The Fallen (Annual Game Night: Sector Five Alphas #3)

Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Father Draven

I pace about my chambers, doing my best to get my mind where it needs to be, but I fail miserably. All I can think about is her spicy, honeyed scent as I strode past her during Mass this morning. It wasn’t a heat. I know that for certain.

Before putting on the cloth, I engaged in various lusts of the flesh and even assisted omegas with their heats. No. This is something else. Something far more primal. It’s her. All her.

It’s the smell of her skin freshly washed. It’s the scent of the body as it warms under the habit. It’s the intoxicating allure of her pussy as it creams for me while I walk by. Though it may seem presumptuous of me to assume it’s her reaction to me and me alone, she’s never had that scent when around the other Sisters.

I’ve seen her in her private moments with them. I’ve snuck up on her unaware while she sits at the tables, crocheting or some other such womanly occupation. When she has no knowledge of my presence, she’s a blank slate.

She smells like all the others—starch, clean linen, and sweet omega with a hint of luscious raspberry. However, at Mass today, the scent was even stronger than ever. It nearly stopped me in my tracks, making me falter while the omegas looked on. I’m not sure how they didn’t smell it too.

Or maybe they’re just nose blind to each other. Either way, I should have cast the omega out the instant I smelled her lust, but I’m far too weak to do that. Just having this difference, just smelling her need for me, gives me a gratification I didn’t know I was missing.

Until her.

Everything has been fine until her.

What is a priest to do? I have to be here for her as much as the other Sisters. To single her out would be cruel. Especially since she was driven to us in the first place with her cloister shutting down. Where else will she go?

My head spins as I place my hand on the Holy Scriptures. For a moment, I half expect it to burn, to singe my skin. It doesn’t. Nothing happens.

Pity. I almost wish it would.

The door cracks open, drawing my attention to the small omega as she slips inside and lowers her head in reverence. Her scent is stronger now, flooding the room with its erotic perfume. Granted, with what she’s been accused of, that makes sense.

Omegas always smell so much more delicious after having been well-pleasured. My cock twitches as she moves toward me, her steps slow and unsteady. Misery pours off of her, almost overshadowing the scent of her arousal.

Almost, but not quite completely.

It’s still there. A small thread that’s easily plucked. Just like her.

Before joining the priesthood, I was not a nice man. Deep down, I thought religion would change me. Unfortunately, as this supplicant stands before me, I worry it’s me who’s na?ve and not the other way around.

Putting on holy robes doesn’t make me a better person. I’m human, an Alpha, still wired with the same dark urges and the same dark needs. Lust crackles through my veins like lightning as I circle my prey, noting the hitch in her breath and the quiver of her delicate nostrils as she scents the air.

Can she smell it? Can she smell the carnal desire I wear wrapped around my body like a second skin, waiting to slither out and devour her? Goosebumps dot the small, exposed areas of her body, making me hunger, yearn, and desire to rip off this collar and make her my own.

But I can’t.

I have to resist.

For her sake and mine.

Clearing my throat, I motion to a nearby chair. “I have been informed of your reason to see me, but I would rather hear it from your own lips. Far be it from me to force penance on you over a misunderstanding.”

Her delicate cheekbones stand out in stark relief as a light blush fans her face. So responsive. So innocent. So fucking ripe for the plucking. I grip my hand into a tight fist, wrapping it around the crucifix of my rosary until the sharp edges dig into my skin.

Yet one more thing to add to the list of sins I’ll need to do penance for. Far too soon, my back will be so scared and ragged. All because of this little omega who knows so little yet causes so much turmoil.

“I...” She trails off, looking lost and forlorn, like a sheep about to be slaughtered.

“You?” I prod, doing my best to look detached as she squirms in her chair.

“I had an ache.”

“I see. And have you had such an ache before?”

“No, Father Confessor. Not until...” Again, she trails off in that maddening way.

After a few silent minutes, she refuses to continue. Irritation slithers up my spine, taking hold in my brain. Soon, the telltale signs give me a warning. I need to calm down, and fast.

Thankfully, Sister Emily Agnes seems unaware of the effect she has on me. Sliding my chair closer, I take her hand in mine, tempering my touch to be more familial instead of the ravaging need I feel pouring through my veins like molten lava. “I cannot give you absolution if you do not speak.”

“I understand, Father Confessor. It’s just... It’s all rather confusing.”

“Then explain it to me. I’ve been in this abbey for many years and am familiar with many of the various plights of omegas.”

“I... I never felt this way until coming here. In my old convent, I never experienced anything like this. I never felt this... need. It’s the only way I can describe it.”

“And this need,” I growl under my breath. “What does it compel you to do? Not all needs are bad. Some needs are good and helpful.”

“I thought the same. I was under the misapprehension that it was merely my body conveying a discomfort in order for me to soothe it.”

“You have soothed yourself before then?”

“Not here. Not... not like this. Normally, it’s muscle aches and pains brought about by difficult work. This was something different, an agony I’ve never known before.”

I lean back in my chair and stroke my chin, looking the little omega up and down. Misery lines her face. It’s clear as day. Some sort of resolution will have to be made in order for her to feel better. Of that, I’m sure.

“Show me.” I’m playing with hellfire, and I know it.

“S- show you? Show you what, exactly?”

What exactly, indeed. I know exactly what I want to see. I want to see her pussy lips glistening with arousal. I want to see if they’re puffy with her need. Does her clit poke out and become hard during her bouts of lust?

Silence continues to hang in the air, heavy and oppressive, as I decide what to do. I’m already going to punish myself. Might as well give my body a reason to endure the pain. As her unease swirls around me, so does the lust.

My balls tighten up as she squirms about, looking so uncomfortable. Precum pearls at the plump head of my cock, smearing across my abdomen as the band of my underwear holds the shaft firmly against my body. As difficult as this is for her, I feel the agony as well.

This forbidden lust between us, this unholy desire we share, it will be our undoing.

Her fingers flutter over her working clothes as she bunches and releases the fabric. “The ache is between my legs.”

“And how did you relieve that ache?”

“I- Well, by rubbing. As I do with any sore muscle.”

Leaning forward, I steeple my fingers and place my chin on the tips. “I see. Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”

The exhale of relief as she sags forward should make me feel bad for tormenting her this way, but I don’t. I am in at least as much, if not more, discomfort as she is. At least she’s been able to quell the need. Mine is still raging just below the surface.

“I must be sure, though. The devil is in the details, after all.”

In an instant, her face goes from crimson to as white as a ghost. “Must I?” Her tone is so soft, so very timid, that I almost miss it.

“Would you rather I just punish you?” Honestly, that would be the easy way out.

“I suppose not.”

“Then show me.”

Her slim fingers tremble as she hoists up the hem of her working clothes. Inch by inch, her body is revealed to me until the crisp, dark hairs guarding her pussy peek out. My cock pulses as I stare at her virginal mound. What I was expecting was sensible cotton underwear. Not this.

“Do you not wear panties?”

She falters, lowering her hem a touch. “In the convent, it wasn’t a command. Is it here in this order?”

“I care not what you wear under your clothes. I was just caught off guard. Continue.”

Again, she breathes out, her body shaking like the last leaf refusing to fall before the onslaught of a brutal winter. I shouldn’t love the way she reacts to me, shouldn’t crave the fear I smell wafting from her tinged with enough arousal to know she’s not completely terrified. I shouldn’t want to dig into my special armoire and grab my cincture, the cords I use to gird myself during Mass, and tie her to my bed so I can have my wicked way.

I’m most definitely playing with fire. Hell fire. A fire that will destroy us both.

Eventually, she’s completely bared to me. God, but she’s divine. Slick glistens on her lower lips as they stand out puffy and swollen, just as I pictured them to be. From this angle, I can’t see her clit, but I can only imagine how aroused she is. The more I stare at her, the more the scent permeates the air until my vision swims.

“How did you touch yourself?” I manage to rasp out as I slide my chair back from the alluring view.

“Well, I was on the bed, and-”

“By all means then.” With a jerk of my hand, I motion toward the bed.

I watch her rise from the chair, my gaze raking over her body like the lecher I am. My heart pounds in my chest as she lies down and spreads her creamy thighs, exposing the dusky pink of her pussy to me. Even more arousal trickles out, staining my sheets with her unholy fluid.

There will be no washing them. Not until her scent dissipates naturally. It’s madness. I feel it creeping into me, filling me with toxic sludge, but in the midst of it, I cannot help but think that maybe she is my purpose.

If all things happen for a reason, then perhaps that’s why she’s in this abbey skulking around as my waking nightmare. Shoving those things out of my head, I watch with rapt attention as she lowers her fingers to her clit. It is indeed just as swollen with need as the rest of her.

God, how many years has it been since I last touched an omega? Five? Ten? Locked away in this abbey, it feels like an eternity. Just watching Sister Emily Agnes touching herself brings all the old lusts raring back to the forefront. The need to touch her, taste her, devour her beats at my brain.

Her soft moans flitting from her lips sound like songs sung at vespers. Only, they’re a touch off-key and a bit breathy. They’re lower, illicit, forbidden... taboo. No one else can hear her. Only me.

The lilting sounds caress my skin, washing over me, bathing me in her arousal. If only I could touch her. Just one touch. Just one.

“What say you, Father Confessor?” she groans, rocking her hips up into the air. “Is this a cardinal sin? It feels too good to be a sin. So right. So perfect. So...”

“Forbidden,” I supply.