Page 94 of The Library

I’ve told her before—she can’t hide from me. And it’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s that I can’t trust the world around her.

So when I saw her walking into the cathedral, I parked and followed. Something about the irony of listening to “Take Me To Church” by Hozier playing in my car as she walked into achurch stirred something inside of me. Something about seeing her head toward that ancient, holy building made my blood run hot. She had no idea I was behind her, watching, as I always do. Letting her think she has some sliver of freedom. But she doesn’t. She belongs to me.

As I stepped inside the cathedral, I kept to the shadows. It’s where I thrive, where I watch, where the darkness coils around me like a second skin. And now, I’m watching her again. She kneels at the front, beneath the looming cross, her head bowed like she’s seeking something—peace, clarity, maybe even forgiveness. But all I see is how fucking hard my cock is at the sight of her on her knees.

I look at the cross, then back at her. She’s on her knees, praying, her head bowed, fingers clutching those beads like they might save her. The innocence in her posture makes my blood run hot. It’s twisted, really—how she thinks praying to some made-up god will grant her forgiveness for whatever transgressions she thinks she’s committed. But she’s wrong. So fucking wrong. Forgiveness isn’t what she needs.

No, she needs to be fucked so hard it either sends her to Heaven or drags her straight to Hell.

She thinks this will give her answers, this little moment of quiet prayer. But nothing she prays to in here will save her. No god, no saint. The only one who can give her what she needs is me.

The moment I saw her slip into this church, something primal took over. She didn’t even notice me at first, too caught up in whatever she was doing, clutching those rosary beads like they’d help her find peace. But there’s no peace for her, not with me. I’m going to make sure of that. I’ll remind her of who she is, who I am, and where she belongs. Which is bent over while I fuck her until I tell her she can come.

The only prayer she’s going to cry out is my name.

As I step closer, I can see her body tense, like she knows I’m here. She always knows, even when I give her space, even when I let her believe she has distance. She never does. I’ll always find her. And now, here in this cathedral, I’ll show her exactly what that means.

I look at the cross that towers over her and then back at her, my gaze lingering on the way she kneels, the way her back curves, her lips moving in silent prayer. A dark smile tugs at my lips as I watch, a fire burning in my chest.

Did she really think she could find salvation here? In a place like this?

The sound of her whispers, her prayers, only fuels me more. I’m already hard just watching her, my mind spinning with all the things I’ll do to her, right here, right now. She thinks this will cleanse her soul, but what she really needs is for me to drag her down into the darkness. And that’s exactly what I’m about to do.

With a few strides, I close the distance between us, standing right behind her as she kneels. Her fingers are still wrapped around those beads, but I know what she really needs—something far darker, far more sinful. Something only I can give her.

“Lilith…” I whisper, my voice low, filled with dark amusement. “I thought you knew that when you cried out for a god to save you, I’d be the only one who answered, darling.”

She stiffens, her back straightening as my voice wraps around her like a noose. I lean down, my lips brushing her ear as I take the rosary beads from her hand, gently, feeling the tension radiating off her. She’s not scared. She’s turned on. And fuck if that doesn’t make me even harder.

“There’s only one way these beads will make you feel good, Lilith,” I murmur, my voice a dark growl as I let the beads slip through my fingers, their smooth surface gliding against herskin. “And it doesn’t involve praying. But you will be begging… begging for someone to save your soul.”

She doesn’t say a word, but the way her breath hitches, the way her body responds to my touch, tells me everything I need to know. She’s mine, even more so now that she’s on her knees in this church, thinking she needs salvation. But I know what she really needs.

She kneels before me, her eyes wide and searching, and for a moment, I simply stand there, taking her in. The way she looks at me, as if I were some kind of god in this place that reeked of judgment and piety, only makes me want her more. She doesn’t belong in a church, not any more than I do, but there she is, kneeling like a sinner confessing to the one who already knew all her sins.

“Sebastian,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly as she gazes up at me.

The sound of my name on her lips, in this place, hits me hard. She was praying to me, whether she realized it or not. And that’s exactly how it should be. I can see the realization flicker across her face—the way her body shifts, like she finally understands. She doesn’t worship gods, not here or anywhere else. She worships me. Not in the way people pray to something distant and untouchable, but in a way that was real, raw, and unbreakable. She’d confess her darkest thoughts to me, knowing I’d take everything from her and still demand more.

I crouch down beside her, my fingers brushing over her soft cheek. The warmth of her skin sent a familiar heat coursing through me, that primal need to claim her, over and over again. I lean in, letting my lips hover just above hers, teasing her with the closeness, the tension between us thickening.

“You don’t need clarity, Lilith,” I whisper, my voice low, dark. “You need me.”

Her breath hitches, and for a second, I can feel her uncertainty—just a flicker of it, a moment of hesitation. And then she speaks, her voice soft and breathless. “Sebastian, you followed me into a church?”

I chuckle, the sound dark and full of amusement. She’s surprised? Thrilled? It doesn’t matter. She is mine, wherever she goes, even into a place like this.

“Oh, darling,” I say, my voice smooth as I rise to my full height, towering over her, “don’t you know the devil was an angel first?”

I can see the way my words sink into her, the way her body responds to the weight of them. Her heart was pounding—I can practically hear it in the quiet of the church. She knows. She always does. I’m not bound by the rules of this world, or the next. I’m not some god confined by stained glass and ancient prayers. I am the man who claimed her, over and over, and I don’t need a church to remind her of that.

I tilt her chin up gently, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I don’t do churches, Lilith,” I murmur, letting the intensity of my words settle over her, watching the way her eyes widen just slightly.

I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear as I whisper the truth she needs to hear. “But I do you.”

Her pulse quickens, and I can feel her tension, her need. It is the same pull that has always been between us—impossible to ignore, stronger than anything these walls could ever contain. She is mine, no matter where we stood, and I’d follow her into the darkness, into the light, into the spaces in between. There isn’t a place I won’t claim her. And as I stand over her, my lips close to her skin, I know that this—us—is the only thing that matters.

“Get up,” I order, pulling her to her feet, leading her toward the confessional booth. She stumbles slightly but doesn’t resist,doesn’t fight me. She knows what’s coming. She’s been waiting for it.

---