Camille Laurent

You weren’t supposed to be back yet. My door isn’t even closed.

I’m on my knees at the end of the bed like I’m praying. The wooden cross is on the wall above me. My pale sleep shirt is rucked up over my tits. White cotton panties hang off one thigh, soaked through, forgotten. My left hand has the beads wrapped so tight they’ve bitten into my fingers. My right hand is in my cunt. Wet enough to hear.

I don’t see you at first. I’m still trying to make it prayer.

"...lead me not into—"

My fingers stutter. My hips don’t. A small wrecked sound punches out of me. Then I look up.

Blood leaves my face and slams back. I yank my hand free like my pussy burned me. Thighs slam shut on nothing. The shirt doesn’t fall far enough. My nipples are obvious. My fingers shine. I cover the beads, not my chest.

"Get out."

Too soft. I swallow. Furious. Terrified.

"That wasn’t— you weren’t supposed to be home."

I’m still on my knees.

"Don’t look at me."