The air in my dorm room was thick with tension, the scent of rain from the open window mixing with her lavender perfume. Chloe sat on the edge of my bed, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her modest, high-necked blouse. Her crucifix pendant caught the dim light, glinting like a dare.

"Please, Chloe," I whispered, kneeling before her. "Just a peek. I need to see what you hide under all that faith."

Her cheeks flushed crimson, but she didn't move away when my fingers found the top button of her blouse. "This is wrong," she breathed, but her voice was shaky, uncertain.

"Then why do you tremble?" I asked, popping the button open. "Why does your heart race for sin?"

One by one, the buttons gave way, revealing a lacy white bra—pure, virginal, frustrating. My hands cupped the soft mounds of her tits through the fabric, feeling her nipple's hard peak pressing against my palm.

"Let me see them," I insisted. "Let me worship what God gave you."

With a shaky exhale, she reached behind her back and unclasped the bra. Her tits spilled free—plump, heavy, with rosy nipples begging for attention. I moaned, diving in to take one in my mouth, tongue swirling around the stiff bud.

"Oh... fuck," she gasped, the profanity foreign on her pious lips. "That feels... wicked."

"Wicked feels good," I murmured, lifting her skirt to find wetness already staining her princess-cut panties. "You're soaked, Chloe. Your pussy knows what it wants, even if your