I walk toward him down the center aisle like a bride to her groom, each step on the stone floor a choice I’m making without ambiguity, rather than running out. Something deep inside me tells me running is no use. There are more out there and only one inside.
I stop at the altar rail where he stands on the other side, the mask pinning me with shiny eyes like two small black mirrors.
“Kneel,” he commands.
I know his voice. There aren't many men on campus his size.
“Saint.”
“Kneel,” he repeats.
A choice runs alongside it and underneath. The sensation of consent arriving before you consciously make it. And somehow, the single word moves through me, settling between my thighs. My body responds to it, leaving no room to deny him.
“Don’t be afraid of me,” he says. “I’m not a good man. I have done things and will possibly do more you might not agree with, but none of those things are meant to hurt you.”
“I don’t fear you…”
“Then kneel,” he interrupts.
The stone is cold through the fabric of my long black dress. The altar rail is at my hands, holding me steady. The light falls across both of us in the ancient colors of the west window. He steps forward and moves his robe aside to reveal black pants.
He opens his arms. His chin drops slightly, looking down at me with the mask. The dark, fixed eyes like black diamonds, like a man waiting to be worshipped. The cross is imposing behind him, the light, the space it occupies. His muscles on his stomach are carved like a Greek god.
“I’m Prey,” I say, my voice steady.
“You have the right to say no. You also have the right to be chosen. The right to worship the one you call your God. A God that will seek justice for those who wronged you.”
He wants me to worship him, having been freely chosen as his. I’m not being convinced, taken, or forced. I’m choosing. My panties are wet from the ache of wanting him.
My eyes stare at the band of his pants that hang low on his hips.
I have a choice. Accept what and who he is and what that means.
Prey as the right to choose. His words at the party crawl back into my mind.
And I choose him.
I reach up and pull his pants down his hips, the small trail of hair disappearing inside the black band of his underwear. The scent of him dances in the space between us. His cock is impossibly hard.
I pull the band of his underwear, freeing his cock. The head is swollen, precum glistening under the glow of the lights. I lick my lips.
My eyes slide up his frame.
His arms are wide, his head tilted back. “Worship me like I’m your God.”
I take the head of his cock in my mouth. My tongue slides around the head and down the shaft. I try to take him all in, but he is big. I wrap my hands around the base and suck.
He grips the back of my head and fucks my mouth. He’s fast and hard yet careful not to hurt the back of my throat. I gag, but I take him. Drool pools at the corner of my mouth and drips down my chin.
He grunts in pleasure. The sound replaces the silence. He doesn’t stop. A moan escapes from the back of my throat. He grips my hair, and the salty taste of his cum explodes inside my mouth. He doesn’t wait for me to swallow.
He pulls out and lifts me off the ground. Turns me around and leans close. “Hold on,” he says roughly.
I grip the rail, and he pushes my dress up. Rips my panties to the side and spreads my legs. A gloved finger slides up and down my pussy.
“Saint,” I cry out in pleasure.
“You’re so fucking wet. Feel how fucking wet you are for me.” He slides his glove finger, coating my ass from how wet I am. “I’m going to fuck you hard, Amy. The way I wanted to since the first time I tasted you pretty cunt.”
