Azriel tenses, his moans crescendo, and hot liquid fills my insides. I moan in surprise at how warm it feels, and he pulls out and looks between my legs. He jumps off the altar, grabbing my thighs and dragging me until my ass is resting on the edge of it. Then he thrusts two fingers inside of me and presses them against my prostate, massaging me from the inside out. I groan, and he pulls away.
“Push it out, Beloved,” Azriel says softly, still staring at my hole, and my cheeks heat. “Let me see what I filled you with.”
“Oh, fuck.” I groan as he pushes another finger in again, and I push out slightly, feeling hot liquid drip out of me. “It’s so hot.”
“You have no idea,” he growls, then kneels between my thighs and pushes his tongue into me. I practically levitate off the altar, my eyes squeezing shut at the overwhelming pleasure.
“W-what are you doing?” I croak, suddenly embarrassed.
“Not letting any of this go to waste, Little Lamb,” he says against my ass, lips pressed against my hole. He kisses it softly. “Not even one drop.”
“Oh.”
I moan when his tongue thrusts inside of me once more, and he doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied, and my cock is hard again. And just when I think I can’t take it anymore, when I’m so wound up I feel like I’ll burst, he begs me to give him one more. Another one just for him. And I do. I come down his throat, fucking it as his fingers curl deep inside of me.
If hell exists, I know I’ll be there.
Now more than ever.
But I’m starting to realize…I don’t even care anymore.
Evening prayer is the same as always, and I swear I’m trying to pay attention, but with my bowed head, all I’ve managed to do is think about last night. The way Azriel filled me so perfectly, so wholly, that nothing else mattered in that moment. And it still doesn’t. I feel complete, finally. Nevertheless, a very scared part of me wonders if this is real, and how it’ll even work out. What happens if I leave this place behind? What will I do? What willhedo? Is he even able to be by my side as a real partner, or will I forever see him in secret? In the dead of night, when no one will know he exists except for me?
Somehow, I know I’d continue to do that if it’s what it takes to be with him. I’m that far gone. I’d rather have him in secret than not at all, and that seems a bit problematic. If I’m going to leave everything behind—the church, the community I’ve revolved around my entire life, and even my relationship with God—I need to know that he will be by my side forever. That he’s truly all in. There has to be a way for him to live by my side as a partner. A real one. At least that should be my expectation, right? So why does it feel like I’d take whatever scraps he offeredto me? That can’t be how I act. It can’t. I have to really think about this.
“Amen,” Father Jacob says cheerfully, but I continue to bow my head, eyes squeezed shut, almost afraid to open them.
Micah nudges my shoulder with his, and I open my eyes and turn my head to look at him. His eyes are red-rimmed as if he’s been crying, and I frown. He continues to stare at me, wide green eyes looking into mine, and I don’t even notice when someone calls my name until they say it the second time. More urgently. With a bit of a kick to it.
“Brother Elijah,” Father Jacob repeats for a third time. “Will you please come here?”
I stiffen because if he wants me to come to him, it’s for a reason. He doesn’t isolate any of us unless it’s serious. Suddenly, my hands turn clammy, and I wipe them on my pants. He waits patiently for me to stand and turn my body toward him, and once I do, I give him a wide fake smile. But it’s what I have to do—pretend. To be alright. The picture of sainthood. God, not only have I become a fornicator, but I’ve also turned into a liar of epic proportions.
“Yes, Father?” I ask softly once I reach him, stopping a few feet away.
The chapel is now empty save for Micah, who remains in the pew where we were seated together just moments ago. His eyes narrow on us, but he doesn’t move, and for that I’m grateful. I’ll use him as my escape plan. A sweet excuse to cut this conversation short.
Sister Ruth stands next to Father Jacob, and my heart begins to pound so loudly in my ears that I can barely hear when he speaks. That would be a mercy though, and I find myself cursing the day I learned to read lips. They’re watching me intently, looking for some sort of indication I refuse to give them. Instead,I keep my smile firmly in place, and I will continue to do so, even if it kills me.
“I’ve been watching you closely, Elijah,” Father Jacob says, staring into my eyes. I gulp, faintly aware of Micah staring at my back. Father Jacob’s eyes look weird, and this is the first time I think he seems to be the evil one in this situation. I’m not even sure why that thought invades my mind, but I push it to the side so I can pay attention. “I noticed you’ve been acting strangely.”
“Strange how?” I ask, feeling increasingly more nervous the more he speaks.
“You’ve been distracted, which is unusual for you.” His eyes narrow on my face. “Is something wrong? Have you been led astray?”
I gasp, feigning horror. “Absolutely not.” Biggest lie of the century, but I must commit to the bit, or I’ll lose the plot.
“If you have, you can speak freely.” Father Jacob raises an eyebrow, and Sister Ruth clears her throat daintily. “If you repent, all will be well. But you must confess and beg for forgiveness, or we can’t help you.”
“Nothing is wrong,” I whisper, cracking a bit. I’m not sure I’m strong enough for this interrogation. “I’m the same man you’ve known all this time.”
Father Jacob narrows his eyes at me, and I swallow hard, looking down at my shoes. I notice the scuffs on one of them, unable to bring myself to look up at him once more. All the attention is making me feel small and meek, and I bet he does see the wicked little liar I’ve become. Well, huge liar at this point.
“Lying won’t help you,” Father Jacob snarls, looking me up and down. Has he always been this vicious? This…hostile? It’s almost like he’s a different person all of a sudden.
“I’m not lying,” I say with more confidence, raising my chin.
“Are you sure?” Sister Ruth asks, clearly intervening. “I can sense something is off. I see your soul has been stained black, but it’s not too late for you to come clean.”
