Page 10 of The Fallen

In an instant, her face goes from crimson to as white as a ghost. “Must I?” Her tone is so soft, so very timid, that I almost miss it.

“Would you rather I just punish you?” Honestly, that would be the easy way out.

“I suppose not.”

“Then show me.”

Her slim fingers tremble as she hoists up the hem of her working clothes. Inch by inch, her body is revealed to me until the crisp, dark hairs guarding her pussy peek out. My cock pulses as I stare at her virginal mound. What I was expecting was sensible cotton underwear. Not this.

“Do you not wear panties?”

She falters, lowering her hem a touch. “In the convent, it wasn’t a command. Is it here in this order?”

“I care not what you wear under your clothes. I was just caught off guard. Continue.”

Again, she breathes out, her body shaking like the last leaf refusing to fall before the onslaught of a brutal winter. I shouldn’t love the way she reacts to me, shouldn’t crave the fear I smell wafting from her tinged with enough arousal to know she’s not completely terrified. I shouldn’t want to dig into my special armoire and grab my cincture, the cords I use to gird myself during Mass, and tie her to my bed so I can have my wicked way.

I’m most definitely playing with fire. Hell fire. A fire that will destroy us both.

Eventually, she’s completely bared to me. God, but she’s divine. Slick glistens on her lower lips as they stand out puffy and swollen, just as I pictured them to be. From this angle, I can’t see her clit, but I can only imagine how aroused she is. The more I stare at her, the more the scent permeates the air until my vision swims.

“How did you touch yourself?” I manage to rasp out as I slide my chair back from the alluring view.

“Well, I was on the bed, and-”

“By all means then.” With a jerk of my hand, I motion toward the bed.

I watch her rise from the chair, my gaze raking over her body like the lecher I am. My heart pounds in my chest as she lies down and spreads her creamy thighs, exposing the dusky pinkof her pussy to me. Even more arousal trickles out, staining my sheets with her unholy fluid.

There will be no washing them. Not until her scent dissipates naturally. It’s madness. I feel it creeping into me, filling me with toxic sludge, but in the midst of it, I cannot help but think that maybe she is my purpose.

If all things happen for a reason, then perhaps that’s why she’s in this abbey skulking around as my waking nightmare. Shoving those things out of my head, I watch with rapt attention as she lowers her fingers to her clit. It is indeed just as swollen with need as the rest of her.

God, how many years has it been since I last touched an omega? Five? Ten? Locked away in this abbey, it feels like an eternity. Just watching Sister Emily Agnes touching herself brings all the old lusts raring back to the forefront. The need to touch her, taste her, devour her beats at my brain.

Her soft moans flitting from her lips sound like songs sung at vespers. Only, they’re a touch off-key and a bit breathy. They’re lower, illicit, forbidden... taboo. No one else can hear her. Only me.

The lilting sounds caress my skin, washing over me, bathing me in her arousal. If only I could touch her. Just one touch. Just one.

“What say you, Father Confessor?” she groans, rocking her hips up into the air. “Is this a cardinal sin? It feels too good to be a sin. So right. So perfect. So...”

“Forbidden,” I supply.

Chapter Five

Sister Emily Agnes

Forbidden.

The word rattles about in my head searching for a meaning. In my nineteen years being around the Nuns and now the Sisters, I’ve never had someone speak to me in terms of what I am doing is forbidden. Naughty, occasionally. Scatterbrained, more times than I can count.

But forbidden?

I’ve never been one to ever even try skirting the rules. I was always devout and steadfast in my dedication to God. Only now, with the sexy Father Confessor watching me as I touch my most intimate parts, I have to wonder if I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing.

In the convent, it was easy. There was no temptation. At least, there was nothing that seemed to tempt me. The other Nuns talked about struggles with various sins such as vanity, gluttony, and the like, but really, that was a non-issue. There were no massive amounts of mirrors for me to gawk at myself. Nothing we ate was so delicious that I wanted to gorge myself past satisfaction.

Their piety confused me. For them, being in the convent was suffering for Christ. For me, it was home. The only home I everknew. Perhaps that’s where we’re different. I never had a choice, never had experiences outside of the confines of the stone walls and wooden floors.

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