This should be simple.

He gives me what I want; I give him what he wants.

No feelings. No regrets.

He pulls me toward him with rough, impatient hands.

I close my eyes, expecting his mouth on mine, but he yanks my top upward, unpins my bra, and buries his face directly into my chest.

"Catechist..."

The title slips from my mind as his lips close over my nipple, his hungry mouth making it impossible to think.

His palm cups my other breast, his thumb rolling hard over the peak until goosebumps break out across my skin.

It's a bizarre mix of shock and surrender.

I'm selling myself to my...