Sweetest Sin(47)

I’d never felt such…softness. I stroked her petals, delighting in how silken her body melted. Even this inexperienced virgin, betrayed by her need and the lusts of the man controlling her, instinctively wetted for sin. Every curve of her flesh and sensual swelling of her slit directed my fingers low, to the slickness of her entrance.

Where we’d lose both our souls in a moment of rutted perfection.

“Father…it’s hard to…”

Honor could no longer speak. Her delight hurt me as well. My cock throbbed, hardened within the beautiful vulgarity of her exposed body. Her stomach tensed, undulating with every flinch of her suffering body.

She fought the pleasure.

Her body ached, arched, wetted.

Offered for me.

She almost faltered. Her breath caught, and my fingers pinched the nub which controlled her every gasp.

Her eyes closed, and she sweated. Twisted.

Begged.

“Oh, God…” Her soft cry pleaded such a beautiful song. “Need to stop…”

Higher, higher. More and more. Such glorious resistance deserved praise.

And such beautiful agony deserved the destruction of both our souls.

I pulled from her slit as her voice trembled too much. She cried out as my hand left that sanctifying heat.

I panted my own breath, filled with the warmth, the slickness, and the delicious scent of her.

My thoughts turned to sin—darkness, sweetness, and wine. Honor struggled to hide herself again, but I had yet to memorize every forbidden curve of her body.

“You’re cruel,” she whispered.

“And you’re stronger than you believed.”

The cake waited for us. I picked another piece within my fingers, pinched tight, just as if I offered her the Host.

She accidentally shivered, a shock of pleasure that stole her breath. The cake crumbled and fell upon own chocolate skin.

It beckoned me.

Perverse. Lovely.

I lowered to her chest, devouring the cake.

“This is my body…” I whispered to her.

She murmured the words. “Given for you.”

A dark, devious sin twisted in our hearts. I reached for the goblet of wine. She waited, believing I’d offer it to her.

I didn’t.

I dripped the chilled wine over her heated body. Honor moaned. She arched into the coolness of the wine, and it trailed over her beautiful curves.

This was the blood I drank.

I loomed over her, using my tongue to lap the dry wine from her delicious skin. The wine trickled faster than I could drink. I chased, lower and lower, until it consecrated the perfect petals between her legs.

The shadow of temptation riled me. It pumped my cock and strained my body in sweated resistance against everything my collar represented.

I tipped the glass.

The splash of wine centered over her perfect slit, exposed and wanting for more than the brush of my fingers against that virtuous, damning core.

I closed my mouth over the drips of wine, catching each beaded chill as they rolled over the plumpness of her swollen petals.

And her sweetness beguiled and enchanted every twist of my heart and throb of my cock.

Honor’s moan turned to song.

My lips were once cast in prayer. Now they formed sacred words eager to draw her uttered gasp of glory.

My tongue was once used to spread the divine mysteries. Now it explored the depths of hers.

My words were once meant to preach. In my silence, I offered the blessing of her pleasure to us both.

“Father, please…” Honor couldn’t breathe. Her body wracked with a pained shudder that threatened our very faith. “This is too much.”

I feasted upon her, savoring the slickness as I lured more pleasure and pain from her. I shared her anguish.

This suffering must have been holy. The denial of our body, our needs, our desires tortured our instincts. I ached for mercy. I throbbed in my own masochistic delight.

My worthless body demanded that I toss her upon the very ground we walked. If I let it control me, I’d have rutted through that innocence for my own perverted satisfaction. I’d have taken her as an animal. Rolled and sweated and coated her in wicked seed.

Ruined her.

Damned her.

Joined her.

I suckled upon that nub of power. She liked that. Or maybe she didn’t. Her hips arched in pleasure and bucked in panic. She tightened and begged against my mouth.

Pity I buried my tongue within her, or I might have eased her with a gentle word.

“Father Rafe.” Honor’s fingers tangled in my hair. I no longer knew if she pulled me away or pushed me into her secret beauty. “I’m too close…”

The power surged through me. I wanted to destroy her, and she’d have begged me to do it.

And that was the reason I pulled away. Despite my own groan, despite losing myself within her sweetness and tasting upon the most blessed and perfect pleasure, I retreated.