A Small Voice

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Now concerning thethings whereof ye wrote unto me: It is good for a man not to touch a woman.Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and letevery woman have her own husband. Let the husband render unto the wife duebenevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband."1 Corinthians 7

We arrived at our hotel, exhausted. Being a gentleman, I carried all of the luggage, as Rachel shuffled along beside me. Her hair was a mess, and I could make out faint sleep lines on her left cheek. I assumed no one really sleeps well on a plane, and aside from the forty minutes of my weed-induced comma, I didn't sleep at all. It made me smile that little Rach zonked out. I found it typical—she could thrive with everyone and every environment.

I was excited this moment had arrived. It was true that we both needed a good hot shower, and that inevitably we smelled like body odor and airplane food, but I finally had the opportunity to fuck Rachel. I was hyped. The girl I loved, from the first moment I laid eyes on her, was now my wife. I wanted my cock in her as deep as her little body would allow, maybe deeper still. I wanted her to take me so fully that it made her moan in pain and ecstasy. I'd dreamt of it for four long years. I sacrificed my back with leather, cut my body, all from the guilt of defiling her in my mind. But now it was divine. What was once sinful is now righteous. It's the Christian way, an almost incomprehensible dichotomy. I couldn't wait to see and feel that tight ass again. As perverted as it was, I wanted to put my face between each small cheek and fucking go to town.

We finally got to the hotel room's door. I looked at Rachel. "We made it, baby!"

"Thank goodness," she replied, looking exhausted.

I dropped the baggage and picked her up. She squealed playfully. "What are you doing, Dan?" She looked less weary and more intrigued.

"I have to carry you over the threshold."

She blushed and put her hands on my cheeks. "I love my old fashion man."

I opened the door—well, pretty much kicked it open—and walked her in, tossing her on the bed. Then I jumped on right after her. I hugged her tightly and kissed her deeply, my body aroused instantly. The history of our uninhibited intimacy began replaying in my mind.

"Dan, the luggage."

"Oh shit." I laughed, "I totally forgot."

"Whoa, language."

"Oh yeah, sorry. But don't forget, you were the one who taught me how to cuss."

She folded her arms on her chest, dark hair sprawled over the pillow, "Are you going to hold that against me?"

She looked so cute like that. "Of course not, I apologize for my language."

She smiled. "Apology accepted."

Walking quickly to the hallway, I impatiently grabbed the bags, carelessly throwing them into the room, one by fucking one.

"Be careful with my luggage!" she hollered, laughing.

Once my task was complete, I headed right back to the bed, directly to Rachel. I was a predator, thirsting for my prey. I jumped on her, continuing where I'd left off. I put my hands under her shirt as I kissed her deeply, finally feeling those tight tits once again.

"Dan," she whispered, "can we pray first?"

I froze, realizing I wasn't about to fuck Tammy, or even Sammy, for that matter. Rachel, I should have realized, would be different. She was a goddamn minster now, not a fucking loose and dirty girl like the two aforementioned.

"Sure," I replied.

She smiled. "Okay, you start."

I felt a wave of awkwardness rush over me, replacing my lust. "Okay, umm...what are we praying for, again?"