Ciara's PoV:
Father Andrew knocked again — harder this time, three sharp raps that echoed through the sacristy like gunshots.
My whole body jolted. Father Chris froze above me, his massive c**k still pressed right against my dripping entrance, the thick head nudging my folds open, so close to sliding inside and finally splitting me apart.
My legs were spread wide on the sofa, skirt bunched at my waist, blouse hanging open, t**s heaving with every desperate breath.
For one terrifying second I thought he was going to ignore the knock and thrust into me anyway.
Instead he cursed under his breath, pulled back, and tucked that huge, throbbing c**k back into his trousers with visible effort.
The thick bulge strained against the fabric as he zipped up. “Fix yourself,” he whispered harshly
