Page 46 of Daddy's Sinner

I close my eyes tightly, imagining a different place, another time… anything to distract from his touch. Gabriel’s breath is hot against my ear as he continues to speak, his voice low and menacing. “You’ll remember this. Remember who truly owns you. And when the Prophet and the Priest are gone, I’ll be the one you turn to. Remember that, Sol.”

Gabriel’s mouth leaves my ear and travels down my neck hungrily. He licks and nips at my skin as he moves lower. His lips find my nipples, and he pulls them into his mouth, his teeth biting down mercilessly. The pain steals my breath, leaving me gasping for air that won’t come. Pleasure is not meant to be found in these moments—only surrender and submission.

He spins me around suddenly, shoving me against the wall with a force that makes my cheek press against the cold wall. With one hand, he yanks up my dress, and with the other, he frees his cock, the intent behind his actions unmistakable.

I don’t fight it. No one will care. Women in our church have no place to say no. Not here.

“God’s will,” Gabriel whispers, his breath hot against my ear. The words vibrate through me, resonating with the chill of resignation that’s settled deep within my bones. His will—or so they keep saying. But what God would sanction such a thing?

A low whimper escapes my lips as he pushes inside me. He moves slowly, dragging this out as much as he can. To think there was a time when my body would welcome his touch, but that’s long gone. I keep my eyes focused on the wall in front of me, staring at the cross that hangs over the door frame as he drags his cock in and out of me. I wonder ifthe Prophet knows what he’s doing. Not that he would care. This is punishment. This is my duty.

“I’ll kill the old man… that Prophet, and then that priest. You'll be mine. All mine. And no God will keep me from you,” Gabriel’s voice sends shivers down my spine, his words venomous whispers in the night. He grunts and thrusts harder, his body moving against mine, unrelenting.

Every thrust is a brutal reminder of his dominance. He clamps down on my neck as he fucks me into the wall, the cold wall biting into my skin. I can feel the warmth of his body as he thrusts deeper, each movement a claim on what he believes is his.

His blasphemous murmurs, “You will be mine. God’s will be damned,” make me flinch. His voice vibrates through me as he finishes, his warm cum filling me. I am left hollow, the cold seeping into my bones despite the flush of his desire burning on my skin. Thank God for the Prophet's protection of my womb, the shots preventing me from getting pregnant. Not until it's time for me to take his side as his Lillith and fill my womb with his seed. I guess I'm at least thankful for that.

He withdraws, his cock slipping from me. It’s over, finally. I pull my dress down hastily, a pathetic attempt to cover my bare ass when his hand comes down and slaps it.

“Soon, my little Jezebel, I won’t need to sneak around to fuck you or share you.” His words hang heavy in the air, a perverse promise that leaves me shivering. I watch as he zips up his pants, smirking at me over his shoulder before sauntering toward the door. There was a time when that look would’ve made my heart race with desire, but now it only fills me with dread and disgust. The wound marring his face makes him look as devilish as his deeds. It’s the first time I’ve seen it up close. I usually dismiss any of their injuries, but this doesn’t look like an accident. It was intentional, making me wonder how—or who—did that to him.

“What happened to your face?” I finally ask, studying him. He stops midway and smirks as he answers, “Accident at the compound.” A shiver runs through me, hinting at many possibilities, but I don’t pry further.

Gabriel's hand stops before turning the door handle, casting a final glance over his shoulder. “Pray for us, Jezebel,” he drawls, his voice saccharine sweet. “God knows we need it.” He chuckles as he opens the door, and the room fills with the sounds of moans, grunts, and skin slapping against skin. I look away as he steps inside, his mocking laughter still echoing in my ears. The door slams shut with a deafening finality, leaving me alone in the sacred silence.

I collapse onto the floor, my legs unable to support me. My body feels raw, and I struggle to gather the strength to move. The ongoing orgy in the next room is a sickening reminder of the world I’m trapped in. I pull myself up and head to my room, desperate to escape the filth around me. Slipping out of my dress, I draw a bath, hoping the hot water will cleanse not just my flesh but also my tainted soul. I scrub my skin vigorously, trying to wash away the remnants of the encounter, but no amount of scrubbing can cleanse the stain Gabriel has left on me.

As the water cools, my mind drifts to Matheo, the only person who offers a semblance of comfort in this twisted place. I long for his touch, his presence—a brief respite in this hellish existence. But even that thought is fleeting, drowned out by the reality of the world I’m forced to survive in. Once I finish, I dry myself and get dressed. Grabbing my painting supplies, I begin to create. Drawing Matheo's body—no face, just his form—the contours of his muscular arms, the ridges of his toned abs, the gentle slope of his back. I trace him on canvas, each line a memory of his touch. The painting takes me most of the night to complete, my eyes burning from exhaustion.

After placing the art supplies away, I slip into bed, finally feeling the weight of the day catch up with me. As I fall asleep, I am not sure how long it takes before I sense a presence in the room. His presence. Matheo's touch feels so real, so different from the horrors of the day. Ashe slips his glorious cock inside me, the sensation is both a dream and a reality—a bittersweet escape from the suffering.

His whispers are soft but clear as he comes inside me. “I think I’m in love with you.”

I cling to him, burying myself in his chest, tracing the lines I had painted earlier. His breath is heavy, a comforting weight against my body. As I drift back into sleep, his touch lingers, a precious memory before it fades away.

Sinner

Iknow it is wrong, what I do, as she sleeps beneath me. But at this moment, I can’t resist her allure. Her peaceful slumber and innocent appearance draw me in like a moth to a flame, her sun-kissed skin glistening under the moon’s glow. She responds effortlessly to my touch, even in her sleep, tightening around me as we move in harmony. As she moans softly, her full lips part invitingly, I can't help myself. In the morning, she might think it is all just a dream, if not for the evidence of my release inside her tight warmth.

My intention wasn’t to have sex with her; at least, not until I stumbled into her room and saw her lying there, tempting me beyond control. Despite my vows to the church, I am a man full of sins. My demon longs for her more than my need for salvation. All I want is damnation if it means I get to keep her. Despite my plans, I can’t help myself. I have to see her, to be inside her. I have no control over my demon when it comes to her. Truthfully, I care little to control it. I know this is wrong. I made a vow, but those are just words to me. This means more.

I know I am undeserving of such pleasure, of such Eden, but my desire for her goes beyond any sense of holiness or duty. My wants are wicked, my love a shameful profanity, but the feel of her naked body sated, flushed, and sleeping over mine is a divine sacrilege I am willing to commit over and over again.

But I have plans, and tonight the Prophet will meet his end. I will take her out of this God-forsaken town. There is nothing but wickedness left in this place, nothing but the incurable cancer Victor has spread. They will all burn. One by one, they will all burn with their false prophet. But her, I will save, because her soul belongs to me. She is mine to keep, to worship, to break, to bring salvation but also penance. After all, she is a sinner.

I study her features closely, counting the three beauty marks spread on her face: two by her lip in a diagonal line and one right where hereyebrow ends. Her cupid-bow lips part once more in a soft sigh as she turns in her sleep, her bare leg slipping out from under the satin sheets. I trace my fingers along the length of it, feeling the goosebumps rise up where her skin meets the cold night air.

Even in her slumber, she is bewitching, sinful, and so fucking mine. The moonlight hits her just right, creating a halo around her form, reminding me of a fallen angel. My little sinner.

I breathe in the smell of her cocoa butter and incense with a hint of fresh linen as I listen to the movements in the other room. The reason I am able to remain with her sleeping in my arms is because Victor and his demons are too busy spreading their seed. Tonight is the night when the seedlings bless the maidens with their cum. An unholy ritual, deeply entrenched in the dark practices of Victor and his acolytes. It is their way, their perverse ritual that holds this town in its unholy grip. I can hear the muffled cries, grunts, and the moans of sin being whispered from room to room. But all I feel is relief that Marisol is here in her room when I arrived and not tied up on all fours waiting for her seedling to take her. He needs to die before he can make her officially his wife, claiming her and filling her with a child.

My hand drops to her stomach, and I trace my fingers around her belly button. For a brief second, I think of a child. I’ve never had the slightest desire for one. I’m not a good man. I wouldn’t be a good father, but as I touch her stomach, all I can think of is a child born of love, not a spawn of sin, but love. A product of our divine union and not born from this wicked, perverse ritual.

My jaw clenches as I think of Victor filling her with his seed, swelling her perfect stomach. I pull altogether away from her. Quickly on my feet, I prepare myself for what’s to come. I’m not suicidal nor stupid. I’m only one man, and there’s quite a few of them. I can’t risk it. So, fire it is.

One thing that man was right about: I am a patient man. After all, patience is a virtue. I lack the virtuous part, but I am patient. I lean downand inhale her scent, thinking of the words that slipped out of my mouth as I came deep inside her.

“Love,” I whispered. “I think I’m falling in love.”

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