"You do."
"Who owns this pussy?"
"You."
I let go of my hold on her mouth to rub her clit while I grind my dick into her. For one heartbeat, I wonder if she’s already pregnant with my baby or if this will be the time that does it.
But then I hit the right rhythm and the right spot. Blair unravels. Clamping down on me, shaking, her body bows against the wood.
My hand leaves her clit to grip her hair, pulling her head back onto my shoulder.
"Look at the cross," I snarl, nodding toward the crucifix hanging dimly on the opposite wall through the open curtain. "Tell him you don’t need his forgiveness because you only need mine."
"I—" she sobs, shattering all over again, one orgasm rolling into the next.
And this time, my own release hits me hard, emptying myself deep inside her, right up against her womb. Rage, obsession, cum—it all pours into her. Marking her soul as mine in a way that’ll never be undone.
We stay there, pinned against the wood, until the thundering in my chest slows.
I pull out of her slowly because I don’t want to leave.
Blair whimpers and then collapses forward, resting her forehead on the shelf, gasping for air.
I tuck myself away, fixing my clothes. Looking down at her reveals a beautiful mess. Disheveled. Ruined. Her soul is stained with me.
"Come on," I say, offering a hand.
She takes it, legs wobbling as she turns. She smooths her dress, but the flush on her chest and the swollen look of her lower lip where she’s bitten it are impossible to hide.
We step out of the booth.
"Gabriel," a voice says from the shadows near the altar.
Blair jumps, gripping my arm.
I don't flinch, though, because I know who it is.
Xander leans against a stone pillar, dressed in his cassock. A lit cigarette glows in the dark and his mismatched eyes ignite in the ember of it as he inhales. He’s wearing a terrifying, unhinged sort of grin on his face.
"Xander," I greet him. His eyes flick to Blair and his head tilts to the side. She starts wiping at her cheeks, trying to look more presentable but it’s a lost cause.
He pushes off the pillar, walking toward us. He’s younger than me, but he’s got the eyes of a demon. One of the Savage Six, and the only priest who carries any number of weapons under his vestments.
He stops a few feet away, gaze sliding over Blair. He takes in the messy hair, the flush on her skin, the way she clings to me.
He smirks.
"I'd offer to hear your confession," Xander says, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke toward the vaulted ceiling. "But I don’t think you're actually sorry for whatever you just did in my booth."
"Your booth?" I ask.
"God's booth," Xander corrects with a sneer and a glare at the sky.
Blair stares at him, wide-eyed. "You're... you're a priest?"
"I know, right," Xander says. He flicks ash onto the stone floor. "Don't worry. The acoustics in that booth are excellent. I barely heard a thing. Well, except for that finish. I think even the devil himself heard that."
He winks and I feel Blair shiver against me.
