Page 26 of The Fallen

My fingers twitch as I long to rip the cloth from my lips, but it seems as if he’s thought of that, too. Pulling the cinctures from his shoulders, he binds my wrists together and stretches my arms out above me. With a slight tug, he anchors the end somewhere on the side, rendering my upper half immobile.

Panic sets in as I realize he means to take away my ability to move. How can I resist him if he does not allow me? But then, maybe that’s the point. Just as swiftly as the terror eats at my brain, an odd calmness settles in its place. I cannot be held responsible for something I don’t actively do.

He can touch me, kiss me, make me his in any way he chooses, and I’ll be blameless. His wicked fingers can wrench pleasure from my unwilling body, relieving me of this incessant ache. Still though, I need to at least put up a token amount of resistance. Just so I can honestly say I tried.

As he walks down toward my ankles, I kick out, catching him in the midsection. The instant my foot sinks into his flesh, nausea bubbles up in my gut. I didn’t mean to strike him so hard, but I have no way of conveying that since he’s robbed me of my voice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem mad. In fact, he smiles even larger. “That’s right, my little lamb. Fight me. Do your best to keep your virtue intact.”

His words spur me to action, releasing all the pent-up emotions threatening to drive me insane. I twist and turn, doing my best to keep my legs closed, but it doesn’t work. Soon, he climbs up onto the altar with me, wedging his hips between my thighs, spreading me open.

Something hard grinds up against my pussy, drawing a soft moan from behind the gag. Just that little bit of pressure feels sogood, so immensely relieving, that I cannot help but sag against the wood.

“Just as I thought,” he chuckles, slipping his thumbs under the band of my pants. “You want this just as much as I do. Admit it. Confess to me.”

He leans forward and rips the stole from my lips, allowing me to swallow. I don’t want to say it out loud. To do so would be to finally admit that I cannot resist him. Try as I might, I need his touch like I need the very air I suck into my lungs.

“No? You don’t want this?” Sliding his hand forward, he jams it down my pajama pants, cupping my pussy with his warmth. I can’t keep the moan at bay as I rock my hips up, seeking a firmer touch. “God, Emily. You’re dripping wet for me,” he groans, using my name and just my name.

It sounds so good to hear him say it. Tipping my head back, I cry out, no longer caring about right or wrong. “Please, Father Draven. Please. I- I need. I- I yearn.”

His fingers curl around to stroke my clit, as if rewarding me for my confession. “While I’m pleasuring your body, you will call me Nikolai.”

“Nikolai,” I exclaim on a moan.

It fits him, fits the beast hovering over me, set to devour my soul. At my use of his name, he slides his fingers lower, wedging them between us, as he dips them inside.

“Mine,” he growls as he runs his nose along the side of my neck. “All fucking mine.”

When he pulls my pajama pants the rest of the way down, he takes his time, revealing my flesh to him one inch at a time. For every bit he uncovers, he kisses, sending shivers down my spine. Pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever known races through me, making my pulse trip.

Even the few times we’ve spent together in punishment pale in comparison to this. As he gets to my pussy, he stops, forcing a keening whine up my throat.

“Fear not, my lamb. I simply wish to restrain you. Heaven forbid you develop a change of conscience while I’m balls deep in your body.”

It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand him mentally. My body knows and craves his blasphemous attention. Once my pants are fully off and on the floor, he takes one ankle and lashes it to the altar with his holy cincture. When he does it to the other, I’m spread full open, exposed to his hungry gaze.

Instead of joining me back up on the altar, however, he walks over to the votive stand and stares at the candles. Irritation floods my system as he contemplates it, making me wonder if it’s him who’s going to have the change of heart. But then he turns, flashing me the most wicked grin.

Holding up a candle, he rocks it back and forth, making the flame dance. “You know, it is said that fire is a great purifier. Let us test that, shall we?”

He pads over to me and tips the candle forward, splashing me with the hot wax. Before a yelp can escape my lips, he slams his hand over my mouth, stifling the sound.

“Now, now. None of that. Can’t stir too much interest. If you cannot keep quiet, I can find something to gag you with.”

I shake my head, not wishing for that awful stole to go back into my mouth.

“That’s my good little sacrifice,” he murmurs, running his thumb along my bottom lip.

Unbidden, I open my mouth, allowing him to slip inside. It’s not quite as good as his tongue, but it fills me in a way that makes me ache.

“Your innocence makes you all the more alluring. Once I paint you in this holy wax, I’ll fill you with my holy absolution.” Everything in me clenches as I bow up on the altar.

Could I dare hope to be able to taste it once more?

Setting the candle down, he plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. “Tell me, sacrifice. Why does that have you so eager?”

Do I tell him? I turn to look away, but he snakes out his hand and grips my chin.

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