Page 62 of Ocean of Sin and Starlight

I stagger to my feet and grab the matches from the altar, lighting every candle, torch, and oil lamp I can find. I want this room blazing, I want it so bright that there is no place inside me for evil to hide.

When I finally come to the last lamp, the ever-burning chancel lamp on the altar’s wall, I add more oil, making the flames dance dangerously high.

And in those flames, I see Larimar dancing.

Then, I smell her, hear her footsteps from outside the door moments before she steps inside.

“Priest?” she calls out.

I turn around to see her barefoot and walking down the aisle, dressed in only her white shift. The rain has soaked her through in the short walk over, her hair wet, her dress soaked and sticking to her. I can see her nipples clearly, the dark shadows of her cunt. Hot, liquid need thrums through me, stealing all that is good and moral until I am just a wicked man and feral beast.

“Get away from me,” I growl, but I’ve already pulled my cock out of my pants, making a tight fist. There is a deep itch inside me, painful and insidious, and I know she can make it go away.

She stops in the middle of the aisle and stares at me with her big violet eyes, which look nearly pink in this feverish light. With the flames blazing around her, casting flickering gold on her wet skin, she looks like angel escaping hell.

She needs to escape the hell I’m about to bring her.

“Larimar, please,” I say, but my words do not match my actions.

My cock juts out from my hips, pulsing slightly with each wild beat of my heart.

“Why did you leave?” she asks, slowly coming toward me. “I woke up, and you were gone.” She eyes the way I’m fisting my cock, pumping it. “Did I not give you enough pleasure?”

I let out a hoarse cry, wishing she wouldn’t say such a thing.

“I need you to…go,” I whisper.

“Why?” she asks, stopping at the foot of the steps. I’m up on the altar, looming over her like a deity, and I can’t stop myself as I reach out with my free hand and place it on top of her head. I shove her down to her knees.

“Worship me,” I tell her. “Suck me.”

She blinks in surprise, probably because earlier, I had made her take my thumb in her mouth, telling her to stay clear of my dick. But I don’t feel in control of my words anymore.

“I said do it,” I snarl.

Apprehension falls on her face, but she reaches for me, wrapping her hands around my length. I want to hate myself for losing control, for letting the monster speak, but the sight of her on her knees, praying at the altar of my cock, is deliciously sinful.

I push inside her plush lips, and she starts sucking me, working me over with hot passes of her tongue, becoming more ravenous as she goes. There’s a part of me that worries she might get too carried away, that the Syren part of her might come out, and I fear the beast will like that.

But then, when I feel my balls pull tight, my hands yanking roughly at her hair, enough to cause her to cry out in pain, I know I need my seed inside her.

I yank her head up by the roots, her teeth grazing my ridge as she goes, and then throw her backward onto the aisle.

She lands with a thump, a wheezing breath knocked out of her, and tries to get to her feet, but I move fast. I push her back down, and she yelps, pinning her hands back over her head. I notice she removed the rosary, and that does something to me, like the last bastion of grace and control I had was removed along with it. It’s no longer there to remind me of salvation. The absence of it is a marker of my downfall.

“Priest,” she says, her eyes a mix of fear and desire, but I care less about how she feels, and that’s how I know the beast is winning.

“You should have listened to me,” I rasp.

Then, I reach down and take a rough hold of her thighs, spreading them before I mount her, no hesitation except for the voice inside me that screams for her to run, to leave, to escape.

But that voice won’t come out. Is this punishment for taking away hers, for making her words always be a whisper, for keeping that chain in her mouth for longer than I should have?

Is God smiting me right now for my past wrongs?

Or am I only doing it to myself?

I am doing it, a voice rattles from deep inside, one that sounds like Kaleid. That sounds like blood. That sounds like the Devil himself.

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