Page 114 of Raise Hell

Pleasure and pain.

I feel both down to my very soul.

Cold air blasts across my skin as he rips open my jeans and shoves them halfway down my thighs. Drake’s hands stroke my bare hips, raising goosebumps.

I tense but don’t move away as his head moves over mine and blocks out the light.

He kisses me again, harder this time.

When he shifts away, I try to follow him. He stops me with a hand on my chest.

He pushes me gently back against the fabric-covered altar. “Touch yourself.”

“What?”

My shirt has ridden up, exposing the lacy cups of my bra. His gaze moves to my chest, his hands close behind as they pull the fabric away to expose my breasts.

My entire body is lit up like a live-wire, but I don’t move. “No…someone could come in here.”

“I locked the door behind me.” Drake gently kisses my forehead. He takes my hand and pushes it down my stomach. “Do it.”

I close my eyes, unsure why I’m indulging him even as my fingers slip past the waistband of my panties.

It feels good, too good.

Drake watches me with veiled eyes. “Fuck yourself on your fingers.”

The kind of pleasure that can break your mind.

Drake cups his hand over mine, forcing it to go faster as my fingers thrust in and out of my slick passage.

He takes my free hand and sucks on my fingers, getting them wet. Then he pushes it down between my legs next to the other. “Play with your clit. Faster. Like that.”

Usually, I only masturbate with a vibrator. Nothing else has ever seemed to work. My own fingers have never been enough to make me come.

But this isn’t just me touching myself while I’m alone in bed. Instead of fumbling alone in the dark, I’m spread across the altar with my pants pulled down and my hands moving frantically between my legs while he whispers filthy things in my ear.

Some people like to say that God is always watching. I’ve never understood that. The thought of someone seeing it every time I use the bathroom doesn’t exactly make me feel closer to the Lord.

But I might understand it a little better, now.

The effigy of Christ hangs directly over my head. His expression of suffering probably mirrors my own, even if it’s for an entirely different reason. As the pleasure slowly builds, I wonder if lightning is moments from striking us down.

I should feel wicked, mortally sinful, for doing this. I should be brought low by the reminder of what I’ve allowed Drake to do to me. The same thing that I’m about to let him do again. In the darkness of the cave, I could pretend no one was watching. But not anymore.

I should feel like there is something very wrong with me.

But I don’t.

A strange emotion swells inside my chest, not quite like anything I’ve felt before. I feel a keen sense of inevitability, like this moment has always been meant to be.

And acceptance.

God is here, and he understands there are many different types of worship.

What is sacred and what is blasphemy when your heart is involved?

My heavy breathing echoes off the high ceiling, the sound filling the space. The acoustics are designed for amplifying the choir and ensuring the priest’s homily can be heard all the way to the balcony. But they work just fine as I whimper his name over and over again.

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