Author's Note: That's the sequel of the imagine Take Me To Church with the reader and Timothy, himself! Furthermore, this imagine is a great blend of fluff and smut, but mostly smut!
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Just a week after the church mass where it weighed off the scales of you and Timothy's escalated relationship via your regular visits in the chapel indicating your loyalty and the shivering-thoughtful-clad memories of the masculine warmness lingering on your petite hand's flesh, you couldn't still sort your mind rationally even smartly after the dynamic development of the events the last weekend. It still felt like as if a day has already passed, not just a week of sheer advancement.
The enamoured humor, phenomenally quivering you and Timothy in a small bubble of your own world with various of interests and dreams evolving your hurricane of thoughts, was an inescapable phenomenon and evolutionary process of your relationship development between a mere nobody and a priest. Regardless your big age gap as he could be your actual father or at least uncle along with your status and background in the general population's expansive world, the standards were boundless for you.
Just before paying a visit to the local chapel to behold him again, you went to lingerie store to purchase an extravagant pair of luxurious lacy scarlet bra, lacy scarlet panties along with exquisitely thin jet-black stockings, ideally coupled with elegantly crimson garnets apt to ornate the sinfully seductive outfit. In addition to your surreptitiously sinful plotted concept of saving it for a peculiarly outstanding occasion that was interpreted in demonstrating it straightforwardly to the devotional clergyman.
The frequency of his protagonistic appearance in your bedtime or at least nap dreams somehow regulated, fulfilling your impure thoughts of him haunting you since his very first appearance in your life. The honeyed British lilt puncturing the medley of sweet nothings and authoritative, dominating commands erupted your electrifying epidermis at the very first thought of the reverie events' development under the form of your earlobe's gentle, velvety caress of his mint-stained breath gingerly, brassly creamy fanning your delicate flesh and coveting for its ethereally timeless sequel to play out to compose the sensual ballad of sweet nothings and authoritative commands to settle your positions, to blend them with amorously breathtaking compliments and commands of illuminating his domineering side, illustrated vividly brilliant in his stance of taking advantage of you.
