Page 123 of Penance

This isn’t me.

This isn’t who I am, but who am I anymore?

The innocent, devout Mercy Marie Clarke would never have allowed this, would never have felt this… need.

She would have fought.

She would have run screaming, and screamed her prayers to deaf ears.

“Draco,” I gasp. “Just… do it. P-please.”

Now, I’m begging for my sin.

His hand slides between my legs, fingers fucking into me, and I cry out, body convulsing as I grind myself down on his hand. Fingers plunge in and out, and I roll my hips along with them, pushing and grinding until I can feel it climbing, pushing, pulling at my soul as if it will rip it clean out of my body.

He rolls against me, his palm pressing against something that has me soaring, and his fingers fucking me, over and over again until I can feel myself flying, and so, so close to the edge.

And then, as suddenly as it began, he stops. Draco pulls back, still holding me up, but leaving me wanting, my body aching for him.

“No,” I whine, letting my head fall back against him. “Why did you—”

“Spread your legs.”

And I do.

I do it because he asked me to, but I think even if he hadn’t, I would have done it anyway.

There’s a cruel smirk on his lips, a triumphant glint in his eyes. He knows he’s won, and at that moment I don’t even care.

Let him gloat, I just want to cum.

The water beats down on me, scalding hot, scorching my skin like the fires of hell—but I welcome the pain, the punishment.

Because I know, deep down, that I deserve it.

I sit there, wrapped in his arms as he lines himself up with my entrance, rocking against me, and I realize with a sickening certainty that there’s no going back.

Not ever.

“Please,” I whimper again. “Please, just do it.”

He thrusts into me, slowly at first, but then hard, and every breath is a gasp that releases in a shaking moan.

It hurts, but not too much.

It’s pain, but it’s a delicious ache that I can’t explain, even to myself.

His hands grip my hips tightly, nails digging into my skin as he pushes deeper and deeper, and it’s all I can do to hang on to him. In the back of my mind, I can hear the angel on my shoulder screaming at me to stop, to flee from him and everything he represents. But the voice seems distant, faint against the roar of fire licking at every nerve ending.

“Mercy,” Draco whispers, his voice a low growl that shakes me like a thunderclap. “You’re mine now.”

Despite everything within me screaming, before I even know what’s happening, I can feel myself nodding.

“Yes,” I whisper, whimpering. “Yes. I-I am. F-fuck, Draco.”

Why did it feel like I was signing my life away, making a deal with the devil himself for my everlasting soul?

Maybe I was.

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