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Then suddenly, as quickly as this all started, he stopped. His lips and breath hovered over my skin for a moment before he pulled away, leaving my exposed skin cold in his absence.

He leaned up to my ear, and my eyes closed at the sensation.

“See you soon,” he whispered, then stood to leave.

Too shocked to fully turn around, I slowly glanced over my shoulder. I watched as he adjusted his rock-hard cock and brushed off any debris from the knees of his pants.

Then, without another word, he exited the pew and walked out the church doors, leaving me in my dying flame.

Celeste

Thursday. Three o’clock.

I stepped up into my uncle’s mausoleum. It’s been over a month since his burial, and the inside looks as if everything was put together just yesterday.

No dust, no dirt, no leaves, no rainwater on the floor.

Only perfection in the form of a soul-encasing building.

The dim shine of the stained-glass windows illuminated my body, barely reflecting in the gloomy daylight as I made my way to the counter. My fingers hardly skimmed the surface before the sound of the rainfall suddenly muted, and I knew there was something, someone, blocking the entryway.

There was absolutely no denying that my pulse had been racing from the moment I stepped out of my car, simply at the possibility that he’d be here.

At the possibility that he’d come out to see me.

At the possibility that his lips would find my skin again.

And just the sound of the disappearing raindrops had my stomach sinking, my heart skipping, my lungs tightening.

I turned around to see him already inside the mausoleum, with his hood pulled down and his eyes glinting with need.

He took a single step toward me, and I could feel a heavy breath catch in my throat.

“Caius,”I squeezed out, my voice quiet and aching.

That was the only word I managed to get out before he closed the gap between us. He wasted no time in rushing to me, grabbing me behind my thighs, and picking me up. My legs circled his waist, my arms wrapped around his neck, and his lips found mine. There was an authentic passion radiating from him, one that could not be contained. I could feel him pour out his entire soul into our kiss, with his tongue meeting mine and his chest firmly planted against my body.

He led me to one of the stone benches along the side wall. Placing me down on the cement gently, he was careful not to hurt me as he lowered himself. My arms remained around his neck as he kneeled down in front of me.

“When you say my name,” he began, seriousness etched in his voice, “I lose every bit of self-control I’ve come to know.”

He unzipped his jacket and threw it to the floor. Rain droplets scattered throughout the inside of the mausoleum as I looked down at his plain grey t-shirt. I paused, a confusion hitting me briefly. Have I ever seen him wear a plain shirt before?

That thought didn’t matter, because in a second’s time, he ripped that shirt off and threw it, revealing smooth, inked skin and tight, firm muscles. Glancing down, I noticed the realistic portrait of the Angel of Grief tattooed across the span of his chest, along with other intricate patterns highlighting the rest of him. I ran my hands over his skin, feeling the seamless ink under my fingertips. His eyes glimpsed down to my touch, reveling in the image of our skin together.

Reaching up, he took off my jacket and tossed it with his. Underneath, I was still wearing my white work shirt from the coffee shop, but he didn’t seem to care. His lips found mine again as his hands slid up and down my arms, his touch needing fulfillment in my skin. I moved to sit higher, never letting ourlips disconnect as my palms found the sides of his neck, the heat of his pulse flowing under my grasp.

“Caius,” I pressed against his lips, letting only the sound of his name escape between breaths. His hand found the back of my head and gripped my loose, wavy hair, tugging my head back forcefully.

“I told you,” he said, his face only an inch from mine,“myname onyourlips reduces the rest of this world to nothing, Celeste.”

I could feel a slight shiver run through my body at the sound of my own name. Our words have the same effect on each other, it seemed.

He tugged my hair again, this time with more pull. I looked up at him through my narrowed eyelids, waiting for him to give in to what we both needed.

His eyes met mine, his grey irises cold and daunting as the sound of the rain continued on. “In all my life, I’ve always held my composure. Always.”

His fingers loosened, but only for a second before tightening again. I could feel the muscles in his shoulders constrict beneath my wrists.

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