Page 56 of Ocean of Sin and Starlight

LARIMAR

Priest was on edge for a few days following our slaying of the soldier. Even though no others followed, he was paranoid that either the soldier had told others about his suspicions, or someone would have seen the soldier come by the church that fateful night.

But no one came to question him.

In fact, it has been nearly a week since it happened, and he says there hasn’t been any word at all that the soldier even went missing. Priest thinks they desert their posts often enough that it isn’t questioned. Being stationed in these parts isn’t for the faint of heart, apparently.

Naturally, he made sure there was no evidence left of our feast. After Priest drained the soldier of his blood and I ate a few tasty, nutritious organs, he took the body outside and buried him. He said wolves would probably dig him out in a few days before the frost became permanent. When they were done with him, there would be nothing left.

“I won’t be staying long. I have mass this morning,” Priest says to me. He has just joined me in the back room, delivering my breakfast. This time, it seems to be bread, butter, and some sort of fish that doesn’t smell quite right. I wrinkle my nose at it as he sets it on the desk where I’ve been sitting, dressed in just my shift, flipping through a bible. I’ve been trying to teach myself how to read to no avail.

“What?” he asks with a frown, noting my expression. “I finally got you fish like you asked. You don’t approve?”

I pick up the end of it and lick it tentatively.

He groans as he watches me. “Please refrain from giving me lewd thoughts before my sermon.”

I can’t help but smile, even though the fish itself tastes like pure salt.

“I don’t think humans know what good fish taste like,” I remark, making a face.

Priest chuckles. “I think I do, little fish.”

“But you’re not quite human,” I point out. “Besides, I don’t taste like fish.”

“No. You taste like a goddess of the sea,” he says, his hands going to tug on the white cloth around his collar. “You taste like heaven on my tongue.” Heat envelopes his gaze, turning it smoldering, and he suddenly swears. “Christ.”

He comes around the desk and puts his hands on my hips, lifting me so I’m perched on the edge of it. I giggle, pushing my plate of breakfast away and running my fingers through his long, silky hair as he shoves up the hem of my shift and spreads my legs.

“Just a snack to get me through my preaching,” he murmurs, ducking his head and assaulting me with his mouth until I gasp. “The taste of you will remind me what’s worth sinning for,” he rasps against my skin.

Heavens.

“As long as I’m on your mind,” I tell him through a moan, my neck arching back. We’ve grown closer this last week, at least as close as a captor and captive can get. Every now and then, Priest will get this look in his eyes, like he’s been reprimanded, and he’ll put some distance between us. His gaze becomes glacial, and he smiles and talks less, treating me like something he tolerates—no longer cruel, but stiff and polite.

But it doesn’t take long for him to thaw. Our bodies are quick to warm each other, constantly drawn into each other’s grasp. I don’t have to beg anymore for attention, don’t have to ask to be touched. I’ll still do it because he likes to hear it, but he’s oh so quick to offer.

And I am enthralled with every minute of being in his company.

Especially when he’s feasting on me. The sight of him between my thighs—dark hair, wide shoulders—only adds to the tightness in my chest.

I shouldn’t want such a man, such a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but I do.

I shouldn’t want a man at all.

Fuck, how I do.

Priest moans against me, the vibrations making my bones feel like jelly. A pulse of thick arousal swells my clit, making my cunt spread, and his tongue penetrates me further, digging in and lapping up everything, hot and wet.

I will never get tired of the way he eats me, like he’s abandoned every moral, every vow, every rope that kept him tethered. He feasts like he’ll never taste anything again, his throat thick with ravenous grunts and rough cries of worship—not for his God, or the God of others, but for me. This priest is worshipping me with every suck, lick, and lap of his tongue.

I don’t take long to come. I go off like a gunshot, writhing against the desk, squeezing his head between my legs, and he’s merciless with his mouth until the bittersweet end. I’m left panting, feeling out of my body.

He straightens up and brushes the hair off my sweat-damp forehead, tucking it behind my ears with a tenderness that sobers me. His lips shine with my desire. I gesture to the mess, and he slowly brings out his tongue, licking his mouth clean.

“Can I trust you to behave if I leave you untied?” he asks, look at me more closely. Ever since we devoured the soldier, he hasn’t put the chain back in my mouth, and he only remembers to bind my wrists when he feels like it— usually with his necklace, which he calls a rosary.

“You’re still worried I might leave?” I ask, trying not to feel hurt. “Who else would give me such pleasure as you?”

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