Page 177 of Arrow

I laughed, breathy and sharp. “You think I’ll be thinking of you? Maybe I’ll be counting exit routes instead.”

He twisted his fingers inside me, making me gasp. “You’ll be thinking of me. I’ll make sure of it.”

His free hand worked his belt, unbuckling it. The leather slid free with a hiss that echoed in the cavernous space. He unzipped his pants, freeing himself, hard and ready. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his length, feeling him throb against my palm.

“The great Arrow Romanov,” I taunted, stroking him slowly, “about to fuck his enemy on holy ground. What would your mother say?”

His eyes flashed with something primal, his grip tightening around my wrist. “My mother would recognize a queen when she saw one.”

He positioned himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against my slick heat. I braced myself against the altar, palms flat on the cold stone. The stained glass above cast jewel-toned shadows across our bodies, saints and sinners watching our unholy communion.

“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice echoing in the emptiness.

I arched against him, impatient. “Since when do you ask permission?”

“Since I decided to make you beg in God’s house.” His thumb traced my lower lip, pressing into my mouth. I bit down, tasting salt and skin.

“I’d rather die,” I whispered against his finger.

His laugh was dark velvet. “That can be arranged. After.”

Without warning, he slammed into me, filling me so completely that the breath was knocked from my lungs. My head fell back, a moan tearing from my throat and echoing off the vaulted ceiling. The saints in their stained-glass windows seemed to avert their eyes as Arrow claimed me on their altar.

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving me back against the cold stone. My dress bunched around my waist, my legs wrapped tight around his hips as he fucked me with the single-minded focus of a man marking territory.

“Look at you,” he growled, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to leave marks. “Spread out on God’s altar like a sacrifice?”

I gasped as he hit a spot deep inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. The sacrilege of it all, being fucked on sacred ground by a man whose family had destroyed mine, only heightened every sensation.

“Is that what this is?” I panted, my nails raking down his back through his shirt. “A sacrifice?”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. “This is worship, malyshka.”⁠*

The only kind men like me know how to give.”

His pace quickened, each thrust driving me higher, pushing me toward that precipice where nothing existed but sensation. I bit down on his shoulder to muffle my cries, tasting expensive wool and salt. The sound of skin against skin echoed obscenely in the sacred space, competing with our ragged breathing.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice rough with exertion. “Say it like a fucking prayer.”

I turned my face away, defiant even as pleasure coiled tighter in my core. He grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were dark with lust and something fiercer, something that made my heart race.

“Say it,” he demanded again.

I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Arrow,” I gasped, the name torn from my throat. “Arrow!”

His smile was victorious and savage as he drove into me harder, the altar beneath me cold and unyielding. My head fell back, exposing my throat to him, which he immediately claimed with his teeth.

“Again,” he growled against my skin.

“Arrow, fuck,” I whispered, then louder, letting it echo through the cathedral like blasphemy. “Arrow!”

His rhythm faltered for just a moment, and I knew he was close. I clenched around him deliberately, watching his face contort with pleasure and pain.

“Good fucking girl,” he murmured, one hand sliding between us to circle my clit. “Now come for me, Harlowe. Come on this altar so God himself knows who you belong to.”

The pressure built inside me, a tidal wave I couldn’t hold back. His fingers worked me expertly, his cock hitting that perfect spot with each thrust. When I came, it was violent and all-consuming, my vision blurring at the edges as pleasure ripped through me. I screamed his name one final time, the sound bouncing off stone walls and stained glass, a profane echo in sacred space.

He followed moments later, his rhythm stuttering as he came inside me, his teeth sinking into my shoulder to muffle his own groan. I felt him pulse within me, claiming me in the most primal way possible. The altar beneath us had turned warm from our bodies, no longer cold stone but something transformed by our sacrilege.