I thought I had made him wait a long time. I looked away, trying to hide the blush creeping across my face and finally taking in the rest of his room.

“I didn’t know you read,” I said, trying to move the conversation elsewhere, hastily adding, “so much,” when I realized how insulting it sounded.

“You sound surprised.”

I was, to be honest. He could be quite witty when he wanted, and on certain topics his intelligence was clear, but for some reason I never pictured him reading anything more intensive than an obscene magazine. There were three full bookcases against the walls, and I could see two open boxes with more books inside, as well as a small shelf near his bed with more crammed in, fighting for space.

“My to-do list,” he nodded at the overflowing little shelf, “Alas, it only seems to grow.”

“Here I thought you spent every night out on the town,” I said, “I’m only surprised you find the time, with what I hear you get up to.”

He cleared his throat, fidgeting a little, “The rumors of my nightlife are somewhat exaggerated.”

“I’m sure,” I said generously. Only somewhat?

He smiled faintly and sipped at his tea.

When both our cups were empty he took them to the sink, turning just in time to see me shiver and pull the blanket more tightly around myself.

“You are still cold?”

“You’re still wearing your scarf,” I pointed out, “It’s freezing in here.”

“You should have told me,” he said, eyebrows furrowed with concern. He rubbed at his chin and made some indecisive noises before saying, “There is, eh...There is always the bed.”

As if on cue, a gust of wind rattled the windows, blowing another draft through the room.

“The bed,” I shivered.

He spread the blankets out while I looked at the stack of books on his nightstand. A collection of political essays, a collection of Greek plays, and, lastly, a well-worn novel in English, with a very busty woman on the cover, swooning in the thickly-muscled arms of a sailor.

“Ah, that, eh,” he coughed, “that is just...eh, amusing.”

I arched a dubious eyebrow at him.

“Get in bed,” he scowled.

We settled in quite cozily, propped up on the pillows and curled into one another. Obviously I slapped the questionable novel into his hands.

“It is just for fun,” he said defensively, “They are funny. They call it a-” he said something in English I didn’t understand. “Em...I am trying to think of the Polish word…” he drummed his fingers on his chin, “In old times, the things ladies had in their dresses, eh...shit.” We went through at least a dozen different fashion items before he triumphantly shouted, “Bodice! They call it a ‘bodice-ripper!’”

“Why in the world would someone rip that?”

“If you are a tough man of the sea, you have no patience for carefully unlacing a lady’s garments,” he said haughtily, as though he knew first-hand, “and the ladies in these books do not want a patient man. They want him to-” he tugged at the collar of my blouse, then mimed tearing his hand down my chest, “you know?”

“Life on the sea,” I mused, “So how is it funny?”

“You could borrow it and see. Keep it as long as you need.”

“My English isn’t good enough. I won’t understand the jokes,” I yawned and cuddled up against his side, resting my head on his chest, hearing his heart thump faster.

“There are not really jokes,” he said, “More that the writing is funny. It is very dramatic and…” he paused, “I could read some for you, if you like. I think I can translate it so it is still funny.”

I nodded, yawning again, “Sure.” He adjusted himself with an arm around me and began to read aloud.

“’The captain of The Maiden’s Fancy was an imposing brute of a man with little patience for his own men, and even less for me.

‘If ye be expecting a luxury cabin, expect instead to be sore disappointed, lass,’ he told me with a gruff voice-’”

“When does he rip her bodice?”

“The story and setting are being established, sorella,” he said reproachfully, “but if you are so eager...want me to skip ahead?”

“I was promised a ripped bodice, Terzo.”

“As you command, my lady,” he chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, “Let’s see…” He flipped through the pages.

“’Captain Blackheart!’ I shouted, ‘How dare you, sir!’

‘I am no ‘sir,’’ he growled, ‘and I shall hear no disrespect from your mouth, woman. This be my ship.’

‘And these are the King’s seas!’ I declared, defiantly staring into eyes as stormy as the clouds roiling above, “You’ve no right to lay your filthy hands on my belongings!’

‘I see the way ye cast your eyes on these filthy hands,’ he sneered with an arrogant flip of his long, honey-blond locks. His eyes were no less stormy as he stepped closer, but I could see now that they were the same azure as the Carribbean waters that bore us. My heart fluttered in my chest as their brilliant blue slowly took me in. “Aye," he said with a penetrating stare, "and I see ye wishing these hands would be laid ‘pon you, maiden though you be.’

He stepped closer, forcing me to back against the wall, where those large, strong hands caged me.

‘H-how dare you,” I said, quailing in the face of such coarse, brooding masculinity. He let out a dark chuckle and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes.

“Your lips are trembling, lass,” he said with an impertinent smirk, “and your bosom be heaving more than the waves beneath us.” I slapped him across the face but he didn’t flinch, instead pulling me to him for a bruising, breathless kiss.

“We...we mustn’t,” I protested, flushed with wanton hunger as those rough hands I’d been dreaming of pulled me closer. His lips were on my neck, unshaven and rough as his touch, and then, to my shock, I felt what was most assuredly his manhood through his breeches.

I gasped, but before I could say anything his hands were at my collar. A dozen buttons clattered to the floor as he tore open my dress, baring my breasts to the cool air and his roaming lips both…’”

“...Siostra,” Terzo’s voice, soft and faint, “are you still awake?”

“Mm?” I opened my eyes and yawned. I saw him fold the corner of a page and close the book.

“You are still in your clothes,” he said, “Want to change?”

“Mmph,” I grunted and groggily unzipped my skirt, wriggling it off under the blanket and kicking it off the bed. I nuzzled back against his chest and yawned, "Did he rip her bodice?"

“He ripped everything,” he said, and reached over me to turn off the light. “He is quite a savage.” He gently stroked my hair, and from far away I heard him say, “Sogni d’oro, cara mia.”

A muffled, rhythmic creaking broke through my dreams and made my eyes open to a dark room. Even with senses still muddled from sleep I could make out the sound of skin for just a few moments. Then the noise stopped.

The sudden silence woke me up a little more and I listened intently. It wasn’t silent, actually. I could hear Terzo breathing, oddly shallow, and then a quiet, trembling exhale. My face was hot immediately.

Oh…

I almost jumped when he whispered, “Are you awake?” I said nothing, just tried to breathe normally as my heart hammered in my chest. I heard his hair rustle against his pillow.

“Sorella?” he said quietly. His knuckles brushed against my lower back, and my heart thudded again when I realized my shirt must have ridden up in my sleep. I was on my side, turned away from him, and the back of his hand was touching the exposed skin - the first time he'd touched me without the leather buffer of his glove.

“Are you asleep?” he was still keeping his voice very quiet. After a beat of silence, the mattress shifted as he slowly curled up against me. A warm hand touched my waist, then slid down across my belly. He slowly, cautiously followed the curve of my ribs to just under my breast.

“If you were awake I do not think you would let me touch you like this,” he murmured as he cupped my breast and squeezed. He continued to gently knead, closing his fingers around my stiff nipple and lightly pulling at it. I bit my lip and suppressed a moan.

“It is a shame you are so deeply asleep,” he said, “or you would be able to feel this,” he rolled his hips against me with another shuddering exhale, “and could tell me to stop.” He pressed more firmly against my backside and I could feel it; his hard cock, thick and just as needy as he was. He rocked against me again with a soft moan, and the hand on my breast moved up to my collarbone. 

“Your heart is racing,” he said with a breathy laugh. “Maybe you are dreaming about me. About this,” he thrust against me again and I bit down harder on my lip. His other arm moved suddenly, snaking under me, coming up to pull at my blouse and bring our bodies closer together.

“How lucky for me that you are such a heavy sleeper, sorella,” his lips were on my neck now as he was undoing buttons, “That would have woken anyone else up, but I just get to keep touching you however I please, eh?” His mouth was trailing softly along my shoulder when his hand slipped into my blouse and continued groping me, his skin soft and smooth against mine.

My muscles twitched briefly when his other hand grazed my belly, then he was stroking my thigh. He started slowly rocking his hips against me again when his fingers slipped under the elastic of my panties.

“You can keep pretending you do not want it,” he murmured, pushing them down my thigh. His voice rumbled low in my ear as his hand started slowly moving between my legs, “I know you want to feel my cock inside you,” he rocked against me for emphasis, “It is nice and thick, sorella. Even though your cunt is wet and aching for it, I will still have to go slow, you know? I want you awake for it though, to see how happy I make you when I am filling you.”

A tiny whimper escaped me when he thrust against me again. My whole body was throbbing with want, and my cunt was wet and aching, clenching again and again around nothing. He stroked my mound, running his fingers through the hair, then he slid his hand further in.

“You must be dreaming about me,” he breathed, “Why else would you be this wet?” It took every ounce of self-control available to me to keep still as his fingers slid into my cunt. He laughed softly, his nose nudging the side of my face.

“Always so proud and dignified,” he purred, “Do you know how sweet you look right now? With your tits out and your hair a mess and my hand in your panties? Like I took you on one of those dates you made fun of me for. The ones that end with my cock buried nice and deep in a nice, wet pussy like this.” He pushed his fingers in hard for emphasis, then started moving them more quickly.

“It is so strange how your pussy keeps tightening around my fingers every time I say something filthy to you.” He pulled suddenly at my nipple and a surprised whimper escaped me. He paused expectantly.

“Hmm,” he said a few moments later, “You are somehow still asleep. That is odd,” he tugged again, then roughly squeezed my breast. “I am starting to think I can get away with anything, siostra.” The hand between my legs moved to my shoulder and followed my arm down. “The difference between you and my dates is that they get to feel a lot more, but you deserve it too,” he took my hand and, after a moment of hesitation, wrapped it around his cock.

“See?” he breathed, “You see why I never had to take my time? So thick your hand barely gets around it.” He started to slowly move my hand up and down the shaft, “Think how good it would feel inside you.”

It was the only thing I could think about; hot and hard and heavy, flexing against my palm. He pulled sharply at my nipple again, and this time when I cried out I gripped his cock. A laugh puffed against my neck as his hand immediately went back between my legs.

“Did you sleep well?” he chuckled, then sucked in a breath when I started stroking him more quickly.

“Shut- shut up,” I breathed, rolling onto my back and pulling his smirking lips to mine. He moved my thigh over his, spreading me open before sliding a finger inside me. He moaned when I did, thrusting into my hand as I rolled to meet his.

He rested his forehead against mine and pushed another finger in, murmuring, “Feels good?” It did, but he still felt hesitant and awkward.

“Here,” I took his hand and placed my fingers over his, using him to stroke my stiff, swollen clit, “See, it-” I whimpered softly, “You can move slowly here. I’m so wet you can just-” I guided his finger over my clit, slowly and smoothly, throwing my head back against the pillow as my hips bucked to his touch.

“You...you don’t even have to go fast, just keep stroking there, and-” 

He dipped back into my cunt to get his fingers slick again and returned, “There?”

I whimpered and nodded before reaching up to kiss him again. He learned quickly, drawing long, needy moans from me with ease. It didn’t take long for him to figure out how to tease me; moving quickly until I was crying out and writhing under his hand, then plunging his fingers deep into my cunt and fucking me with agonizing slowness until he could hear my desperate, needy frustration and would move back to my clit.

“Fuck,” I groaned after I’d lost count of how many times he’d done it, “Terzo, just- please-” His lips interrupted me and he breathed amused little exhalations as his tongue swirled against mine. He pulled away and his lips trailed down to my neck.

“Are you asking me to make you cum?” Even panting against me I could hear the smug triumph in his voice.

“Yes, fuck,” I moaned, “Please.” He moved his fingers back where I wanted them and finally kept them there. As my cries came more and more quickly he started thrusting faster into my hand, and when it finally surged through me I gasped loudly, my back arching from the mattress. His cock hardened with my hand gripped tightly around him as my muscles locked, and when he whimpered frantically against my shoulder I just managed to stroke him the last few times he needed.

The warmth spilled over my hand and thigh as he groaned with pleasure. His hips slowed as mine did, and both of us were alone for a moment in our deep, shuddering breaths. Terzo mumbled something into my skin and then he was kissing me again, messy and breathless, exhausted and grateful as he softened in my sticky hand and his fingers slipped away.

I threw the blankets back when he rolled away, breathing the cold air deep into my lungs. I looked over to him, the man now so adept at making my body burn, as he tucked his cock back into his underwear. He’d been wearing an undershirt this whole time, apparently, and he sat up just enough to pull it off and throw it to the floor. He laid back with a heavy sigh and raked his hair away from his face.

I grabbed his shirt from the floor to wipe off my hand. When I laid back down, the two of us each seemed an island from the other. He seemed miles away now, more still and quiet than I’d ever seen him. I chewed my lip, staring at the dark ceiling.

The feeling that I’d let this all go too far wouldn’t leave. But it wasn’t as though I’d set a timetable for our little arrangement, was it? It had been weeks now. And he had been learning. Not just about my body, but about me. It didn’t feel like a ruse or something manipulative.

When he made me smile with a simple little bird feather his face had lit up, and after a few days together he had stopped keeping count of how many times he made me laugh. There was more to him than I’d given him credit for; the plainness of his emotions had made me mistake him for something much simpler and easier than he was. He was open and honest, and it had long been obvious his sweetness and romanticism weren’t something affected but who he really was. With each passing day I wanted that affection aimed at me more and more.

Was I losing patience? Was I losing control, or was he gaining it?

“I appreciate you not making me wait too long to see you,” he had said, after I intentionally wasted time to delay it. It had to be intentional, because I had longed to return to him as soon as I was able.

He had laughed as he said, “Maybe you are dreaming about me.” A passing remark in a lewd moment, but a true one. I did dream of him, quite often. During night and day both.

His fingers wove into mine, shaking me from my thoughts.

“Did I make you feel good?” he asked quietly. I heard him turn his head to me.

I kept my eyes on the ceiling, and said, “You did,” as my heart pounded.

I woke up as the door latched shut.

“Terzo?” I mumbled, but the room was empty. I reached across the bed; still warm. It was dim in his room, morning light blotted out by dark curtains, but I could hear the cooing of doves outside, as well as distant conversation and footsteps in the hallway. I managed to lock my bleary vision onto the clock in the kitchen and groaned. It was after 10, and I had responsibilities. I rolled onto my back again, sighing and trying to summon the will to get up and start the day.

I heaved another sigh and muttered, “Okay,” to myself, and then the door opened just as I was sitting up.

Terzo’s hair was hanging across his eyes, still disheveled from sleep. He was in a long, silky-looking dressing gown, something like a kimono that was already loose and exposing his chest, and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

“Morning,” he let the robe fall to the floor as he clambered over me and got back under the covers with a shiver. He curled up against me, nuzzling into my shoulder with a happy sigh, “You’re still nice and warm.”

“How cold is it out there?” I asked, dreading the walk to the bathrooms I needed to make.

“Frigid,” he grumbled, wriggling closer, “Worse than yesterday.”

I pushed the blankets away, trying to sit up again, but he pulled me back with a sleepy grunt.

“You are staying here,” he said, “At least until the Ministry allows me to put a fireplace in here.”

“You’ll have to live without me for a few minutes,” I pushed his hair back from his eyes and they slid open just enough to see me.

“It will be miserable for both of us,” he said, “Take my robe and slippers. And maybe a blanket.”

It was extremely miserable, in fact. The thin kimono offered nothing but modesty, and my teeth were chattering before I was even halfway to the toilets. I scurried there and back as quickly as I could, too focused on getting warm again to worry about the people I caught staring at me. I wasn’t particularly well-known, but Terzo was, and his impractical little robe probably was too.

“Told you,” he said when I practically leaped back under the covers. His arms went around me immediately, rubbing warmth back into my muscles until I’d stopped shivering.

“I have things to do today,” I said reluctantly, “Work.”

“Me too,” he yawned and pulled me closer.

“I need to go.”

“Mm.”

“I mean it.”

“Me too.” In the long silence that followed, his hand started moving from my back to my thigh.

“Terzo…”

“Mm?”

“I have to go.”

“Mm,” he pushed his leg forward, pulling my thigh over his and pulling us closer.

“I have responsibilities,” I tried to sound convincing as his leg pressed between mine.

“Me too,” he said again, nudging my forehead with his nose until I looked up at him.

Lazy, half-asleep kisses delayed my leaving, and when I couldn’t held but rub against his leg any notion of duties and responsibilities fled when his hand grabbed my ass, pushing me along his thigh. When he started pulling at my underwear I didn’t stop him. I could only reach for his, sliding my hand in to grasp his stiff cock.

He moaned against my lips when his thigh went back between my legs and he felt how wet I was again. How wet he’d made me. He couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted his hands; kneading and pulling at my breasts or pressing me hard against his leg and dragging soft cries of pleasure from me.

He rolled me onto my back suddenly, breaking from our kiss and moving down between my legs. He reverently spread me open, looking up at me with an uncharacteristic shyness. His eagerness to please me was plain on his face as he slid his tongue through me, breathing out a soft moan when I did.

He was worse with his tongue than his hands, but his mismatched eyes looked up at me so adoringly when he said, “Tell me what you like,” before bowing to finally kiss me where he wanted most. His tongue swirled around my clit at an awkward rhythm as he pumped his fingers in and out of my cunt, but thankfully he understood how to take instruction, and as before, what he figured out most quickly was how to tease me.

Lovingly massaging my clit with his tongue until my hips were lifting off the bed and then resting his head against my thigh, gazing at me with bedroom eyes over parted, glistening lips. Relentlessly fucking me with his fingers until I was desperately reaching for him, trying to pull him back where he belonged, before he would get his hair out of his face with a quick toss of his head and return. When I saw him grinding his hips down into the mattress as he moaned against me, I worked my fingers into that thick black hair and held him in place.

“Faster,” I gasped, “Fuck- ah, your fingers- faster-” He obliged with a deep, desperate groan as I just worked myself against his tongue, just wanting to cum more than anything now. My fingers tightened in his hair as it rocked through me. His fingers pounded into me almost painfully, but it was a distant pain, to be dealt with later. Terzo’s mouth was all that mattered.

I finally had to kick myself away with shaky legs, curling my legs up against myself as I whimpered through aftershocks. At some point I became aware of his hand on my thigh, of his lean body bending over me, hot breath fanning over my shoulder. He pulled away but his hand stayed on me, trying to pull my legs open.

He was on his knees, pumping his cock as he looked down at me, pushing his underwear down. He was still breathing hard and not saying anything, just looking at me with a kind of hungry expectation. I was more than willing to touch him – I wanted to give him pleasure, but the way he was looking at me kept me still.

“What are you…” I trailed off, unsure what to say as his eyes continued to bore into me.

With a frustrated growl he rolled me onto my back again, pinning my wrists down next to my head and claiming my lips with a desperate groan. He pushed his thigh hard against my cunt and released one of my wrists, then moved his mouth to my nipple and sucked, hard.

“Please,” he was practically rutting into his hand as he bit at my breasts. His grip on my wrist tightened and he repeated himself as he swiftly moved his legs between mine, lips muffled by my skin.

“Please, siostra.” His cock was touching me, ready to push inside me in an instant. His lips moved back up to mine, feverishly hot, “I want to fuck you, please,” he breathed, “You want it too, sorella, please, just-”

I squeezed my eyes shut and managed to whisper, “No.” He let out a sad, desperate whine as he kissed me again, hips still twitching against me and into his fist.

“Why?” he groaned against my neck, wet kisses smearing along my skin, “Why do you keep doing this? It would feel so good for both of us and I know you want it too so why-”

“Terzo,” my arm went around him and I ran my fingers into his hair, bringing his head to my shoulder, shushing him. He nearly collapsed, letting out a long, sad whine, and I worked my hand between us, taking his from his cock. He thrust weakly against my stomach for a moment, so hard I could feel his pulse, then he shuddered with another mournful groan and sagged against me.

“I told you I want to take my time,” I murmured into his hair, and he made a sad little mmhmm sound. “I know you think I like to make you suffer,” I paused to see if he would refute that; he did not. “But I don’t. I like seeing you happy, Terzo.” I got a flat mmph in response.

“I do,” I insisted.

“You are cruel to me,” he mumbled, “I want you so badly and you do nothing but tease.”

“Is that why I made you cum last night?”

Another mmph.

“If last night didn’t feel good, I suppose you don’t want me to do it again.”

“It felt good,” he grumbled.

“You sound uncertain.”

He raised himself up to scowl at me. “It felt good.”

“So I am not so cruel,” I pushed his hair out of his eyes and he glowered at me.

“You do enjoy making me suffer, though.”

I huffed an annoyed sigh, “Poor Terzo, suffering the agony of not being able to fuck whoever he wants on demand.”

“It is frustrating,” he frowned, “I do not understand. After so many weeks, haven’t I-”

I sighed and squirmed out from under him.

“Where are you going?”

“You are being childish,” I snipped. “I have things to do today.”

“Sorella-”

“If you still can’t handle a little rejection then I don’t think you’ve learned anything with me,” I said, and to my dismay felt my words and face getting equally heated. Maybe it all really had been a ruse the whole time, an elaborate show just to bed me. “If all you care about is fucking me, then this has been a waste of time.”

“Wait, please,” he grabbed my wrist and rose to his knees, “Please stay, I- forgive me, please.” When I yanked my wrist from his hand he made some indecisive noises for a moment, then simply threw his arms around me.

“Please,” he whispered, “Please don’t go.” He curled up awkwardly against me, half-sitting and half-learning on me, and hugged me tightly.

“Terzo,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady, “I am leaving.” I put my hand on his, meaning to pull it away but finding myself unable to. A hot, angry tear slid down my cheek and dropped to his arm. His hands loosened and fell away.

I dressed quickly, saying nothing and pretending I couldn’t feel him watching my every move. I heard him say my name as I shut the door behind me.

I couldn’t bring myself to tend to my duties that day. After nightfall, when I finally left my room for something to eat, I found my blanket neatly folded up and sitting in front of my door. I picked it up and it crashed over me: Leather, herbs, something sweet and fruit-like, something as rich and decadent as chocolate. The smell of him.

“He’s just a boy,” I said into the thick fabric, cursing the tears I couldn’t stop, trying to tell myself I wasn’t aching to see him again and set things right. “He’s a stupid child. And you let him play you.”

As soon as I gave in he had tried to take advantage, hadn’t he? I let him touch me, I made him cum, and then not only did he think he could fuck me, but he fell apart when I said no.

Childish, I kept reminding myself. You knew from the moment you met him. Spoiled. Shallow. A waste of your time.

All the little things he’d brought me were stuffed into a bag and thrown into the closet. I wasn’t ready to throw them away yet, but I promised myself I would.

So what if he gave you a stupid feather. He probably gives cheap little gifts to every woman- every girl he goes after. And he goes after girls because they don’t know how to sniff out a man like that. You’re supposed to be old enough to know better. You should have laughed him right out of the room when he brought that sob story to your door.

If only-

Why didn’t-

You should have-

He still knocked on my door, softly calling for me when he could see the light was on. After three days a piece of paper was slipped under my door. A drawing of me, each line so obviously set down by a loving hand. It went into the closet with the rest of my regrets.

It took him another week to stop coming to my door. Two weeks passed without hearing his voice. His scent faded from my room and I pulled boxes of books from under my bed to occupy the loveseat.

I caught glances of him around the Ministry, of course. Sometimes it seemed like he would turn around just in time to catch my eye, but I’d been in this building for years. I knew how to hide.

On a rainy Tuesday I made my way to the basilica for confession. In the middle of the week the place was almost guaranteed to be empty, and sure enough, it was just me and an anonymous Cardinal in the booth.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“The Lord Below celebrates your sins, child, as I do. Tell me what sins you have committed in His name,” a low, hoarse voice responded.

It had been weeks since last I confessed: So many days of slothful moping, lustful thoughts, envious stares leveled at my more open and expressive siblings. The Cardinal only nodded and made some reassuring noises. A good listener, for once. So many of them were either so bored or so eager for details to gossip about that what should have been celebratory would turn quite sour.

He asked, “Is that all, child?” when I finally stopped speaking.

“No…” I hesitated, wanting to be unburdened but unsure that I could express myself properly.

“When you are ready.”

“I have been very angry, Your Eminence.”

“Oh? At whom?”

"Myself, Eminence," I said quietly, "and a fr- and someone else I know." He made an encouraging sound and I took a steadying breath before I continued.

"I let myself be fooled by someone. Even though I knew better, I promised to help my- this person with something. And I...I lost control of myself. I lost myself in him, even though I...I...." Hot, angry tears had sprung to my eyes, and I swiped my sleeve across my face with a sniff. 

"I knew it was a bad idea, Eminence. From the moment I met him I knew I shouldn't get involved with him." I cleared my throat to keep my voice from pathetically shaking and wiped at my cheeks again. "I thought he actually cared. He made me feel- I- he made me think I mattered to him, and I fell for it. Like a fool."

"What makes you think he did not care about you, my child?"

"No matter what I did, he...it wasn't enough for him, ever. He only wanted to sleep with me," I leaned back against the hard wooden wall and sniffed, then rubbed at my forehead with a trembling sigh, quietly repeating, "He only wanted to sleep with me."

I heard the Cardinal shifting closer to the screen, waiting for me to continue.

"He brought me little gifts all the time, things that- he did listen to me, enough to learn what I would like, you know? He kept count of how many times he made me laugh," I said, bitterly, "Because according to him, I am so awful and cold that making me laugh is an achievement. I thought it was a joke we were both in on, Eminence. He would say I enjoyed his suffering, that I was cruel to him. Even as-" I choked back the regret threatening to burst out in a wail, "As I got closer to him. I lost myself in him, and he still thought I was heartless. He still complained because I wouldn't have sex with him. And I just...I just looked past all of it, because all I cared about was him touching me. He kept saying he knew I wanted it too, and..." I trailed off, sinking my head into my hands.

The Cardinal cleared his throat and said, "You...enjoyed him touching you, sister?"

Something kept me from answering immediately. 

He sounded hesitant when he asked, "Was he mistaken? Or did you want to-"

“Terzo?” I said suspiciously, finally realizing why the voice sounded so odd.

There was a very familiar indecisive sound from the other side of the screen.

“Are you serious?” I yelled, “What is wrong with-” before I could finish there was a clamor on the other side of the booth as he rushed out. I furiously shrieked at his cowardly retreat, but then my door was thrown open. I flew to my feet but he slammed the door shut behind him, barely, squishing his body against mine in the dark, cramped space.

“Terzo!” I tried to slap him but he blocked me – not intentionally, but because he immediately had his hands up at my face, grabbing me and pulling me to him for a kiss. When I slipped my tongue against his with a desperate cry one of his hands went to the wall behind me, keeping our balance as his other hand wrapped tightly around my waist. He pulled me to him, to the heat of his slender body, against the cock stiffening so rapidly I could feel it through the layers of fabric between us. He broke away to mouth at my neck, sucking at the smooth skin and leaving love-bites everywhere he could.

“Tell me more about those lustful thoughts, siostra,” he breathed, “Our Lord loves details, sì?”

“You- you’re not-” I could barely string words together.

“I am a vicar, I am allowed to take confession,” the hand on my waist was sliding down my back, “You thought I would just give up on you? I have been hearing confessions for nine days now, waiting for you.” He grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed, breathing a soft laugh when I whimpered.

His hand was slowly pulling up my habit, one curled finger-length at a time, “No? You do not want to confess?” His palm flattened against bare skin, making me shiver.

“I will go first, then,” he murmured against my neck, “After you left, the smell of you on my hand had my cock stiff all night. Every night I would stroke myself remembering how you tasted, and the sounds you made just from me fucking you with my fingers. I want to hear you when I finally get to fuck you, sorella,” he sighed, “Want to see your face when I’m all the way in that beautiful cunt of yours.”

“You said you would be patient,” I breathed, “Going at my pace.” He had pushed my habit up enough to slip his hand between my legs, and my hips rolled to meet his touch.

“You want me to stop, then say so,” he murmured as his lips trailed along my jaw. When I only answered with soft moans, he asked, “Have you been thinking about me?"

He pushed my underwear aside and slid his fingers against my clit, still clumsy, but almost frictionless from how wet I was. When he nipped at my earlobe and said, “Confess, my child,” I moaned desperately and finally put my arms around him.

“Yes,” I whimpered against his neck, “Every night." He pushed two of his fingers inside me and sighed with satisfaction when I clenched tight around him.

“I think about you every night, too,” he said quietly, “I think about fucking you, but…” his fingers slowed and those full, beautiful lips brushed where my neck and shoulder joined, “I missed you, siostra. I...I liked spending time with you, even without this,” he worked his fingers for a moment, then pulled back to face me, resting his forehead against mine.

"Sorry," he murmured as his fingers slid out of me, "I'm sorry I ever let you think this was just...That I did not care. I like you, sorella. I want you, but I like who you are, too." He kissed my cheek, leaving his lips on my skin as he pulled me closer. "I miss you. I have spent every night thinking about how I...how many mistakes I made. How I...eh, disregarded your- I am...not proud of what I did. How I acted."

"Do you really think I'm so awful?" I softly asked, "That I-" he was already shaking his head, still pressed against mine. 

"You were right that it was a joke for both of us, you know? But I...I am childish so much. So often, I mean. But when I- the last time I said it, it was not a joke. You- no, siostra, you are not those things." He let out a gentle huff of laughter as he added, "Almost always, when you are mean to me, I like it."

I pressed my lips to his for a brief, soft moment, both of us sighing as we parted.

Just above a whisper, he asked, “Anything else to confess, siostra?” I nodded and his arms went tighter around me.

“Tell me,” he murmured. “Please. You avoided me for so long. I want to know that you wanted me too.”

“Of course I did,” I sighed, “I do.”

"You sound disappointed," he said, cupping my cheek, his pale eye searching my face in the dim light, "Am I so awful?"

"Of course not."

“Then why…” he trailed off.

“Vic- Terzo,” I said, “I…I think you should find someone better suited to you.”

He tilted my face so our eyes met, and softly said, “There is no one better."

It was so like our first kiss, gentle and restrained and curious, the needy sounds we both made filling the tiny booth. My hands raked through that raven hair as I’d been longing to for weeks, and his arms went around my waist, keeping our bodies pressed together until the moment we both heard approaching footsteps.

“We- can we start over?” he asked.

“How?”

A smile slowly crept across his face, “Let me take you out for a date.”

The next night found us on the streets of Kraków. It had rained most of the day and the roads were still glimmering as we made our way through the twisting paths of the city. We walked there mostly in silence, only chatting here or there when we passed something interesting. When we were a few blocks from the Ministry his hand went around my waist and kept us close. Our hips bumping against one another slowed us, gave me more time to feel the warmth of his body.

He bought our tickets and a box of candies and wordlessly led me into the theater, taking my hand when the doors shut behind us. There were only a few other people scattered among the seats, and he guided me to the back row.

I was barely aware of what was happening onscreen, just mindlessly eating candy and trying to keep myself calm when his arm went around me. In the corner of my eye I could just see the apple in this throat anxiously bob up and down, and when he squeezed my shoulder to move us closer I heard a shaky breath. What was it he’d told me?

“If I look over and she looks at me a certain way, I just…”

When our eyes met a faint smile curved his beautiful lips, then, to my surprise, he looked back to the screen. That pretty smile looked a little smug now.

I set our little box of candy aside and took his hand off my shoulder. When I pulled my skirt up enough to place it on the inside of my thigh he glanced at me for a moment before moving closer. His glove moved smoothly over my skin and his breath hitched at the feel of my heat.

I leaned back in my seat, spreading my legs and guiding his hand into my underwear, using him for my own pleasure as we sat quietly in the dark. I braced one of my feet on the seat in front of us, and when I glanced at Terzo I saw him taking in my bare leg before clearing his throat and looking back to the screen.

Once I’d guided his hand enough he seemed to understand what I wanted. His fingers moved slickly over my clit, pulling me closer to climax with every gentle stroke until I couldn’t sit still anymore, could only silently buck my hips against him, desperately covering my mouth. My eyes swept over the rows of seats, making sure no one had taken their eyes off the screen, and then I let it wash over me, a swell of well-timed music covering the whimpers that escaped me. He moved his finger slightly, making my hips jolt, and this time there was no music concealing the sound I made.

Someone a few rows ahead looked around for a moment and we froze. I quietly sat up in my seat and smoothed my skirt back down, then looked over at Terzo. His fingers were in his mouth and our eyes locked in the flickering light. I heard a soft, muffled moan. I hadn’t noticed he was shifting in his seat until now; he was rubbing his palm over his cock, already hard, and slowly rocking his hips.

His arm went around me, pulling me close to those plush, now-parted lips, sighing into me when our lips finally met. Even in the dark I could see the flush on his cheeks when he pulled away, and I could see that strange eye of his flick down to his crotch before meeting my gaze again in a silent request.

I leaned in to kiss him again with my hand on his knee. I took my time moving up, savoring the way his muscles flexed at my touch, the tiny needy mewls accompanying his shuddering breaths when I finally slid my hand over his cock. As soon as I gripped him he was thrusting against my hand, eager and throbbing and so very wanton.

A part of me wanted to keep him here, desperate and obscenely writhing under my touch. I so loved seeing him like this, but we starting anew, weren't we? The way his fingers were digging into his thigh showed how much he wanted it, and I knew that in the past, when he was on his dates, his cock would have been out long before now.

More importantly, I simply wanted him. I wasn’t here to teach him anything; no excuses were necessary.

When I moved my hand to the button of his pants he immediately pushed my hand aside, hurriedly unfastening the clothing struggling to contain him. He pulled his cock out for me and sucked in a sharp breath when I started stroking him. He started breathing heavily against me, moving his lips to my neck and letting me hear the quiet whimpers elicited with each caress.

“Harder,” he whispered, “Grip it harder,” he whimpered softly into my neck, almost out of his seat with how eagerly his hips worked to meet my hand. The arm that had been around my shoulder was stroking my back, and when his hand worked into my hair my heart thumped.

“You see now, siostra?” he breathed out a quiet laugh, "How easy it is to get a hand where you need,” His gaze drifted to my lips, lingering there as he added, "Or a mouth."

When I nodded he leaned away, shifting down in his seat a little and nudging me closer. I slid out of my seat and got on my knees, and he smiled at me so happily he looked like he could melt right out of his seat. I covered my knees with my skirt and put my elbows on his thighs, looking up at him as I continued to stroke the thick, leaking thing in my hands.

When I started mouthing at the base of his cock, just little kisses and kitten licks, he bit his lip and kept his eyes steady on mine. My free hand started roaming his body, the plush bit of his stomach below the belly button with its trail of dark hair, the firm muscles of his thighs enclosing me, his hip bone catching against my thumb as my fingers curved around him. I raked my fingers through the thick hair around his cock and he squirmed under me, a quiet little gasp escaping when I gave it a quick tug.

I licked up to the head of his cock and finally took him in my mouth, working my tongue underneath as I gradually made my way down the shaft. His hand snaked back into my hair, tightening in time with my mouth.

He stifled a groan as I started stroking more quickly, massaging the underside of the head with my tongue. He slid down lower in his seat, covering his mouth with his palm, and I saw him briefly scanning the theater. He tapped my head and held a finger to his lips with his eyes locked somewhere behind me. I slowed but didn’t stop.

Even with his eyes flared wide in exasperation he tenderly stroked my cheek, grinning and saying, “Evil thing,” in a low voice. He scanned the theater, then his fingers tightened in my hair again, but now it was to guide my head.

“Cruel, evil thing,” he breathed softly, then covered his mouth again and pushed my head down. He started thrusting, rocking his hips up to my mouth. His eyes were closed, his head was tipped back, and he was trying so, so hard to stay quiet as I let him fuck my mouth the way he’d wanted to for months.

Whenever his cock hit the back of my throat I whimpered as quietly as I could, more aware each time of how my legs were trembling, how tightly my cunt would clench, how badly I was aching for him and just how wet I was. I moved a hand between my legs and slid a finger into my cunt, coating it before I moved it to his face. When I pushed his hand aside and my finger between his lips, his cock hardened dramatically in my mouth as he grasped my hand and greedily licked it clean.

I pulled up my skirt and stood, seeing his eyes go wide as dinner plates before I turned around and maneuvered my legs around his. When I grabbed his cock I felt him pull my panties to the side, and a soft hiss of pleasure was all I heard over the music as I finally, finally sank onto him.

He had been right; wet as I was I did still have to go slowly, and once I’d sheathed him fully I did wonder why I’d waited so long.

He whimpered softly into my back when I started rolling my hips, and after only a few moments his palm went over my mouth. It was easy to see why he’d never bothered to put the time into being a better lover; the way his cock filled and stretched me alone was enough to make my eyes roll back. The head of his cock dragged so sweetly inside me, so perfectly angled that I knew if I touched myself even a little I could cum easily. If it wouldn’t be impossible to stay quiet I would have. For now, this was enough. I leaned back onto him and his free hand sneaked up my chest, groping at my breasts.

“Feel good?” he whispered, and when I nodded with a muffled moan he let out a deep sigh, “You feel s-so good,” he said quietly, breathlessly. I let out another soft whimper, then froze. The person a few rows ahead of us was looking around again. Then, to my horror, they twisted around to look at us.

“Shut the fuck up or get out,” the man hissed. In the dim light I could just make out an irritated scowl, “Go to a fucking brothel.” I nodded over and over until he turned back around, only then realizing Terzo’s hand had stayed over my mouth the entire time, black glove plainly visible.

“Shit,” he muttered, groaning softly when I moved off his lap. I sat back down next to him and leaned over.

“Should we go?”

“He might get an usher if we don’t,” he smiled mischievously, eyes shining bright even in the dark.

“Let’s not incur the wrath of the usher.” I tried to keep from giggling as we hurried out, hand in hand.

It began to rain again as we were walking back to the Ministry. Terzo pulled me under the awning of a darkened restaurant when it started coming down more heavily. He put his arm around my waist and we stood close, watching the rain pour down, looking over the glowing city street. How long had passed since I’d yanked my hand from his, demanding he go and bother someone else?

“There are hundreds of other people here who would love to show you around Kraków on a Friday night.”

“They do not interest me.”

“I told you I had not quite figured it out,” he said suddenly, pulling me from my ruminating.

“Hm?”

He turned to me and said, “Doing it in the cinema,” with a little laugh, “But I am glad you gave it a try with me.”

“It was nice while it lasted,” I smiled. His other hand went around my waist and he pulled us together. He came close, as though to kiss me, then his mouth angled away toward my ear.

“Do you know how tightly you clamped down on my cock when he turned around?” he purred, “We may have to try again.” He snickered when I flicked his ear. “What?” he said innocently, “It just seems like you liked it.”

I slid my hand down his body and nudged his cock, already stiffening against me, “Don’t think it was just me, vicar.”

“Touching someone like that in public is very inappropriate, siostra.”

Both of us were laughing when our lips met again, sweetly and happily curved together. His hands found mine as he pulled away.

“Damn the rain,” he smiled, “Let’s just run home.”

Thank you for reading💚💜

Hope you enjoyed, hope you jorked, and there is always room on my loveseat for you, dear reader.

If you enjoyed Terzo being a smug little shit who doesn't even know he's a bad lay and can spare some change for a broke bitch, I have a tip jar

Cześć: hello (casual – friends/family/colleagues/fellow students)

Siostra: sister