He exhales a soft, amused breath. “Look at me, Ada. God and Devil, are names people gave to the same fear. Two faces stamped on a single coin, so they could tell themselves the world is simple.”
His gaze lifts briefly, taking in the stone, the altar, the glass.
“This place wasn’t built by God,” he continues. “It was built by men. By hands and belief and the need to feel watched over.”
His eyes return to mine, dark, and with intent. “If God minds,” he adds earnestly, “then He minds because men decided He should.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You’re remarkably philosophical for a man conducting heresy at the altar.”
He stills for half a heartbeat, as if weighing the word.
Then he laughs—heartily, the sound deep and warm, spilling through the church like a hymn. It rises into the rafters and rolls back down around us, rich and dangerously alive.
When it fades, he shakes his head once, dark hair falling briefly into his eyes.
“Heresy?” he echoes, amusement lingering in his voice. “Is that what this is?” He straightens again and I already miss his weight on me. The stained-glass light shines behind him like a halo. His gaze drops to my mouth, then lower, and when itreturns to my eyes, the philosophy is gone—replaced by heat.
His hands start moving along my thighs again, drawing lazy circles, closer to where I need to be touched most.
“If this is heresy…” A faint, wicked curve touches his lips. “Then I suspect the altar has endured worse sins than ours.”
Chapter 30
And with that, he grabs my hips and pulls me forward, right to the edge of the altar. His eyes are shining, pushing my skirts up high above my waist. His arm reaches for my breasts, pinching a nipple until I gasp, while his other hand lays over the mound just above my clit. He gently presses it upward, exposing my clit to him. He moans softly, the air escaping him brushes over my exposed pussy.
“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs and retracts his hand from my breast. His finger slides into my pussy. “Already so wet for me, Ada,” he purrs. His hands are warm and my pussy is throbbing in time with the thunder rolling outside the church windows.
“I want you so much,” I breathe and try to grab his hand, trying to pull him closer.
He chuckles, but doesn’t move. “So impatient,” he murmurs and pulls his hand back. He rounds the altar with deliberate steps, circling me like prey.
I’m on the altar, exposed, every shiver and gasp laid bare. My neck tilts back; I watch him, as he vanishes for a moment, returning with a small pillow, the kind priests kneel on, and drops it with a thud in front of me.
He stops, hands behind his back, gaze locked on mine.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” he says, voice dark and amused all at once. “You’ve turned the altar into the center of my awe. You are the sacrifice, and yet…I am the one made to worship you. Every part of me was meant for this, for you.”
My breath catches. His words are scandalous, absurdly intimate, and they burn straight through me.
He tilts his head, a crooked smile tugging at his lips.
“I should be the one to demand penance, to demand devotion…but you’ve left me powerless. You are the offering I never knew I needed, and I am the debtor, chained to your presence, bound to this…impossible worship.”
I flush. He doesn’t pretend to be unaffected, he bathes in it. He’s in awe, and I feel it in every nerve. He’s made to follow me, to be undone by me, even if we don’t know why.
He kneels in front of the altar, in front of me, and with agonizing slowness, lowers his mouth to my clit. His tongue lashes out once, slowly, dragging through my pussy as if this was the last time he was allowed near me. A soft growl escapes him and he pushes himself closer still, adding more pressure to his tongue on my center.
“Oh…my…” I breathe, but no words follow. Nothing has ever felt this good. He chuckles against my clit, as I feel two fingers entering my already dripping pussy. He curls them upward once he is inside and slides them out again, slow and controlled. His tongue is drawing lazy circles around my center.
“Is that what you need, Ada?” he murmurs.
I hum, not capable of speaking. His large hand presses down on my lower stomach and I can feel his fingers curling upward, over and over again, like building waves crashing at the shore. His tongue is coated in his spit and my wetness, enhancingthe friction and making me go insane with want.
“I-I need you,” I breathe, heart thudding in my chest.
“Come on my tongue, love,” he murmurs, his fingers fucking me faster now.
