His fingers move with intention, parting my thighs—and I let him. Ialwayslet him.
“But me?” His voice is a dark promise in my ear. “I seedivinity.”
He slips his hand into my panties, his fingers finding my clit with practiced ease. I bite down hard on my lip as he circles that sensitive bud, teasing me with the pad of his finger.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, his tone full of pride and possession.
Shame courses through my veins and I squeeze my legs together, terrified someone will look over and see. Nathaniel, however, is completely unfazed by that possibility. He simply nudges my knees apart before he works his hand lower, dipping two fingers into me shallowly. Then he slides them out and brings them to my clit again, using my own arousal to press and rub in a way that sends jolt after jolt of hot, intense pleasure through me.
But he keeps his touch teasing, never giving me quite enough—introducing me to Nathaniel Caldwell’s brand of cruelty.
The earlier mortification at the idea of being discovered is quickly replaced by frustration. Every stroke is a calculated torment, designed to unravel me one measured second at a time.
“You are meant to be worshiped, Olivia.” His tone is reverent. “And who better to kneel at your altar than me?”
His fingers press against my clit just right, and a shudder rolls through me. My grip tightens on the foldable desk in front of me as I fight for composure, trying to keep my face impassive.
Nathaniel hums, mocking, yet utterly sincere in his devotion.
“Could Landon do this to you?” His voice hardens, a blade slicing through the smooth cadence. “Do you think Adam”—his fingers pause, overcome by possessiveness, before resuming their pace—"could ever make you feel like this?”
A strangled, muffled sound escapes me as I shake my head fervently. My teeth sink into my lower lip, desperate to contain the way my body responds to him. But Nathaniel’s willpower is a terrifying thing, and it’s clear he’s not going to let up until he gets what he wants.
“No, baby.” His fingers move faster, mercilessly precise. “Onlyme.”
The coil in my belly tightens as his movements drag me closer and closer to the brink. But just as I’m about to crest?—
His movements slow. A devastating retreat.
A whimper escapes my lips before I can stop it. My body clenches at the loss of sensation, aching for more,for him. My fingers dig into the desk, white-knuckled. Then, I make the mistake of looking at him.
Nathaniel is devouring me with his gaze. His lips curl into a satisfied smile before he speaks again, his voice hypnotic, like silken thread wrapped around my throat.
“But even the most devout need something to keep them faithful.” His fingers stroke me once—slow and lazy, a mere ghost of touch before pulling away again. “You wouldn’t deny me my devotion, would you?”
A shiver rolls through me, involuntary, helpless. He hums, pleased by my reaction. “No saint suffers without promise of absolution.” He traps my clit between two fingers, pinching it lightly. “No disciple kneels without hope of rapture.” He nips at my earlobe, whispering, “And I am the most devoted of them all.”
My head tips back against the chair, my breaths coming uneven. “N-Nathaniel—”I stutter, barely coherent.
“Say it, my love.” His thumb presses down, dragging over me in slow circles. “Say you won’t waste your light on those who don’t know how to kneel.”
I bite down harder on my lip, a second away from putting my hand over my mouth to keep quiet.
“Mercy, goddess.” His lips graze my temple. “I’m already at your feet…who else do you need?”
I am strung so tight that my thighs are trembling. Rapture is close, agonizingly so, I justneed?—
“Please,” I plead. “Please, please, please…”
Only then does he grant me reprieve. His lips press to my jaw and he finally moves his fingers faster, sending me hurtling over the edge.
When my orgasm hits me, it takes over my whole body, white-hot and searing. I cling to him, my fingers digging into his muscled forearm, and I try helplessly to be quiet so no one will look over at us.
But Nathaniel doesn’t stop. “That’s it, that’s my good girl.” He continues working my clit, drawing out every aftershock until I have nothing left to give him. “You look divine when you come,” he says as he watches me, imprinting every second of it to his memory like a sacred ritual.
His fingers eventually retreat, but not before he makes one final, teasing stroke between my legs, savoring the last tremor that runs through me.
I’m left slumping in my seat, completely spent, still shaking.
