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

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Sister Emily Agnes

T hump .

My heart pounds in my ears.

Thump .

I can barely hear Father Draven over the incessant sound.

Thump .

Arousal coats my thighs, dampening my clothes. They stick to me, molding to my body like a salacious garment. Running my fingers over my lips, I feel the bruised skin all hot and flush from his kiss. I shouldn’t have liked it. I shouldn’t have felt my entire world shift.

But I did.

And I crave more.

Turning, I look up at the priest, noting the blackness of his eyes. He smiles down at me, but there’s no humor in his gaze. It’s almost as if he’s not even here anymore. Not fully.

With a quick jerk of his massive frame, he gathers me into his arms and drags me over to the altar. All it takes is one sweep of his arm to cast everything off, leaving it bare. When he sits me down on the polished wood, I find myself torn between running again and seeing just what will happen.

“Hear me, little lamb. I am going to do things to you. Wicked things. Depraved things. But you can take it for me, can’t you? You can be a good girl for me and allow me to purge these demons into your body?”

I don’t dare answer him. My lips refuse to move, even if I want to say anything. Instead, I nod, my body trembling as he brings his hand up to my face.

“That’s my good girl. Fight me, if you wish, but it will only delay the inevitable. Before this night is over, you will no longer be the sweet, chaste Sister Emily Agnes anymore.” He leans in close enough that I feel his breath on my skin. “I want you to fight me. I want to make this as agonizing for you as it is for me. But then, we both know how much you enjoy the pain I cause.”

There’s nothing I can say to argue with him. He’s completely right. It’s one of the things I find missing in the dead of night. Not only do I crave his touch, but I also crave his pain.

With a gentleness I don’t expect, he eases me down on the altar and pulls my hair up to spill over the sides. He trails his fingers through the strands, humming under his breath. It lulls me into a false sense of security, leaving me completely vulnerable as he winds them around his hand and tugs. Hard.

A soft yelp erupts from my lips, but he doesn’t stop. He continues to pull, not so hard that he rips it from my head, but enough that pain skitters over my scalp with each slow bit of movement.

“I thought you might be loud. Open your mouth.”

I don’t dare refuse. The instant I obey him, he lets go of my hair and pulls the holy stole down from around his neck. The cloth tastes of smoke, ashes, incense, and time. It carries an overwhelming scent that makes my stomach churn and my eyes water.

“There now,” he croons, feeding the fabric into my mouth inch by inch. “Now you can be as loud as you want. Let me hear your screams while the other Sisters sleep and see to their rosaries. Will you pray, little lamb? Will you beg God to take this sin from you? He will not hear. He never listens on Game Night.”

My fingers twitch as I long to rip the cloth from my lips, but it seems as if he’s thought of that, too. Pulling the cinctures from his shoulders, he binds my wrists together and stretches my arms out above me. With a slight tug, he anchors the end somewhere on the side, rendering my upper half immobile.

Panic sets in as I realize he means to take away my ability to move. How can I resist him if he does not allow me? But then, maybe that’s the point. Just as swiftly as the terror eats at my brain, an odd calmness settles in its place. I cannot be held responsible for something I don’t actively do.

He can touch me, kiss me, make me his in any way he chooses, and I’ll be blameless. His wicked fingers can wrench pleasure from my unwilling body, relieving me of this incessant ache. Still though, I need to at least put up a token amount of resistance. Just so I can honestly say I tried.

As he walks down toward my ankles, I kick out, catching him in the midsection. The instant my foot sinks into his flesh, nausea bubbles up in my gut. I didn’t mean to strike him so hard, but I have no way of conveying that since he’s robbed me of my voice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem mad. In fact, he smiles even larger. “That’s right, my little lamb. Fight me. Do your best to keep your virtue intact.”

His words spur me to action, releasing all the pent-up emotions threatening to drive me insane. I twist and turn, doing my best to keep my legs closed, but it doesn’t work. Soon, he climbs up onto the altar with me, wedging his hips between my thighs, spreading me open.

Something hard grinds up against my pussy, drawing a soft moan from behind the gag. Just that little bit of pressure feels so good, so immensely relieving, that I cannot help but sag against the wood.

“Just as I thought,” he chuckles, slipping his thumbs under the band of my pants. “You want this just as much as I do. Admit it. Confess to me.”

He leans forward and rips the stole from my lips, allowing me to swallow. I don’t want to say it out loud. To do so would be to finally admit that I cannot resist him. Try as I might, I need his touch like I need the very air I suck into my lungs.

“No? You don’t want this?” Sliding his hand forward, he jams it down my pajama pants, cupping my pussy with his warmth. I can’t keep the moan at bay as I rock my hips up, seeking a firmer touch. “God, Emily. You’re dripping wet for me,” he groans, using my name and just my name.

It sounds so good to hear him say it. Tipping my head back, I cry out, no longer caring about right or wrong. “Please, Father Draven. Please. I- I need. I- I yearn.”

His fingers curl around to stroke my clit, as if rewarding me for my confession. “While I’m pleasuring your body, you will call me Nikolai.”

“Nikolai,” I exclaim on a moan.

It fits him, fits the beast hovering over me, set to devour my soul. At my use of his name, he slides his fingers lower, wedging them between us, as he dips them inside.

“Mine,” he growls as he runs his nose along the side of my neck. “All fucking mine.”

When he pulls my pajama pants the rest of the way down, he takes his time, revealing my flesh to him one inch at a time. For every bit he uncovers, he kisses, sending shivers down my spine. Pleasure unlike anything I’ve ever known races through me, making my pulse trip.

Even the few times we’ve spent together in punishment pale in comparison to this. As he gets to my pussy, he stops, forcing a keening whine up my throat.

“Fear not, my lamb. I simply wish to restrain you. Heaven forbid you develop a change of conscience while I’m balls deep in your body.”

It doesn’t matter that I don’t understand him mentally. My body knows and craves his blasphemous attention. Once my pants are fully off and on the floor, he takes one ankle and lashes it to the altar with his holy cincture. When he does it to the other, I’m spread full open, exposed to his hungry gaze.

Instead of joining me back up on the altar, however, he walks over to the votive stand and stares at the candles. Irritation floods my system as he contemplates it, making me wonder if it’s him who’s going to have the change of heart. But then he turns, flashing me the most wicked grin.

Holding up a candle, he rocks it back and forth, making the flame dance. “You know, it is said that fire is a great purifier. Let us test that, shall we?”

He pads over to me and tips the candle forward, splashing me with the hot wax. Before a yelp can escape my lips, he slams his hand over my mouth, stifling the sound.

“Now, now. None of that. Can’t stir too much interest. If you cannot keep quiet, I can find something to gag you with.”

I shake my head, not wishing for that awful stole to go back into my mouth.

“That’s my good little sacrifice,” he murmurs, running his thumb along my bottom lip.

Unbidden, I open my mouth, allowing him to slip inside. It’s not quite as good as his tongue, but it fills me in a way that makes me ache.

“Your innocence makes you all the more alluring. Once I paint you in this holy wax, I’ll fill you with my holy absolution.” Everything in me clenches as I bow up on the altar.

Could I dare hope to be able to taste it once more?

Setting the candle down, he plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me in. “Tell me, sacrifice. Why does that have you so eager?”

Do I tell him? I turn to look away, but he snakes out his hand and grips my chin.

“You will find that without the implant controlling my actions, I am not a patient man. Speak.”

“I... You... It... I find I rather enjoy the taste of your absolution,” I finally confess as heat blazes across my cheeks.

“Is that so?” Leaning back, he strokes his chin as he smiles down at me. “Seems as if someone was naughty and touched herself in the shower.”

“But I didn’t,” I wail, bucking against the restraints. “Not in that way. It was just a small taste.”

Without answering me, he picks the candle back up and drizzles more of the warm wax over my body. The initial sting gives way to fervent heat. It seeps into my body, making me burn from the inside out.

Until this moment, I never worried about him being mean or cruel to me. Now, I so desperately pray I didn’t make a mistake setting him free. But then, it would be a fitting penance for him to rend me limb from limb or even burn me from head to toe. And absolution fit for the demon sent to consume me.