“Yes, you do,” I reply with a laugh. “But I really don’t care what you think.”
As I smile up at him, he doesn’t return the expression.
Then I regret saying it.
“You are not a freak,” he says, this time using that cool authority again. And like a fool, I start to believe it.
“Okay,” I reply, just to please him, hoping it means he’ll take the intensity of his gaze off my face.
“If you want to leave, we can.”
“No,” I reply. “Let’s get the shot you want to get.”
After a moment of hesitation, he grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. There’s a murmur of voices in the distance, like a crowd of people creating a low hum of energy. We stop at an intersection of hallways, and Adam glances anxiously
around before continuing straight ahead. As we reach a heavy wooden door, my stomach drops as I notice the name on the golden plaque above it.
Reverend Truett Goode.
Oh fuck.
My hand squeezes Adam’s as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, scanning the hallway one last time before shoving the key in the door and twisting it to unlock.
“How do you know he won’t be here?” I whisper.
“Because the service is set to start in thirty minutes. He’s in makeup.”
“Are you sure he won’t come back?” I sound panicked, mostly because I am panicked.
Adam glances my way and lets a playful smile tug at his lips. “Come on, Peaches. Live a little.”
Then the door opens and he pulls me inside. He turns and locks it behind us.
Truett’s office is ginormous. There’s a massive oak desk with ornate embellishments and a giant cross etched into the front. Behind the desk is a throne-like chair and a large framed photo of Jesus on the wall at the back of the room.
Adam rushes toward the desk, positioning himself behind it. “I want him to recognize his office, so maybe you can put your phone over there and record from an angle.”
I hurry and open the camera app, propping the phone on one of the heavy ornate chairs positioned in front of the desk.
It puts Adam in plain view and Truett’s nameplate front and center on the desk.
And…well, Jesus.
Fuck, I’m going to hell in a handbasket.
Without thinking too much about it, I hit record and yank off my top, so I’m in just a bra and tight jean shorts. Adam’s eyes flicker down before he catches himself and looks back up at my face.
“Where do you want me?” I ask.
“Here,” he replies, gesturing for me to stand between him and the desk. At first, I’m facing him, breathing in the scent of his cologne and getting momentarily lost in the warmth of his honey-brown eyes.
He stares at me a moment before placing his hands on my hips and spinning me around.
“I’ll…fuck you over the desk like this,” he says, a tremor in his voice. Then he presses himself against my backside and heat assaults my core. It’s so fucking cruel that we can pretend to have sex so much but can never have any actual sex. We’ve just guaranteed ourselves three months of the worst blue balls in history.
As he moves to take off his shirt, I stop him. “Leave it on,”
I say.
He pauses. “What? Why?”
“Because it’s hotter if I’m naked and you’re not.” With that, I reach back and try to unfasten my bra. When my fingers fumble for a second too long, his touch sends chills down my spine as he unclasps it himself. My bra falls to the desk, and I try not to think about it too long as I reach down and unbutton my shorts, shooting them down my legs.
My thong stays on, but as I check out the view on the camera, I realize it can be seen on the screen.
“You’ll have to take that off,” he mutters quietly.
We don’t have time to think too much about this or formulate a new plan. The sooner we get the shot, the sooner we can leave. So, I nod. My fingers tremble as I drag my underwear down my legs.
There’s something different about this time than last. For one, I feel much more exposed, and not just because I’m naked and bent over a desk, revealing everything for him.
But also because we’re in his domain. I’m the outsider here.
And most of all, I feel exposed because my feelings for Adam are changing too quickly. I’m afraid he can read the desire on my face. Like it’s written all over my body in the way my nipples pebble from the slightest touch and how my belly warms every time he looks at me. And how, right now, with him positioned behind me, and the very thought of him fucking me here and now, has me so aroused I’m afraid he can see it.
My fingers grip the desk as I lean over it, my belly touching the cool surface as my small breasts hover just above the various papers Truett has scattered across it. And the sound of Adam’s belt coming undone makes the pooling arousal even worse.
The silky fabric of his boxer briefs presses against my backside, and my fingers clutch the desk tighter. I wince as I imagine the mess I must be making there.
When we both glance at the camera screen, there’s a moment of awkward silence, because his boxer briefs can be seen clear as day.
“Should we change the angle?” he asks.
“No,” I reply without looking at him. “This angle is perfect.”
“You want me to take them off?”
“Just do it,” I say.
As he slides off his boxers, I glance at the screen to see just how hot and real it looks, but he’s still not pressed all the way against me.
“I’m going to get hard and I won’t be able to help it.”
“It’s fine,” I reply in a mumble.
“Are you sure?” he whispers. I can hear the concern in his tone.
“We’ve done worse already,” I reply. “Let’s just get the shot.”
He clears his throat. “Action.”
The camera timer beeps—three, two, one.
With that, we both start moving. He thrusts toward me, slamming his half-hard cock against my backside, and I moan with pleasure. But as his motion starts to pick up in speed and intensity, I start to feel more and more connected to him. With each thrust of his hips, my moans feel less and less like acting.
He’s not inside me and he’s nowhere near my clit, and still…something about this feels so good.
“Harder,” I say with a breathy yelp, and Adam slams against my backside with such force I knock a pile of papers onto the floor.
I squeeze my thighs together as I bite my lip to keep from embarrassing myself. It’s pretty obvious now how much I desperately need to get laid. I feel like I might come from some fake sex dry-humping, and that’s just humiliating.
But then his fingers dig deeper into my hips and the softness isn’t so soft anymore. He’s growing hard, and I can’t help but notice that the motion of his hips is taking on a less fake, more real rhythm.
My thighs clench even tighter.
“Go ahead, Peaches. Come on my father’s desk.” His voice is husky and strained.
“Yes,” I cry out, pressing my hips back toward him.
Suddenly, I feel his stiff length slide between my thighs, rubbing against my aching clit, and I let out a gasp and a moan that is very, very real.
Glancing up at the camera screen, I see his expression in the video. There’s a look of feral determination on his face.