Page 26 of Lake of Sin

“Good boy,” I told him when I next stopped for air. “You’re being so good for me.”

“I—” Oliviero started, but embarrassment overcame him. He buried his head into the crook of his elbow and tried to muffle his moans. With my tongue free, I pressed my left thumb into his hole, using the rest of my left hand to grab his ass. With my right, I reached up to his stiff cock, perilously hard. I drew his hips away from the altar so there was room, and I squeezed my hand around his length. Thumb moving, I matched the rhythm to my strokes. Oliviero bucked and strained and moaned, and my mouth welled with drool at the sight of his desperation.

He came fast, splattering the concave curl of his chest, and he collapsed with sudden shame, whimpering on the altar.

I stood and leaned over him, needing to give my own cock a quick, nearly unconscious squeeze to stay me.

I could put him on his knees and use the wet channel of his throat, as I had in Hell, but I wanted more. I wanted to gape him, to make him understand the pleasure of being filled; of being made complete.

“You became an abbot. You dedicated your life to this. But you feel it, don’t you? What I felt?” I rested on his body, moving the mess of blond curls away from his forehead. I kissed his cheek, rubbing my lips against the sweat-coated skin. “Let me inside you. Let mefuckyou, Oliviero.”

He let out a low, long buried moan. His body shivered; he was vulnerable post-orgasm, logic stripped away.

“Mhm,” he said, but I need more than that.

“Tell me what you want,” I say.

“No, I. . .” A panicked edge overcame his voice. He half pushed away, gathering the cloth laid over the altar in his fist. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“I need you to.”

I said nothing more, but I stepped forward and rubbed my hips against his ass, slipping my cock between the crack and resting the tip against the saliva-coated hole.

“Oh, hh. . .” Oliviero gasped. He made an abortive roll of his hips before he panicked and looked away.

I wanted to see Oliviero’s face. “Turn over for me.”

He obliged almost instantly. I watched with rapt attention as he lowered himself to the flat of his feet and, melting, rolled onto his back at an uncomfortable arch. He looked—pathetic. Beautiful. Gorgeous and wanting. He looked just as I had imagined him all those years ago. The cassock had gathered excessively around his chest, making his body appear exceptionally small as it emerged from the fabric.

If you’re going to be my bitch, you won’t be wearing God’s dog collar.

Asmodeus had said that to me and forced me to remove it. But I was different.

I liked to know that God was watching.

But I wanted to see more of Oliviero.

Carefully, I raised my fingers to the rounded fabric buttons closing his cassock and undid them one by one. The collar I slipped out with two fingers, and I put the cotton against Oliviero’s lips. “Open.”

He opened, and I pushed in. He bit down hard on the fabric with a whine.

Slowly, I opened the cassock up and tugged him free of it, discarding the garment on the floor by my feet.

He scrambled back onto the mensa, knocking over several crosses. He looked around with uncomprehending horror, fingers shaking as he reached to right them. I stepped forward and pressed my cock against his belly.

Oliviero stopped moving, eyes wide as he regarded me.

“Tell me what you want,” I asked again, reaching down to pluck the collar from his teeth.

He looked up at me with sudden defiance. “I don’t know. I’m scared. I want—” he said nothing, only paused. “But I—I do not wish God to see.”

“Let him see.”

I ran my hands up his thighs and around his slowly hardening member. His eyes stared at my cock, painfully hard against him. He reached for it haltingly.

I encouraged him with, “I want you to touch me.”

He exhaled loudly and rolled his palm around it. “Oh,Lord.”

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