Page 43 of Unholy Fate

Father Hudson watched me intently, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Excellent,” he encouraged, the corner of his mouth curling up. “That’s it, Evelyn. Let it all out.”

The tension I’d been carrying melted away. I felt lighter, purged after my outburst. But as the adrenaline faded, a new sensation took its place. An unrelenting, pulsing ache at my core, making me slick. Arousal. No, this couldn’t be happening, not here, not now.

Mortification burned my skin as the yearning intensified, turning my body into a live wire of desire. With horror, I retreated from Father Hudson, my body throbbing with hunger.

“I have to go.” My hands trembled as I fumbled for the door. “I’m sorry, I just can’t... I’m sorry….”

Unable to complete the thought, I turned and fled his office at a run.

What was happening to me? It was as if all my darkest, most suppressed urges were clawing their way to the surface, refusing to be denied. Anger, lust, hunger—things I’d spent my whole life fighting.

I barely made it to my room before my knees gave out. Stumbling, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body trembling with the force of my need. It was unbearable, an all-consuming ache that demanded satisfaction.

With a broken sob, I surrendered, my hands moving of their own accord. I slid my fingers beneath my waistband, biting back a moan as I found my slick, swollen flesh. Pleasure jolted through me at the barest touch, and I knew it was wrong, so wrong, but I couldn’t stop.

Desperate now, I rubbed and stroked, chasing the release that seemed just out of reach. Tears streaked my cheeks as I moved faster, harder, hating myself even as I silently begged for sweet release. I could barely breathe past the need, the frustration, the despair.

The door creaked.

I froze, my fingers still buried between my thighs. Heart in my throat, I looked up to see Father Hudson stepping into my room. Shame burned through me and I snatched my hand away, scrambling to cover myself.

Father Hudson! Humiliated, I choked out a sob. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”

But he offered no reply, his silence heavy and unnerving as he stared at me, his face a mask of blankness. Then, to my shock and horror, his body contorted and shifted, changing in front of me.

His skin darkened to a deep, eerie blue. Sharp, bony ridges erupted along his forehead and cheeks, casting jagged shadows across his face. His eyes narrowed into golden slits and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed like razors.

This wasn’t Father Hudson. This was a demon. Even in his true form, his aura writhing with a dark energy, I recognized him. This was Ian.

I should have screamed. Should have leaped up and tried to run. But I was unable to move, frozen with a paralyzing terror, while the arousal, dark and intense, continued to pulse through me.

God forgive me, but seeing Ian’s demonic visage stirred something primal in me, something I didn’t understand and couldn’t control. I could only stare, my breath coming in shallow gasps as he prowled toward me, his movements deliberate and graceful. The bed dipping under his weight as he settled beside my trembling body, his dark silhouette a menacing presence.

“Don’t stop on my account, Evelyn,” he purred, the sound like warm honey, thick and intoxicating. “You were doing so well.”

I tried to speak, to protest, but the sounds stopped as Ian’s hand slid down my stomach.

“Let me help you,” he said, his breath hot against my ear.

Ian’s touch was electric, a searing current that sparked beneath my skin. His fingers replaced mine, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, sending delicious currents across my nerveendings. His deliberate, almost tender strokes, warm and firm, coaxed a broken moan from me.

Without the drugged disorientation of the previous night, or the cloudiness of a dream, the sensations were all new to me. A physical pressure, a mental buzz, an emotional storm all at once. His touch was a slow burn, each movement deliberate, inching me closer to the precipice until I teetered on the razor’s edge, the exquisite torment almost unbearable. His skilled fingers made my body shudder and convulse as waves of climax crashed over me, leaving me crying out in ecstasy.

In a daze of pleasure, I watched in morbid fascination as Ian brought his fingers, covered in my essence, to his mouth and licked them clean. I dimly expected him to take things further, to claim me in the same way Aziz had done the night before. Instead, he straightened my clothes, leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. The unexpected tenderness of it stole my breath, leaving me stunned and confused.

“Why?” I managed to whisper.

Ian gazed at me, his expression unreadable. “Because I wanted to.”

Then, rising, he flowed back into the shadows, vanishing like smoke. I was left spent, lying there, breathing in the musky scent of arousal. My body trembled with lingering pleasure and self-condemnation, each note a chaotic dance in my bewildered mind.

As the last vestiges of the orgasm faded, the crushing enormity of my actions hit me, each horrifying detail crystallizing with brutal clarity.

Hot tears branded my cheeks.

“Is there any help for me?” I wondered, and God help me, even as the guilt settled in, a piece of me, a dark insidious part, yearned for Ian to return and do it all again.

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