Motherfucker.
"No."
His wicked chuckle sounds right behind me, and I find his face in the reflection of my computer. With inhuman speed I don't think I'll ever get used to, he spins my chair, bringing me face to face with a salaciously grinning Eamon, clergy costume firmly in place, even the little strip of white fabric bringing my attention to the base of his neck.
I both hate and love him like this. He's so arrogant, so goddamn annoying. But fuck, if I'm not already getting wet at the thought of how I know he's going to control every inch of me.
Unfortunately for me, his cockiness is well-earned.
His smoldering eyes search my face before going lower, locking onto the rapidly increasing pulse in my throat. Lower still, he traces a line down my body, lighting me on fire the whole way without even touching me.
"No?" he finally says. "Are you sure? You haven't been committing any sins have you?"
I laugh, the absurdity of it all overwhelming. This is insane. I absolutely should not be turned on by this. "Eamon, for the love of—"
"Wrath, perhaps?" he continues, towering over me while I'm trapped in my seat. "Certainly not gluttony since you can't bring yourself to eat one whole meal."
"This is ridiculous," I scoff, wishing I wasn't having such a strong reaction to this. But there's no denying I'm fighting the urge to rub my legs together right now.
With a smirk, he reaches for my hand, helping me to stand on my currently weak legs. "If you don't confess, my little Isla, how can I absolve you?"
"I'm definitely feeling wrathful right now," I admit, making him smile wider, his hungry gaze roving over my heating skin.
"Good girl," he coos, running his fingers over my shoulders, down my arms, before tracing the small line of skin between my pants and blouse. His voice lowers, "What else?"
He's putting me under a fucking spell, between the praise and his willingness to do anything to turn me on, play any game or character. I'm putty in his large, capable hands.
"Is vengeance a sin?" I can't even think straight enough to properly stay in this little charade.
He groans, one hand traveling to squeeze my ass and pull me against him, his other hand working up under my shirt to cup one of my tits, "Are you feeling vengeful, little hunter?"
I nod, "Very." Outside of this current moment and all the other ones where we're rolling in the sheets together, revenge is a recurring fantasy of mine.
"And wrathful?" he grinds against me, his voice dropping into that seductive, almost growling tenor.
"All the time," I whisper, letting my head fall back for his lips to find my pulse, to suck on that spot that always turns me into a mewling mess.
He groans again, the promise of violence making him even harder as he rubs his dick against my lower stomach, ready to fill me no matter how angry and hateful I am. Nothing scares him away. Every dark corner of my mind, every threat, only brings him closer, makes him crave more of my depravity.
"What else?" he speaks against my lips, the answer all too obvious. "Are you a lustful creature?"
I nod, unable to answer with the expert way he tweaks my nipple before starting to lift my shirt, the heat of his palm following the slow trail of my blouse.
"Yes, Father," he corrects me, but I can't repeat it, the humiliation and degradation too heavy. Realizing he won't get the answer he wants, he abandons all pretense, ripping my shirt from my body before wrapping that hand around the back of my neck and planting his lips forcefully on mine.
A moan slips out of my mouth, and he swallows it down, using the chance to slip his tongue against mine in a dance I'm not sure I'll ever get used to. He forces mine down before luring it into his own mouth, sucking on my tongue before releasing it and continuing the assault. His teeth pull on my bottom lip, almost painful but never quite.
Sloppily, he walks us toward the bed, yanking down my pants and leaving them in a puddle on the floor behind him. With a final shove, he pushes me onto the bed, staring down at me with a hunger so intense it borders on anger.
"Isla, fuck," he groans, running a palm down his face. "You're so fucking sexy, you know that? Christ, you've turned me into a horny teenager, half-hard all the time just from knowing you're in the next room."
"Who's the lustful one now?" I pant.
"Do you want my confession, too?" he asks, his indecent gaze falling over every inch of me.
I'm not sure that I do. Not sure I'll recover from it. But Iama glutton, as it turns out. Just for punishment. "Let's hear it."
He stands at the foot of the bed, leaning forward to take one of my ankles in his hand, the veins in his arm pulsing as he grips me. With his eyes locked on mine, he kisses the inside of my calf, "I am guilty of many sins when it comes to you," he admits before biting and licking that same spot, the sensitive skin lighting my pleasure centers on fire when he's barely touched me. "Lust is the most obvious one. I think of almost nothing but the way you come so sweetly wrapped around me. I've fucked my fist more times than I can count thinking of your hot cunt."
