[spoiler]Right now I want to take his cock as deep down my throat as I can get it. I consciously open my throat and grip his hips, giving him more pressure to thrust against. Saliva coats my chin as he sinks deep, again and again. His balls, when I reach down to stroke them with my fingertips, are tight against his body. The hand on my head tightens, then gently pushes back until I slow, then let the tip pop free from my mouth.

“Fuck,” he says, breathing hard.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. The taste of champagne spreads over my tongue, unexpected and tart. I make a satisfied little noise and lick my wrist, my fingers, my palm, then the tip of his cock.

He reaches down and grips my arm to haul me to my feet, and walks me back into the wall. For the second time pain shoots down my spine but this time I laugh, the sound shocked and frantic and wild. It cuts off abruptly when he lifts my wrist to his mouth and sucks the tender skin, pressing against the tendons, the delicate bone. I want to feel his tongue against mine, so I lean in and lick next to his. He groans and pushes my wrist against the wall by my head and kisses me.

He’d been holding back before. This kiss is the kiss of a pirate, plundering my mouth. He bends at the knees and whisks up my skirt, then shoves against my body, grinding his spit-slick cock against my bare belly. A new sound joins the muffled grunts and clack of teeth, the rasp of his pubic hair against my lace panties. We’re skin to skin and simulating sex, and I want him naked. Now.

I shove his jacket off his shoulders, onto the gritty stone floor, then attack the buttons on his shirt. He reaches behind me and finds my zipper, yanking it down. He mouths at my shoulder, nipping the curves, licking the hollows, until he can curl his fingers into the crisscrossing straps and pull them down. In an ideal world my dress would slide gracefully to my feet; in this dirty, ruined, unconsecrated church, he has to yank a little when the silk sticks to my sweaty skin.

That feels beyond right.

Panting, I lift my chin and stand in nothing but my panties and my strappy heels while I loosen the noose of his tie and lift it over his head. He shoulders out of his shirt, helping me get him half-naked. He looks me over, that possessive glint back in his eyes. I experience a moment of disorientation so profound I wonder where I am. I want his hands on my body. Instead he reaches for the champagne bottle and opens it. He’s deft with the wire and foil, gets a grip on the protruding cork.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Sure.” I have no idea what’s coming, but I’m as ready as I’ve ever been in my life.

Gaze firmly locked with mine, he pops it open. Foam spills over his hand, then down his arm as he lifts the bottle. I catch on just in time, tip my head back to catch the champagne in my open mouth. The effervescent liquid spills over my chin and down my throat. I swallow, gasp, laugh.

The sound transforms into a shocked moan when he licks the bubbly froth coating my throat, my collarbone, my breasts and nipples. He retains enough presence of mind to set the bottle down on the floor beside him as he goes to his knees, tongue rapacious and sure on my body. I stare down at him, on his knees, cock out and flushed, trousers sagging on his hips, then I tip my head back and see nothing at all.

[/spoiler]