The church was quiet again.
I sat alone in the last pew, knees pulled to my chest, the air still heavy with the scent of sweat, incense, and something wilder. The stained glass glowed with fading light, casting reds and golds across the floor where we had stood—where I had given myself to them and taken them in return.
Not just taken. Welcomed. Wanted.
I could still feel their hands. Their mouths. The ache in my thighs, the bruises blooming beneath my skin like secret petals. My pulse hadn’t settled. My breath came shallow, remembering the way Eli’s voice had cracked when he moaned my name. The way Caleb gripped the pew behind me like he was praying to something fierce and forbidden.
They hadn’t said much after. Just lingering touches. A look. A half-smile from Eli that didn’t reach his eyes. Caleb had kissed my forehead like we had just crossed into something sacred and dangerous, and neither of us knew how to walk back.
We had crossed something.
Not just a line. A boundary. Maybe several.
I tilted my head back and looked at the ceiling—the old rafters, the golden crucifix above the altar, the hanging candlelight still flickering. My lips were swollen. My body loose and sore and humming.
There was no shame. Not yet. Just awareness. Of where we were. Of what it meant.
Of what might come next.
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