Somehow, somewhere deep inside, she felt like she was the link that was needed to break the chain. She was the lone descendent that could end all this bullshit.
Elizabeth remembered being social. She remembered trusting people. Most of all she remembered her last boyfriend. The one she was so ready to sleep with. The moment they had done anything the pain started. Doctor after doctor could tell her nothing. She thought she had cancer; it had been so painful when Robert touched her.
All that added up to was that HE had never left. Always a part of him was embedded in her life to make her hate him, to make her hate her entire being.
She hated him.
And she would have her life back.
Sweat started to bead along her forehead. Her thick, full mane of dark hair suddenly felt hot and stifling. Elizabeth grabbed it in a messy ponytail and twisted it until she could knot it high on top of her head. The room seemed to still around her. Her vision wouldn’t focus. Heat seemed to consume her. On a grumble she pushed away from the table, but turning around to open up the window, she stilled.
The window was open.
Reaching a shivering hand out, she felt the quenching breeze tickle her fingertips. Elizabeth sucked in her bottom lip and turned her back, but the heat didn’t abate. If anything it got worse. She was in tight skinny jeans and a sweat shirt. Normally, it was frigid in this part of the convent. Also, the dress code was ‘keep every inch of your skin covered’. She grabbed the sleeves and shoved them up her arms, giving her body some reprieve.
Heading back over to the table, she reached for the book, ready to get back to reading, when she heard it. It was muffled, and low, but it was something akin to a—moan. Furrowing her brows, she got back up and headed towards the door. She followed the narrow stone passageways until she heard the sound loud and clear through the church doors.
Moaning, panting, breathless mewls filled the halls in this part of the convent. There was no way she’d heard right. Fingers trembling, she gave the door a light nudge and slipped in through the thin crack. The sounds came louder. The confessional in the far corner shivered against the wall.
This could only be two things: a group of teens had gotten in on a dare and were doing this. Or one of the sisters was getting busy in the confessional with one of the priests.
Impossible.
Each step felt like lead filled her toes. She didn’t want to move, but curiosity took over and she was propelled by forces out of her control. Looking back on this later, she was almost positive she would notice the flashing red warning signs that blazed from this whole situation. But now—she was consumed and needed to see into that confessional.
Her fingers reached for the maroon silk curtains that covered the confessor side. She rarely visited the church. You would think someone meant to be the devil’s courtesan would pray until their knees bled. Elizabeth didn’t believe in God, not anymore. No God would allow someone innocent like all the girls before her to be taken by his arch nemesis.
Right?
Brushing the curtain aside, she dropped into the tiny bench and peeked through the blurry grate. Sucking in a breath, pressing her palm flat against her mouth, she froze.
It couldn’t be.
It was.
Something inside her own groin fired up and she found herself getting wet at the sight before her. Sister Margaret lay back against the wall, her cornette still perfectly on her head yet the rest of her habit was stripped away, revealing curves that Elizabeth would kill for. Margaret’s breasts were large and pert, the nipples pointing towards heaven in silent worship to what was being done to her.
Elizabeth pressed her thighs together, fighting off the arousal that thrummed through her body. Nipples poked into her lacy bra, her panties soaked through as she watched the young priest that even she had forbidden eyes for feasting on the sister between her legs. He was growling and snarling against her pussy as she thrust her hips against his face. Her fingers clawed at his scalp as she begged for more. Lapping sounds filled the small space. The scent of sex filled Elizabeth’s nostrils and she fought against her urges.
Flashes of a man touching her, parting her legs and pinning her thighs to a bed of red silk sheets filled her mind.
Yes, my sweet one. Feel it, taste it.
Her tongue swiped over her lips and a salty yet sweet taste burst onto her taste buds. Elizabeth realized in that moment, it was the musky flavor of—female. This female. The sister she trusted, that she’d handed her life over to, was being ravaged by this priest. He tempted her, and all the things she knew to be right and true were exploding in her brain. Her gaze found the man between the sister’s legs again and this time his grey-eyed gaze was on her.
It wasn’t the young priest. No, this couldn’t be right, it couldn’t be him. Her heart punched into her ribcage so hard she felt like she was going to stop breathing at any moment. Her arousal shot up another notch and she reached between her legs to ease the ache that had started to build. She could swear she felt his tongue on her own sensitive clit. His tongue flicked out again and the sister hissed. She mirrored the woman, her head falling back as the building heat started in the back of her neck and traveled down her body. Her fingers found the seam of her jeans and pressed it hard against her aching button. Desire swept through her and she was lost to this wave of heat that teased her nipples, made her breasts swell.