Page 65 of Spark of Madness

Sinner.

The moment has passed.

The play and the pleasure are gone.

A deep ache settles in my chest as an unexpected longing to return to passion with him washes over me. I’d felt some peace in his arms, in the way he consumed every sense. And now the peace is gone, replaced by misery, heartache, and the dreaded fear of how limited my days truly are.

My climax was a lie.

The peace was deceptive.

He’s one of the righteous collective, and I’m only a sinner to be used.

I press my legs together as he crosses to a dresser and pulls open a drawer. I shove my skirt down to cover myself and slowly sit up, then I climb to my feet. I collect my dress from the floor and hold it against my chest.

“I’ll go,” I mutter, moving toward the door as I pull up the straps of the chemise to cover myself.

“Stop,” he hisses.

I turn to face him, but he’s not looking at me; he’s too busy sifting through the contents of his drawer.

“Go sit in that chair at my desk.”

Shame rains down on me like a storm, and as I move to obey his command, I fear I may drown in it. I do as he asks, smoothing out my dress before lowering to sit on the wooden chair. I have a good view of the walls and the windows that frame the two sides of the desk—I almost wish I could see the view beyond them, but the curtains are drawn.

I hear him move around me, behind my back. My heartbeat quickens as he walks past me, going into the bathroom. Moments later, he returns, coming over to where I sit, stopping at my back. I can’t seem to steady my breathing, my chest heaving out of control.

I hear him sigh as he lets out a heavy breath, and it’s like an ancient monster breathing fire over me. When I feel his bare fingers gather the strands of my hair, the heat dissipates as a frigid breeze of warning combs through them.

His breaths are heated and heavy, blowing out a mixture of residual longing, prolonged aching, and rising anger. “You’ve gotten inside my head, sinner. You’ve made me lose control of myself, and it’s time I take it back.”

chapter twenty-one

Arlo

EVERYINCH OFme is screaming in pain, and I welcome it.

After losing myself to this dark demon of lust disguised as bright white light, I need the ache of denial. But fuck, how I want the release. I want to bend her over the bed and destroy what’s left of her, then put her back together with mind-numbing pleasure.

Sweet sin,the way she came undone.

It did something to me—something that must be undone immediately.

She’s a sinner, and she’s meant to die.

I slowly comb my fingers through her white-blonde hair, taking my time to loosen the tangles my fisted grip created. I’m so intently aware of each shuddering breath she takes as she sits as still as a statue in the very chair where I sit to write my poetry—where I sit to write poems abouther.

I begin to plait her long, luxurious hair. She turns her head in confusion to ask me what I’m doing, but I stop her.

“Face forward.”

She stills, forcing out an anxious breath.

“There’s something dangerous about you, Mercy. Something bright and dark all at once.”

“I don’t understand—”

“You’ve brought me into sin with you. I can accept my failings. I’ll suffer the pain of denial and beg God for forgiveness for my loathsome indulgences outside of service. And I’ll be forgiven because you tempted me, because you’re a servant and you drove me to this. In the eyes of God and my community, this is allyourfault.”

---