MutesiPatience5
Her plea was a whisper, a desperate "Please, stop..." that was swallowed by his kiss. But her body was a traitor. Even as the words left her lips, her hands were working, fumbling with the buckle of his belt, pulling it free with a sharp, metallic rasp.
He didn't stop. He kissed her like he was claiming something, with a fierce, single-minded passion that felt biblical in its force-like Moses tearing the Red Sea in two, an unstoppable power that reshaped the world in its wake.
"I have to go," she breathed, her voice trembling. "I need to be at church."
It was the last, feeble protest of her old life. And just like that, it was gone. The sermon she was meant to hear was replaced by a different, older text-the Song of Songs, coming to life in the heated space between their bodies.
---
This is Blossom's story. She was a girl who thought she knew about innocence, until she met a boy who wore his faith like a handsome mask. He seemed like salvation, but his touch was a sin she craved.
She traded communion wine for the salt of his skin, and in the tangled sheets of her bed, she founded a new religion, with his name as its only prayer.