The Devil in Hannah Prynne

Gazing down at me with furrowed brows, he asked, "Am I hurting you?"

"No. I'm cumming. Ohhhh," I moaned as I squirmed beneath him. "Fuck me, Bryson. Fuck me!"

He smiled before propelling his hardness into me with a steady rhythm.

"Harder," I demanded. "Harder!"

It was as though I gave him permission to let go and he fucked me hard. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, riding him as I laid a big open mouth kiss upon him. His hips moved between my thighs as he dick moved in and out of me over and over again. His breathing became labored. His hands gripped my shoulders until, with one last thrust he held it in as deep as it would go. He buried his face into my neck, his hot breath steaming my skin, and groaned as he came. He shivered and jerked as his tight balls pumped away and I kept my legs and arms wrapped around him. When his orgasm subsided, he balanced himself upon his elbows and opened his eyes to see me grinning up at him. He smiled. He grunted and jerked a bit as he withdrew his spent dick before rolling over beside me.

Lying on his back, he was still breathing hard, looking up at the ceiling as though he were contemplating life. Then he turned onto his side to look at me with love in his eyes. He brushed a stray lock of hair from my face before softly kissing my lips. I began to worry. God, he hasn't fallen in love with me, has he? I could never be a pastor's wife. Never!

I got off my bed and picked up my dress which I pulled over my head. Flipping my hair off my back, I said, "My parents will be home any time now."

"Oh, okay," he said sitting up.

.

It was cruel of me not to let him bask in the afterglow. Wicked, I know. After he dressed, we walked to my front door. I turned on the porch light.

Bryson asked, "Will you be in church this Sunday."

"Yeah. Last sermon. I'm going back to school next week.

"Oh. Yeah. Well, see you Sunday."

He gave me a sweet kiss on the lips and it took real discipline not to drag him inside for round two. I can't lead him on. I was just doing him a favor. I shut the door confused by mixed emotions of evil satisfaction and genuine feelings him. I made the good boy bad. Given enough time, and little more experience, he'll be really great in bed.

That Sunday, I took my grandmother to church for the last time. I tuned out Pastor John, thinking about how I was going to decorate my dorm room and wondering if my past dorm mate friends would return until Bryson took the pulpit. There was something different about him. A casual stance, loose shoulders, a confidence in his eyes. He opened his binder.

"'If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.' So true. Whether it's a wounded bird you nursed back to health, a member leaving our congregation, or a loved on leaving town, if you love them, you set them free. But before they go, let them know how much you love them. That you've learned from them, grown from knowing them; that they've opened your mind to new experiences and are thankful for the pleasure they've given you. Let him know you are here for him. Let her know that she is cherished and loved," he said, as his eyes met mine.

My heart was beating hard. This is a love letter to me!

"Let them know you'll always be here for them, that they have a soft, loving, and safe place to land if the world becomes too ugly and mean. Let them know how much you love them and then set them free with no conditions or restrictions. So those who are about to fly, our sons and daughters going to school or the military or setting out to find their place in the world, be free. Go with God. Go with love."

Tears, which welled in my eyes, dripped upon my cheeks. My grandmother looked at me bewildered. She dug in her purse for a tissue which she handed to me to dab away my tears. After church, Pastor John wished me well in school. I saw Bryson speaking to some of our youth group in the parking lot and I excused myself from my grandmother's side. I walked over to him.

"Hi Bryson. Can I speak to you alone?"

He excused himself from the group and followed me to the shade of an old oak tree.

"What you said in the pulpit was really beautiful."

"I meant it."

"What happened between us, I want you to know that it was special to me. I didn't mean to trivialize it, rushing you out like that."

"You don't have to explain. I understand," he said, taking both my hands into his. "You take care of yourself and visit us when you come home."

"You're a good guy."

"And you're a good girl who enjoys being bad. But, hey, who am I to judge?"

We smiled at each other. I wanted to kiss him but didn't dare in front of the others. With smiles on our faces that held naughty secrets, Bryson and I returned to the others still milling about in front of the church.

That was my summer. Speeding down country roads in mom's Caddy, taking grandma to church, sinning, drinking beer and taking a church boy's virginity. And that is country girl realness.