Free The Last Sunday by Terry E. Hill

if you told me to.”
    â€œWould you really do that for me?”
    â€œYes . . . yes, I would, baby,” he said as her intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. “I’ll do anything you tell me to. Just make love to me.”
    Samantha gently pressed her lips to his. “I’m sorry, baby,” she panted between passionate kisses. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Make love to me, David. I want to feel you inside me right now.”
    With one hand Samantha deftly unzipped David’s tented slacks to expose his now pulsing member, and with the other she reached to press a security button under her desk that automatically bolted the door to her office. “Make love to me, David, here, on top of my cathedral.”
    Samantha slowly slid her silky hands along the length of his shaft, causing a hushed moan to escape his lips.
    â€œI need you, David. I’m so glad you didn’t listen to me,” she whispered as she manipulated his flesh, which was like a hardening rod of clay. “I know I can be difficult sometimes. I was just afraid you would leave me first. I didn’t want to be hurt again the way Hezekiah hurt me. That’s why I said those horrible things to you.”
    David could hear only the pounding of his heart and the sound of blood rushing from his brain to his extremities. He pulled the bolero jacket from her shoulders, exposing arms so strong they built an empire, yet so soft they felt like the embrace of a gentle breeze.
    â€œI need you inside me,” she panted as she raised her leg to his waist.
    Before David could respond, his pants fell to the floor and he felt himself enveloped in her warm, moist flesh. A whimpering gasp escaped his lips without warning.
    â€œFuck me, David,” Samantha moaned as she slid up and down his trembling body.
    David stood firm and locked his knees as Samantha consumed his body and his soul. News feeds continued to stream on the monitors behind them. The flashing images, scrolling news reports, and talking ciphers provided a media backdrop to the two writhing bodies. Samantha watched the wall of her images over David’s shoulders as she moaned her undying devotion.
    Without warning the climactic evidence of his passion violently bubbled to the surface. David leaned forward and braced himself on the glass desk as Samantha intensified her assault. His body shook and his knees trembled from supporting both their weight. With his eyes closed and his mouth clamped tight to prevent involuntary shrieks of ecstasy, David released a torrent of his love for Samantha. The two panted in unison until the rushes of passion subsided.
    â€œYou understand you belong to me now,” Samantha said as David retrieved his pants from around his ankles and tucked in his shirt. “Do you understand what that means?”
    David flashed a satisfied smile and said, “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Yes, I understand, baby.”
    â€œI’m not sure that you do. The world is different up here, David,” she said, looking out over the grounds. “And now you’re a part of it. You have to play by a different set of rules. Rules that may sometimes seem . . . contrary to what you’ve been taught. But there’s no turning back now.”
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    It was Jasmine Cleaveland’s first night at home after spending twenty-eight days in a drug rehabilitation center in Arizona. The death of her father had caused her to sink deeper into a world of sex, alcohol, and drugs. When she arrived home, she was greeted at the door by Etta Washington, the live-in maid.
    â€œHello, Jasmine,” Etta said from the threshold of the front door as the driver opened the rear door of the black Escalade. “Welcome home.”
    â€œThank you,” Jasmine replied with a smirk. “Is Mother home?”
    â€œYes, dear,” Etta responded politely. “She’s in the study. She would like to see you before you go to your