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

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Father Draven

Four Days Until Game Night

F uck.

The more I try to keep myself sane, the less I seem to be able to hold on to it. I glance down at the cum-stained rag as my fingers drift over my rosary. If I cannot keep it together around her doing these normal interactions, how in the hell am I supposed to keep her safe during Game Night?

Granted, with me sequestered away, locked inside a cell that no one can penetrate, she will have a fighting chance. Honestly, it should be me I’m worried about. Already, I feel the faint tingle, the precursor to the brain zap that will leave me immobile for a bit.

Now, more than ever, I’ve come to rely on my heightened awareness and use it as a tool to get myself under control. And yet, the more I seek constraint, the easier it slips from my fingers. It’s like sand falling through an hourglass—inevitable.

Snarling, I swipe my hand across the desk, casting the contents on the floor. Everything, including the damned countdown, clatters against the worn wood. But it changes nothing. Just like I cannot keep my baser urges in check, nothing will stop the countdown.

Nothing will stop Game Night.

As with every damn day since Sister Emily Agnes has haunted our doorstep, I take out my beaded flogger and say a prayer over it. Maybe I just need some time away. A day or two where I’m not surrounded by her scent.

Hell, even if I stray to the end of the earth, I’ll still smell her on me. I’d still hear those breathy prayers escaping her lips as I rubbed her clit. I’ll still feel the way her pretty little cunt fluttered around my fingers. If I’m not damned now, I soon will be.

As I begin to strike myself, I do what I can to drive the lusty little Sister from my mind. Thankfully, there’s been no more indiscretions, no more illicit confessions. At least one of us knows how to keep their baser urges in check. Then again, she could be sinning even now, and no one would be the wiser.

How wrong would it be to slide into her room and see if I can catch her off guard? How hard would it be to corner her in the hallway and ask if she’s been a good little Sister and keeping her hands to herself? But I can’t. If she admits she’s been touching herself, or worse, that she’s being touching herself while thinking about me, I don’t think I can contain myself.

It’s already hard knowing I’ll be unfettered in just a few short days. Having to punish her will be the end of me, the end of my priesthood. I’ve already tempted the devil enough.

Once my back is sufficiently bloody, I go about my normal routine. After Mass, I’ll take my leave. Surely Mother Superior cannot object to me needing some time to shore myself up before this tribulation. And honestly, it will take every fucking Hail Mary and Our Father to keep me from deflowering the innocent, na?ve little virgin.