Page 25 of The Fallen

“F- Father Confessor. I-”

“What’s the matter, my dear sweet Sister in Christ? Come, greet me with a holy kiss. I know you long too.”

Instead of answering me, she drops the keys onto the cold floor and races back up the stairs. My cock twitches with every pound of her feet against the stone steps. A chase wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it makes the capture all the more poignant.

Each step I take is slow and methodical. I listen carefully, doing my best to determine where she’s going. If she locks herself in her room, it will be much harder to get to her without rousing the others. Thankfully, no slamming doors greet my ears, and no running either.

She’s not above me. Not anymore. That only leaves a handful of places. A wicked grin curls up my lips as I take the last of the stairs two at a time. Bypassing the chapel, I go into the cloakroom where the holy garments stay stored before use in Mass. Since I’m already guilty of so many unpardonable sins, I might as well commit a few more.

The cinctures run across my hands like silk as I gather them up. For good measure, I also grab my stole. I have no idea how loud my little lamb will be when I finally divest her of her innocence, but I don’t want to be interrupted. Not until I’m done.

As I step into the chapel, I watch in amusement as she kneels at the altar, her body nearly slumped over the railing as prayers pour from her lips. Soon, they will be occupied with something else, something far more filling.

My steps thunder in the room, but still she kneels there like the good little lamb she is. Enough of this pretense. I can smell the desire practically dripping from her body. Looming over her, I cage her against the altar rail, refusing to let her run again.

“Ahhh, my sweet, innocent, sacrificial lamb. I am the only one who can absolve you. Pray all you like. He will never hear you like I do, never know your needs like I will. Come, turn and face me. Tell me all your depraved longings, and I will baptize you with my holy seed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sister Emily Agnes

Thump.

My heart pounds in my ears.

Thump.

I can barely hear Father Draven over the incessant sound.

Thump.

Arousal coats my thighs, dampening my clothes. They stick to me, molding to my body like a salacious garment. Running my fingers over my lips, I feel the bruised skin all hot and flush from his kiss. I shouldn’t have liked it. I shouldn’t have felt my entire world shift.

But I did.

And I crave more.

Turning, I look up at the priest, noting the blackness of his eyes. He smiles down at me, but there’s no humor in his gaze. It’s almost as if he’s not even here anymore. Not fully.

With a quick jerk of his massive frame, he gathers me into his arms and drags me over to the altar. All it takes is one sweep of his arm to cast everything off, leaving it bare. When he sits me down on the polished wood, I find myself torn between running again and seeing just what will happen.

“Hear me, little lamb. I am going to do things to you. Wicked things. Depraved things. But you can take it for me, can’t you? You can be a good girl for me and allow me to purge these demons into your body?”

I don’t dare answer him. My lips refuse to move, even if I want to say anything. Instead, I nod, my body trembling as he brings his hand up to my face.

“That’s my good girl. Fight me, if you wish, but it will only delay the inevitable. Before this night is over, you will no longer be the sweet, chaste Sister Emily Agnes anymore.” He leans in close enough that I feel his breath on my skin. “I want you to fight me. I want to make this as agonizing for you as it is for me. But then, we both know how much you enjoy the pain I cause.”

There’s nothing I can say to argue with him. He’s completely right. It’s one of the things I find missing in the dead of night. Not only do I crave his touch, but I also crave his pain.

With a gentleness I don’t expect, he eases me down on the altar and pulls my hair up to spill over the sides. He trails his fingers through the strands, humming under his breath. It lulls me into a false sense of security, leaving me completely vulnerable as he winds them around his hand and tugs. Hard.

A soft yelp erupts from my lips, but he doesn’t stop. He continues to pull, not so hard that he rips it from my head, but enough that pain skitters over my scalp with each slow bit of movement.

“I thought you might be loud. Open your mouth.”

I don’t dare refuse. The instant I obey him, he lets go of my hair and pulls the holy stole down from around his neck. The cloth tastes of smoke, ashes, incense, and time. It carries an overwhelming scent that makes my stomach churn and my eyes water.

“There now,” he croons, feeding the fabric into my mouth inch by inch. “Now you can be as loud as you want. Let mehear your screams while the other Sisters sleep and see to their rosaries. Will you pray, little lamb? Will you beg God to take this sin from you? He will not hear. He never listens on Game Night.”

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