Page 33 of Lourdes & the Mafia
“What’s Mount Vita?”
Our footsteps echo through the halls and I swear I catch glimpses of shadows scuttling away.
“The volcano of life. It is where we prep souls for rebirth or whatever new journey awaits them.”
My head reels with all this information. “I’ll be honest here, I’ve never been religious and never really…believedin any of this.”
We take a sharp turn. I catch sight of demons down the hall and, at the sight of the two of us, they immediately vanish in a puff of smoke. Not sure if it’s theirs or Ramiel’s, though.
“We are not religious, either. The Underworld is not beholden to one belief or several. We are our own entity and operate on our own system, and not everyone comes here to suffer. The Underworld is merely a single step in a long journey. Remember that.”
We get quiet after that.
He takes me through several rooms in the comfortable silence, each one grander than the last. With pianos and chandeliers, statues from old eras, and artwork from artists I probably can’t even pronounce. Despite the exterior of the place, the inside is decadent. Like something I’d find on a Pinterest board.
“Very aesthetically pleasing.” I nod at thethirdpiano we come across. A bright spot in a room of black, it’s painted entirely in white. “Why one would need three is beyond me, though.”
Ramiel laughs and leads me towards a plush couch, sitting me on it.
He’s very attentive, and I hate that I notice. It’s everything Dimas never was, and if I ever got wet for that sad sack of shit, imagine what it’s like getting wet for someone who actually has a care with me.
It’s… nice, and I relish in it.
For however long it lasts for now, because I know that once the problem is dealt with, I’m going back home. I’ll be saying goodbye to them. Because, as I obviously need to remind myself, I swore off dick.
Very sad, really.
Ramiel sits across from me, and we’re staring hard at one another. I feel like he can read my thoughts, and it should make me mildly uncomfortable, but I’m just… curious. My head cocks to the side and I release a deep breath.
“So are we going to pretend we don’t know one another?”
He blinks, and I wonder if it’s surprise on an otherwise impassive expression.
“I’ve been waiting to see if you’d mention anything, but…” I shrug my shoulders. “Are you just going to sit there and pretend like you weren’t in my vision?”
His lip twitches. “Was I?”
“You were. Don’t treat me like I’m crazy, either. I remember everything.”
“Everything?” he asks. Then within one blink and the next, one shadowy blip and another, he’s on his knees in front of me, and yet he still somehow towers over my frame. I lean back against the cushions, inhaling sharply as his hands grip my bare knees and shove them aside, spreading me wide open.
His heat is scorching, and the action immediately has my body on fire.
“You remember my fingers?” he asks, so quietly it feels like a secret that’s not meant to be spoken. He touches me, too. His fingers slide across my skin, dipping into my inner thighs and moving higher. Every touch has my chest heaving as I struggle to breathe. “You remember what they felt like inside your beautiful cunt?”
A whimper leaves my mouth. His words are crude, and yet they turn me on just the same. There’s no hiding the wetness that coats my thighs.
His nostrils flare as if he can scent it on me, and that feral part of him causes my whole body to shake with a desperate need.
His fingers slip along the edge of the lace and silk panties and dip inside. He coats a finger in my wetness, just grazing, barely touching. I moan, lifting my hips, chasing his touch, my head arching back while I keep my eyes on him.
He’s too erotic to look away from. Every movement begs for my attention, and I’ll give it to him.
“Do you remember what it felt like to come on my fingers, vidente?”
He says the word ‘vidente’ like he’s giving reverence. Like it’s something to fear. Something to love.
The last thought makes me reel back, jerking so hard that his hand pauses what it’s doing. He stills, looking at me as if to ask,‘Is this okay?’
