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strangerexee · 21 days ago

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ᴘʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ɪᴛ, ʙᴀʙʏ | ꜱᴀᴍᴍɪᴇ ᴍᴏᴏʀᴇ x ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ!ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

The barn was alive — music rolling like a river, laughter booming, stomps on the wooden floors in time with the beat.

It was damn near midnight but nobody had slowed down yet.

You’d been dancing for what felt like hours — sweaty, breathless, twirling under the hazy glow of the lights — and somewhere in the middle of the crowd, Sammie Moore had found you.

That voice — God, that voice — smooth like smoke, low like thunder, sweet enough to steal your good sense.

And now — now —

You were laughing against his chest, hands clutching the front of his jacket, as he half-dragged you toward the back of the barn.

Your shoes skidded on the rough wood, the hem of your dress twisting between your knees. Sammie was laughing too, that soft, breathless chuckle that made your heart flip.

"Where you takin' me, preacher boy?" you teased, grinning.

Sammie just shook his head — smiling wide, eyes burning — and pushed open a closet door.

Light dim inside.

Dusty.

Perfect.

You barely made it inside before his mouth was on yours — kissing you like he hadn't just seen you thirty seconds ago — like he’d been starving.

One hand grabbing his shoulder, the other going to the back of his neck to pull him closer if possible — and you gasped against his mouth, dizzy with how fast this was happening.

Somebody — Slim, from the sound of it — hollered out a laugh from the other side of the barn.

"Ain't no hidin', Sammie!" "Boy too loud!"

You laughed into Sammie’s kiss, breathless.

He laughed too — a low rumble in his chest — but he didn't pull away.

If anything, he kissed you harder.

Hands gripping your waist like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You pulled back just enough to breathe — your forehead bumping his.

"You sound real good up there," you mumbled, cheeks hot. "When you was singin’. Sound better than anybody else here."

Sammie huffed a soft, bashful sound — but the way his eyes darkened, you knew he liked hearing that.

"That right, pretty girl?" he said, voice dragging like silk across your skin. "You like my singin'?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, kissing on his jaw. "'Specially when you hit them notes."

You weren't thinking — not really — just talking and laughing and letting yourself get drunk off the heat of him.

So when he lifted you up and set you on the old table in the closet, your brain barely caught up.

Not even when he dropped to his knees.

Dropped to his knees.

You blinked — the sweat cooling on your skin — heart pounding as you felt his hands push up the hem of your dress.

"Sammie —" you gasped, pushing at his shoulders. "Wait, wait, wait — I walked here — I been dancin' all night — I ain't — I ain't even clean —"

You were babbling, mortified.

But Sammie just kissed the inside of your thigh — slow and hot — then smiled up at you, mouth glistening.

"Don't care," he said simply. "You beautiful just like this." "Sweaty, messy, mine."

You slapped a hand over your face, half in embarrassment, half because you couldn't believe this was happening.

You heard him laugh low.

Then he grabbed your wrist — firm but careful — and pulled your hand away from your face.

"Lay down for me, baby," he murmured, thumb stroking your wrist. "Let me take care of you." his voice, you were gonna die. Die because of the way he was distracting you, all while pulling down your panties, all the way down, and letting them fall from your ankles.

You swallowed thick.

Nodded.

And laid back — the old wood creaking under your weight — the barn lights flickering somewhere behind your shut eyelids, your whole body trembling with a mix of nerves and something deeper. Darker.

You felt Sammie’s hands sliding up your thighs, warm and calloused, felt the press of his palms as he gently eased your legs open, spreading you like something sacred — like he was about to pray at the altar of you.

Cool air brushed your inner thighs, kissed the heat between them — and then came the softest groan, deep from his chest.

“Damn…” he murmured, more to himself than to you. "So damn sweet."

His breath fanned over your wetness and you shivered, lips parted, eyes fluttering as your fingers gripped the table edge.

Then — his mouth was on you.

Hot. Slow. Focused.

His tongue slid through your folds, parting them with gentle precision, until he found your clit — and sealed his lips around it.

Sucked. Soft. Steady.

Your entire body jolted — hips twitching off the table in shock.

“Oh my God — Sammie —”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop.

He groaned into your pussy like he’d just tasted divinity, like the sound of your moan had gone straight through him.

His hands slid underneath your thighs, fingers curling tight over your hips, anchoring you down, so you couldn’t run, couldn’t flinch, couldn’t do anything but take it.

And you took it.

Your thighs shook around his head, your breath coming out in choked gasps —

you tried to be quiet — tried to bite down on the sounds spilling out of you — but he made it impossible.

The way his tongue worked — lapping, circling, flicking that sensitive spot again and again, so tender but so filthy — made your body rise with every pass.

Your hand slipped to the back of his neck, cradling him there.

He moaned against you like you fed him, like he needed this, like he was starving for it.

“Preacher boy —” you gasped, the nickname tumbling out on instinct.

He grinned against your pussy, let out a low, filthy hum that made your stomach clench.

And when he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Say it again,” his voice was so deep, so wrecked with lust — you thought you might fall apart from just that alone.

You could barely breathe.

Could barely think.

But you obeyed, barely above a whimper.

“P-Preacher boy…”

He hummed again — deeper this time — and then you felt him slide two thick fingers into you without warning.

You cried out, back arching off the table — as he filled you and stretched you slow, deliberate — his tongue still working your clit — his mouth soft while his fingers curled inside you, firm and sure.

He moved like he’d done this before — like he knew how to pull sounds from a woman’s chest. He licked you like it was Sunday service. He fucked you with his fingers like he meant to make you confess something.

“That’s it,” Sammie murmured, voice honey-slick and ruined. “C’mon now. Give it to me, baby. C’mon, let go for me.”

You came like the barn was shaking — like the wood beneath you would snap — like he’d stolen your soul from between your thighs.

And he didn’t stop. Not until you were trembling and leaking and gasping, his mouth dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of you like he needed it to breathe.

When he finally slowed — pressing a soft kiss to your swollen clit, then the inside of your thigh — you lay there stunned.

Eyes glassy. Breath gone. Heart stuttering against your ribs.

He rose to his feet slow — and when you looked up at him, you felt a flush run all the way down your chest.

His mouth was shiny with you. His lips swollen and damp.

His eyes? Wicked.

He leaned down — one hand cupping your cheek — and kissed you.

Deep. Slick. Sweet.

You tasted yourself on his tongue. You let him feed it to you like communion. And you swore you could still feel his moan in your mouth.

"Told you," Sammie whispered against your lips. "Ain't no hidin', baby. You mine now."

You only pushed him away with a scoff, still catching your breath.

You sat up slow — the old wood of the table creaking under you — your dress all bunched up around your hips, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing.

Sammie was standing right in front of you — tall and breathing hard, eyes fixed on you like you were something holy.

You caught your breath — swallowed thick — and reached for him.

Reached for the buttons on his pants, fingers fumbling a little from how bad you still felt your climax rattling through you.

Sammie’s eyes darkened instantly.

"Baby —" he started, voice low and rough. "You sure?" "Mmhmm," you nodded, staring up at him with glassy, hungry eyes.

You slid your hands over the front of his pants — felt him already thick and hard underneath — and bit your lip.

"I want you," you whispered.

That was all Sammie needed.

He bent down — grabbed your face in both hands — and kissed you deep.

Hot and filthy, his mouth tasting like your own arousal.

You moaned into the kiss — grabbing onto the waistband of his pants — trying to pull him closer.

Sammie chuckled against your mouth — low and breathless — and let you work at his belt.

You popped it open — the soft snap loud in the tiny closet — and dragged the zipper down, your fingers shaking just a little.

He caught your hands for a second — squeezing them.

"Take your time, baby," he whispered. "Ain't no rush."

But you wanted him — wanted him so bad it hurt.

You kissed him again — desperate, messy — hands slipping under the waistband of his briefs, feeling the heavy, thick weight of him.

Sammie groaned into your mouth — deep and broken — his hips jerking forward when you wrapped your hand around him.

You stroked him slow — feeling the silky heat of him — and Sammie gripped the edge of the table like he might break it.

"F-Fuck, baby," he breathed, forehead pressing against yours. "You tryin' to kill me?"

You just smiled — shy but wicked — and kissed him again, tongue sliding slow against his.

You wanted more.

You needed more.

So you shifted — still trembling — and pulled him closer between your legs.

Sammie sucked in a sharp breath — one hand sliding up your thigh — pushing your dress higher, until he could feel how wet you still were for him.

"Damn," he muttered against your mouth. "Still so sweet for me."

You nodded — desperate — and guided him closer.

But Sammie pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes — his gaze hot and serious.

"Ain't fuckin' you on no damn splintery table," he growled. "You deserve better than that."

You whimpered — frustrated — but he kissed you slow, calming you.

"Next time," Sammie promised, voice low. "Next time, baby, I’m takin' you somewhere proper." "Where I can hear you scream without worryin' who hear us."

You shivered — God, you wanted him so bad — but you trusted him too.

You trusted him to mean it.

You trusted him to come back for you.

So instead — instead, you pulled him close again — and let him grind against you, thick and hard between your thighs, while you kissed him deep and dirty.

Sammie kissed you like he was carving your name into his soul — slow and aching and desperate — his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that made you both moan.

It wasn't enough.

Not nearly.

But it was everything all at once.

And when you finally pulled back — cheeks burning, lips slick — Sammie rested his forehead against yours and smiled.

"You my girl now," he whispered. "Ain't lettin' you go, baby."

And you smiled too — still trembling — but more sure than you ever had been before.

"Good," you whispered back. "'Cause I ain't goin' nowhere."

A/N: brb - I need to go touch some grass...

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