Marie heard more fabric rustling, Lorenzo had freed the prosthetic from her trousers. She felt Lorenzo press against her from behind, and even through her remaining undergarments, Marie could feel the hard shape of it.
Lorenzo's hand came back to Marie's throat, holding her still against the wall as she positioned herself. The other hand pushed Marie's chemise aside, and then Marie felt it, the blunt pressure of the prosthetic pressing against her entrance.
"Lorenzo, please—"Marie tried one more time. "If someone catches us—"
"Let them." And Lorenzo pushed forward. Marie gasped as the prosthetic entered her slowly, inexorably, stretching her open. Her forehead pressed against the cold stone wall.
*Oh God.* The thought hit her with shame and heat in equal measure. *I'm in a church. I've prayed here. I've taken communion at that altar. And now I'm—*
But her body didn't care about sacrilege.
She was wet, shamefully, impossibly wet, and the prosthetic slid into her with an ease that made her face burn.
She'd come to this church since she was a child. She'd knelt in those pews, hands folded in prayer, asking for guidance. And now she was bent over against the wall, taking "a man" inside her, and her body was *responding*.
Her back arched involuntarily as Lorenzo pushed deeper, the curve of her spine pressing her hips back to take more. She couldn't control it—couldn't stop the way her body moved to accommodate him, to welcome him, even as her mind screamed that this was wrong, that they had to stop.
Behind her, Lorenzo made a sound—half-groan, half-growl—as the base of the prosthetic pressed against her own clit.
"Ngh, slow ngh down..." Marie breathed, and didn't know if it was prayer or blasphemy.
"Not yet." Lorenzo's voice was harsh against her neck. Marie felt his hand return to her throat—not cutting off air, just holding, just feeling her pulse hammering beneath his palm.
"I will take you over and over Right here. Right now. Against this wall." Lorenzo began to move, slow, deep thrusts that made Marie bite her own lip to stay quiet. Each movement ground the base of the prosthetic against Lorenzo's clit, and Marie could hear the effect in his breathing, ragged and strained, as if "he" was fighting for control with every movement.
*I have to think,* Marie told herself desperately, even as pleasure rolled through her with each thrust. *I have to stay logical. This is dangerous. We could be caught. Father could find us. The scandal would—*
But The angle was perfect, hitting something deep inside her that made her toes curl in her shoes.
Her back kept arching, pushing her hips back to meet each thrust, and she couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the way she was opening for him, taking him deeper with each movement.
*Young women who come to church don't do this,* some part of her mind insisted. *Good girls don't get wet from being taken against a wall. Good girls don't—*
Marie felt Lorenzo's mouth on her neck again, kisses turning into something more urgent." His" lips pressed to Marie's pulse, then his tongue, then, Marie felt teeth. Sharp. Harder than before. "His" jaw was working against her neck, and she realized with a start that he was biting his own lip or tongue, because she could smell copper in the air, faint but unmistakable.
"Are you...are you bleeding?" Marie managed to gasp.
"Don't worry about it," Lorenzo said roughly, and thrust harder. The movement ground the prosthetic against her clit and Lorenzo's breath hitched.
*I shouldn't want this. Not here. Not like this.* But she did. God help her, she did.
"I can't hold back much longer," Lorenzo warned, and Marie didn't know if he meant his control over his desire or something else entirely. Her movements became more urgent, more desperate.
Marie could feel it building inside her, could feel how close she was getting, how her body was responding despite every logical reason it shouldn't.
*No,* she thought frantically. *I can't. Not here. Not in a church. I can't...*
From beyond the curtain, they heard voices approaching. Lorenzo didn't freeze.
Didn't stop. Her hand came up slowly, deliberately, to cover Marie's mouth, and when Marie's panicked eyes tried to look back, Lorenzo arched an eyebrow, a wicked gleam in her eyes. A chance to be petty wasn't always at her reach. For once she could act reckless. That is one side of Lorenzo's womanhood that not training could change.
"Let's give them a show," Lorenzo whispered, and began to move again. Not fast. Not hard. Slower, actually but with the same relentless, grinding pressure. Deep, deliberate movements that made the prosthetic drag against every sensitive place inside Marie while the voices got closer.
"—should return to the service,"Thomas was saying, his voice far too close. Marie's eyes went wide with panic. She ground her teeth together, trying desperately not to make a sound, but Lorenzo was still moving that slow, grinding rhythm that was somehow worse than the hard thrusts, because she could feel every single inch of it.
"In a moment," Matthew replied. "I thought I heard something."
Lorenzo pushed deep and ground her hips in a slow circle, and Marie's face twisted, panic and pleasure colliding so violently she didn't know which was stronger.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched so hard it hurt, but the sensation was there—deep in her womb, building and building and building
Lorenzo leaned in close to her ear, still moving in those slow, devastating circles, and whispered: "Did you just get wetter?" Marie's eyes flew open, mortified.
"How lewd," Lorenzo breathed, and pulled back only to thrust forward again—and she was right. The prosthetic slid in easier now, deeper, like Marie's body was betraying her even further, responding to the danger, to the taboo of it all.
Marie tried to shake her head, tried to deny it, but her body told the truth. She could feel it herself, feel how wet she'd gotten, how easily Lorenzo was moving inside her now. Lorenzo made a sound of vicious satisfaction and thrust again.
*My father is right there,* her mind screamed. *Right there. And I'm—I'm—*
The pleasure was so deep it hurt. So intense she couldn't think past it.
Her body kept arching, kept pushing back to take more, even as tears leaked from her closed eyes.
"Must have been nothing,"Matthew finally said.
The voices moved away. Lorenzo's hand slowly lifted from Marie's mouth, but she didn't stop moving. Just kept that slow, relentless grinding that was pushing Marie closer and closer to an edge she desperately didn't want to reach here.
"You see?" Lorenzo whispered harshly against her ear, and there was something almost cruel in her satisfaction. "How exciting! They were right there. Right there. And we got away"
"I hate you so much" Marie tried to protest, but it came out as a sob.
"I highly doubt that," Lorenzo said, and thrust deeper. "You can lie to yourself all you want, *cara* ( darling) , but your body tells me the truth."
Marie was trembling violently now, her back still arched in that betraying curve, taking "him" deeper despite everything.
"This is madness..." she managed to gasp.
"Then we're both mad." Lorenzo pulled back and thrust forward again, harder this time, and Marie had to bite her own hand to keep from crying out. "But at least I'm honest about it."
Behind Marie's back, Lorenzo's eyes had gone fully red, her fangs descended just enough that she had to keep her mouth carefully away from Marie's neck. But the satisfaction, the vicious, possessive satisfaction, was written in every movement. Watching Marie struggle. Watching her fight her own body's response. Watching her get wetter, more desperate, more undone with each slow, grinding thrust. It was intoxicating.
"I am about to..." Lorenzo's voice was strained now, her own pleasure building from the base grinding against her clit.
"I beg you stop," Marie gasped, her voice breaking on a sob. "Just stop and I'll come to you tonight—I promise—just not here—please not here—"
"You promise?" Lorenzo's hand tightened on her hip, bruising, and she ground deep one more time. The prosthetic slid in so easily now, so deep, and she felt Marie clench around it involuntarily. "You'll come to me? You'll stop the games? You'll give yourself to me properly?"
"Yes,"Marie sobbed. "Yes to all of it. Just please—I can't—not here—"
Lorenzo made a sound that was half-groan, half-snarl. She stayed there for one more moment, buried deep, feeling Marie's body gripping the prosthetic, feeling her own clit throbbing against the base.
Then, with visible effort, she withdrew.
Marie nearly collapsed against the wall, her legs shaking so badly she could barely stand. She could feel the emptiness, the loss, and hated herself for it.
Lorenzo stepped back. Behind her, Marie heard him adjusting his clothing with shaking hands. Heard his breathing, still harsh and uneven.
When she finally spoke, his voice was rough with satisfaction and barely-leashed desire. "Three hours. Our room. Don't make me come find you. I would rather have you on your terms than anything else"
"I'll be there," Marie whispered, her voice wrecked. She turn around pulling her dress down. Her eyes looked away. She Couldn't face Lorenzo. Not with tears of anger still wet on her cheeks. Not with the evidence of her body's betrayal still slick on her thighs.
Lorenzo adjusted her crown, her uniform, and slipped through the curtain, a small, kinda feline, vicious smile playing at her lips.
Marie stayed back pressed against the wall, legs shaking. She had been so wet. So ready. In a church. And the worst part, the absolutely worst part, was that some shameful part of her had wanted him to finish it. Had wanted to fall apart right there, with her father just beyond that curtain.
*What's wrong with me?*she thought desperately.
But she already knew the answer. Nothing was wrong with her. But everything was with Lorenzo. But she couldn't help yearning for this insane "man".
PS: BUT WE ALL KNOW LORENZO IS A WOMAN!! I CAN'T WAIT FOR HER TO FIND OUT!!