Sweetest Sin(68)

I left it on and unbuttoned just enough to expose my hardening cock for her. The rosaries dangled too close. She kissed them.

Honor stared up at me, her eyes wide. Her lips already parted for that sinful offering, a body I wished for her to consume.

“Are you frightened?” I asked.

She swallowed. “I’m…nervous. We’re in the church, Father.”

I guided my cock to her with a confident hand. She waited upon her knees and took me in her mouth without protest, without complaint.

She submitted.

She mewed a gracious sound and savored me. The softness of her lips, the heat of her mouth, and the devotion of her tongue wracked me in pleasure, but I hadn’t realized she would enjoy it as well.

“Do you know the story of Saint Teresa of Avila?” I twisted a hand in her hair. My head fell back, and she welcomed me deeper. “She was a nun in the sixteenth century…and she was granted visions from God so powerful, so intense she would be wracked with pains, pleasures, and overwhelmed in religious ecstasy.”

Honor opened her eyes. She did not take my cock from her mouth, nor would I have permitted it. I shuddered, deep and heavy. Everything tightened within me already.

Too soon. Not soon enough.

“She claimed an angel had visited her, one with a golden arrow he used to pierce her body again and again. Every thrust dragged through her in great pain. But she whispered stories. Said the sensations were so great, she was forced to moan. She did not wish to be rid of that feeling.”

Her lips dragged over my shaft, my own golden arrow which would tear through her. The flick of her tongue stole my breath. I clenched my teeth.

“It’s called the Devotion of Ecstasy. When the body and soul are connected in sweet pain. When it happened to her, Saint Teresa would swoon. She’d go weak, faint, and wake in beautiful tears. She was made comfortable in a passionate union   with God.”

I twisted her hair, sinking her deeper upon my cock. Honor groaned. Her throaty whimper vibrated along my shaft. I tensed, but I wasn’t ready to experience that ecstasy yet.

Not when I had her.

Not when I might have experienced it in her, because of her, drawn from her. My hands tightened, body strained, and my cock hardened more.

Honor waited before me.

Madonna or whore of Babylon? Or simply my angel, my beautiful and pure salvation who offered so much for me to take and destroy.

I drew from her mouth, and her shivered gasp nearly had me pump every last drop of my desire upon those lips.

But I was a proper Catholic. No sense disavowing all tradition.

I pulled her to her feet only to cast her in my arms. She tensed as I lowered her upon the altar. I rested her on the linens, surrounded by the candles, drenched in the sweet light of salvation.

“Father, this is…”

“The altar.” Where I had imagined her every minute of every day since she first walked into my church. “It is where you belong, my angel.”

“This is wrong. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Nothing would stop me.

“Do you know what altars were once used for, Honor?” I circled her, observing her body, her writhing, the sweet goosebumps which prickled over her flesh as her bared skin accidentally touched cold stone. “The altar was a place of sacrifice.”

“Oh, God.”

“I’m sure He’s here.” Or would know the instant I fell further from His grace. “You are my perfect sacrifice, Honor. You’re beautiful. You’re gentle. Innocent. You possess every virtue I’ve lost. If I have faith in one thing in this world, it’s the words you speak, the breaths you take.”

“You haven’t lost your faith.”

I lost enough of myself to worship my desire. I studied her, committed her to memory. Why had I ever resisted her?

“I want to consecrate your body,” I said. “Make it holy before I destroy us in this sin.”

“Father, you’re not destroying me or yourself.”

“I already have.”

I prepared for this moment. The oils awaited my hand, and the holy water stilled in a gold chalice. I needed no prayer for this. Honor was as blessed, as beautiful, as pure as any woman gracing this earth.

But I could worship her in my own way. Adore and ruin. Bless and profane.

I sprinkled the water first, watching as the chilled droplets dripped over her curves. They ran in tears, rivulets of chill that teased her skin. Her nipples budded hard, and I followed every rolling bead of holy water as it trailed between her breasts, over her waist, and finally, dipped to the wonder between her legs.

She shivered.

So did I.

“You are so beautiful,” I whispered. “I almost hate to defile you this way.”

“You aren’t defiling me.”