Page 52 of The Preacher's Pet

I continue, “We form this circle of protection around you, banishing the unwanted presences from your body, mind, and soul.”

Malachi and Cain move closer, their bodies brushing hers. They reach out and take each other’s arms, creating a barrier around her. They dwarf her, so she almost vanishes between them.

I pick up a bowl of cleansed water and move around them, dipping my fingers into it and flicking it at the three of them standing in the circle.

“Spirits of water, cleanse this soul of the one who has been tormenting her. Give her the freedom of unobserved thoughts. Allow her mind to be her own again.”

“And my body.” Her voice is a breathy whisper. “I need my body to be my own again, too.”

“Your body,” I echo, and take out the small bag of curls of hair. “Your body is your own, too.”

I take a pinch of the soft curls and drop them into the candleflames. They hiss and sputter, and Ophelia lets out a little cry, as though she feels the physical release.

“Ophelia,” Malachi says. “Your body is yours to feel pleasure and pain.”

He releases his hold on Cain’s arms to lift the bottom of his mask slightly, revealing his mouth. He hooks her hair away from her neck, allowing the soft strands to slide through his fingers, and places a kiss to her nape. She whimpers again, and he presses himself closer.

“See?” he says. “You can do as you wish, and you deserve to feel pleasure, too.”

We never do this. Ceremonies don’t go this way, and I had no idea things would take this turn. I’m not happy about it. We made vows, all of us, and this is as close as we’ve ever gotten to breaking them. But Ophelia is swaying as if she’s in ecstasy, and I can’t bring myself to rebuke Malachi.

Furthermore, Cain is watching hungrily, his body as tense as taut wire. All that testosterone I could practically smell earlierhas ramped up even more. Cain and Malachi are both powerful men who fight well, and I don’t think they’d let anyone get in their way now. Even if I wanted to stop this, I’m not sure I could.

“Pleasure, yes,” Ophelia replies huskily.

Cain runs his hands down her arms, then brushes them across her breasts to thumb her nipples through the material of her dress. I watch with painful hunger. But still, I don’t move.

“Is this okay?” he asks her.

She nods. “Yes.” She takes a snatch of breath as he pinches them. “Oh, yes.”

I’m hypnotized by what’s happening. This was never a part of the cleansing ritual, never what I wanted for tonight, but now it’s begun, and I’m powerless to make it stop.

Ophelia looks like something magical, dressed in white, standing between the two masked men, with candles lit all around them. Her eyes are still closed, and her perfect lips are parted, her head tilted back as Malachi kisses her neck. I watch them press her between them and know their cocks are hard and rubbing against her. I know it because that’s what I’d be doing if I were in their position.

No, I shake my head at myself. That isn’t what I’m about. Sex makes us weak. Except right now, it seems like they’re empowering her, and each other.

But that isn’t my place in this. At least one of us must keep a sane head. I won’t break my vows, so I take a step back and observe.

27

OPHELIA

I’ve never experiencedanything like this before.

It’s as though I’m caught in one of my erotic dreams, but only this time, I know it’s real. Cain’s big hands are all over my body, touching every dip and curve. Malachi’s lips are soft against my skin, but he uses his teeth to bite and graze. He finds the strings holding the back of my dress together and plucks them undone. The material falls from my body, leaving me in only the silky, champagne slip I’d worn underneath, and the tiny thong panties.

“Fuck, Ophelia,” Cain groans as he observes my body from behind his hooded mask. “You got all grown up.”

He pulls on the straps of my slip, pulling the front down over my breasts, baring them for him. My nipples pucker and harden even further, and I’m so aware of their sensitivity, it’s as though all my focus is drawn to them. Cain pulls up the front of his mask and drops down to cover one nipple with the heat of his mouth. I gasp in response, the ache between my thighs coiling, my clit pulsing. I’ve never had a man—or men—touch me like this, and it’s like I’m on a high, unable to get enough.

Malachi wraps a length of my hair around his hand, then pulls. He forces my head back and angled, so I lift my chin, andhe covers my mouth with his, kissing me from behind. I kiss him back with a new level of desire, our tongues tangling. I can feel how much he wants me; it’s pressed into the small of my back. He keeps his hold on my hair while Cain moves to my other nipple, lavishing it with equal attention.

I wait for the voice in my head to tell me I’m a sinner, but none comes. For the first time ever, I’m free to do as I please. It’s as if I’m flying. I’m giddy with the sensations bombarding me and the freedom to enjoy them without the constant damning internal dialogue.

Cain moves down my body, dropping to his knees in front of me. He pulls my slip the rest of the way off so it pools around my feet, and I step out of it. He yanks off his mask completely, dropping it to the floor next to him, and he stares at my core, his expression pained. He leans in, then presses his mouth to the front of my pussy. I whimper in response, the sound filling the space, echoing in the high ceiling of the water tower.

This is so sinful, so wrong, but it feels so right. I’m letting two men touch me at the same time, as another one watches—how can it be anything but wrong?—but I can’t stop. Cain’s breath heats my skin through the skimpy material of my panties, and I reach down to lace my fingers through his soft hair. I tilt my hips forward, wanting more, and he pushes his tongue against the front of my panties.

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