Chapter 35

CHAPTER 35

THOMAS

W hy was she always trying to run from me?

How did she not understand that she was mine?

She needed to give in to the inevitable. Even her body knew it belonged to me. Why else would she have made that last left instead of a right? Had she just turned right, she would have been in the main chapel and there would have been nothing I could have done to her.

It would have been too public, too many people around. She would have been free. She had been down here enough to know that.

But she turned left. She turned left into the storage area under the church, a large section of the basement that was hardly ever used. It was barely lit by ambient light. I could just make out her form as she pushed herself further and further into the room. Making a mess the entire way. She even knocked over a candelabra that was, I think, from the 1400s, from Spain.

It was priceless, and she didn’t even look back as she knocked it over in her vain attempt to run. She was going to be punished for that, and I couldn’t wait.

“Rose, angel. All you’re doing is begging for the lick of my belt across your pert little ass. Get back over here and talk to me.”

“Fuck you,” she yelled, her voice a little further away than I had thought.

“You keep talking like that, I’m going to wash your mouth out with my cum.” I pushed myself further into the room, trying to follow the path of destruction without tripping over something. With the way my luck had been lately, I’d end up accidentally tripping over a long-forgotten glass case that held the foreskin of Jesus Christ himself.

Then my little angel took another left turn.

Proving yet again how much she wanted me.

Had she kept going straight, she would have run into a hallway that would have led her to the rectory and then to the exit to the back alley where I first found her. Instead, she turned left toward a back exit leading to a hidden memorial. A tiny little outdoor, open-air chapel that was rarely used. Still, one of the older priests went out there every single day to light candles in remembrance of those that were lost.

I caught her reflection in a mirror stored in the room we were in, her eyes wild, her lips parted as she took a deep breath and tried to figure out what she wanted to do. The way she was crouched down also gave me a delectable view down her dress. She could run all she wanted, but her nipples were taut, tight little peaks, pressing against her bra, begging for attention. I knew her pulse was racing, and it wasn’t from running. I could even just see the green of her eyes around her blown pupils.

My little angel was excited by the chase.

She wanted to be caught.

Who was I to turn her down?

I picked up a piece of wax that had broken off an older candelabra and threw it toward the opposite side of the room. I watched her face turn the direction of the noise, then she crept the other way. Creeping right into my trap.

The second she stood, ready to run, I stepped into her path and wrapped my hands around her, swinging her over my shoulder so her ass was high in the air. With one hand across the backs of her knees, my other hand started on her thigh and slid under her dress to her cotton-covered ass.

“Caught you.”

“Put me down,” she shrieked.

Instead, I carried her out to the little memorial, where I could see her clearly and we could actually have the discussion I demanded.

The sun had gone down a while ago, leaving the little hidden garden dark, all except for the dim, flickering light of the altar candles that weren’t quite burnt out yet. They let me see just enough.

I set her on her feet in front of me and she backed up, looking up at the sky, trying to figure out where she was. Hardly anyone knew about this place. It started as a garden, meant for the priest to grow the more… sacred herbs, and eventually was turned into a memorial for those who wished to grieve in private. The iron gate at her back led to a cemetery that was reserved only for priests and nuns of this church.

“You can’t—” Her chest was rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath.

“What can’t I do?” I asked, walking toward her slowly. I wanted her to feel exactly how trapped she was. The priest who had lit the flames this morning wouldn’t be back. Not until tomorrow. There was no reason. All the candles would burn out on their own, and in the morning, he would replace the altar cloths when he lit new candles.

I grabbed one of the silk ropes on a flagpole as I stepped even closer to her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“You and I are going to have a conversation, but it seems every time I try to talk to you, you run away. I’m simply ensuring that won’t happen.” I grabbed her wrists and pressed them against the iron gate far above her head, tying her with the silk rope.

“Let me go.” She pulled at the rope, trying to get free.

“Not until you admit it. I want to hear the words from your lips.”

“Admit what?” she asked between clenched teeth.

“You need to admit what you feel for me, what you really feel for me.”

“I hate you,” she bit out.

“No, you don’t. You wish you hated me. Life would be so much easier for you if you hated me, but you love me. Say it.” I placed my hand on her throat, using my thumb to tilt her chin up so she was looking directly at me. There was a fire in her eyes that was just beautiful.

“Fuck you,” she said again.

My hand moved from her throat to the back of her head, where I gripped her hair at the nape and pulled back. Just hard enough that she sucked in a breath between her teeth.

“Tell me the truth. Tell me you love me.”

“I don’t,” she said, the stubbornness in her eyes crystal clear.

“If that were true, then why are you so turned on right now? Why does your body respond to my touch? If you don’t love me, then why is your sweet little cunt dripping for me?”

Her cheeks turned bright red, and I knew that everything I had said was dead-on.

“Let’s see if I’m right,” I teased as I ran my fingers from her throat down to her breasts, pinching hard before moving to her curves, reaching the hem of the pink dress she was wearing and pulling it until it was over her head. The dress hooked on her upper arms and exposed her body to me. Well, her body and those simple, pure white cotton panties and bra.

The thick stone walls of the church protected us from any breeze, but it was still cold, and the way her body responded to my touch was irresistible. I pulled the cups of the bra down under her breasts so they helped prop them up, begging for my lips. Then I ripped her white cotton panties from her body, exposing her further to the frigid air.

“Last chance to admit it before I find out on my own,” I said. “Tell me you love me, tell me that despite every horrible thing that I’ve done to you, you still love me.”

“I never loved you,” she spat. “How could I love someone who used me so easily? How could I love a murderer who killed my ex and my mother?”

“How could you love a murderer? Look at who was killed. Look at why I had any involvement. That fucking gardener wasn’t your boyfriend. He used you. He was planning on hurting you, on destroying you. And for what? Something as dirty and common as money. All of it was just so he could get his greedy, grubby, callous-covered hands on your mother’s fucking money. Even then, he didn’t do that until she stopped paying him to fuck her. As far as your mother’s death? I did that for you. She hurt you, she abused you, and she stole not only my future but yours as well. How can you be mad at me for freeing you from that monster?”

“Who’s going to free me from you?”

“You don’t want to be freed from me,” I said, gripping the iron bars on either side of her head, pressing my chest to hers. Her body arched into mine. I didn’t even have to tell her to do it. I didn’t have to put my hand on her back and urge her to me.

“Yes, I do.”

“If that were true, why is your body pressing against mine now? If I put my hand between those perfect thighs of yours, am I going to find that pretty little cunt dripping for me?”

She said nothing, but her eyes cast down as she licked her lips, and I knew I was right.

“Tell me you love me,” I said again, this time barely a whisper in her ear as my hands trailed down her body that, even in the cold air, was still so hot to the touch.

I knew she loved me, not only from the way her body bent to mine, but the way she could never stop looking at me. She couldn’t. She was going to give me the love that I deserved. I didn’t care if she wished she could hate me. She was going to love me the way no one else ever had. Unconditionally. Rose had seen the worst of me. She knew more about my sins than anyone else ever would. She was going to love me, anyway.

“No,” she whispered. “If I tell you that, then you’ll just use it against me. You’ll hold it against me, and you will use my love to control me.”

“Angel,” I said, knowing exactly what she meant. “I will never use that against you. It’s far too precious to hold over your head. I don’t control you, demand things from you, or even punish you because you love me. Never. I do those things because I love you. I see how your body responds when I punish you, when I tie you up and take control. If I’m the one in control, then you can’t be held responsible for the way your body reacts to the things I do to you. Things that you seem to think are wrong or forbidden. My power over you allows you to indulge in all of your little dirty fantasies without any of the responsibility.”

My hands trailed up and down her body. I just couldn’t get enough of touching her, feeling her soft skin under my hands, knowing that her body, even tied to an iron fence, was trying to get closer to mine.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re a priest. What does it matter if I love you, or if you love me? It changes nothing.”

“It changes everything,” I said, letting my anger at her words filter into my voice. “Do you think I give a fuck about this priest collar? Do you think I will let something as insignificant as my job stand between me and what I want? There isn’t a thing in this world or any other that could keep me from you. You’re mine. Say it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I can’t. Not when…”

“When what?” My hand went back to her throat, pushing her head up so her eyes met mine, while my other hand went to her breast and tweaked her peaked nipple. Even just the slightest touch of my thumb running over the taut little peak was enough to make her breath hitch.

“When I can’t have you. Not really. I have never said those words to another man, and I never will until I know he is mine.”

“I am yours,” I said. “All you have to do is say the words. Tell me you love me unconditionally. Tell me you are mine and no one else’s. Let me hear those sweet words pass your lips. Tell me you won’t turn your back on me like everyone else has.” My hand slipped between our bodies, and I slid my fingers between her legs to find her unbelievably hot, wet pussy. “Say it, angel.”

She shook her head again, so I circled her clit with my fingers, reminding her how good I could make her feel. Reminding her I was the only one that had ever made her come over and over.

“You’ve seen the worst of me. You have seen me at my most sadistic and what did you do? My sweet angel, you begged for more. No one has ever looked at me the way you look at me. Sure, plenty of women have looked at me in lust, wanting to find out what it’s like to fuck God by fucking a priest. Women all over the world have looked at me with eyes hungry for my cock. You are the only one to ever see beyond it. The only woman to ever see beyond my name because my name doesn’t mean shit to you.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her eyes sliding closed and a fresh wave of wetness coating my fingers as I pressed them into her tight little pussy. “Your name means everything. It’s the name of the man who stole my sister at the altar, dirtying her name. It’s the name that everybody whispers when talking about the Irish mafia. Manwarring is the name of tyrants and warmongers who pretend to be part of polite society. Your name means fire and burning, nothing but pain and disaster. Your name is the one that got my mother killed, and?—”

“Your mother got herself killed. She was probably more in touch with the Irish mob than my father has been. My brother cut ties with them months ago. Your mother was still working with them. I may have set some shit up, but it was her connection to the mafia that ended her life. It would have happened eventually. I just made it happen before she could really destroy your life, but you want to talk about pain? Okay, let me show you how good it can feel to burn in that fire.”

I grabbed a candle that still had about halfway to go from the candelabra and brought it to her face. Her eyes widened, but I kept my fingers going hard on her clit, letting the fear taint her pleasure.

“Last chance, little angel. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Never,” she said as she stared at the flame, biting into her bottom lip, thighs trembling around my hand.

“Let me show you how good it can feel to burn, angel.” Slowly, I tipped the white candle and let the hot wax drip onto her milky breasts, as I moved my fingers from her clit into her tight pussy.

She let out a small cry as the beads of wax dripped down over her breast, but her cunt gripped my fingers tightly, not wanting to let go. I pressed into her G-spot over and over as I thrust my fingers in and out, dripping more of the hot wax on her body.

“I think you like the way it burns,” I teased, dripping more onto her nipple as her back arched against the wrought iron fence, lifting her breasts further in the air. “You say you’re not mine, you say you don’t love me but look at you. Do you think another man can ever make you feel like this? Do you think there’s any way in this world that I would ever even let another man touch you? You are mine. Say it.”

“No,” she cried out as I pushed my fingers into her harder and harder at a near-punishing pace.

More and more of the hot wax dripped onto her skin. I watched as the beads slowly hardened from translucent wax to opaque little bubbles on her flesh, tightening the surface of her skin. I bent down just enough to pull the nipple that hadn’t been covered in wax yet into my mouth. Sucking and flicking over the tip as my thumb pressed to work her clit and I continued to fuck her with my fingers, adding a third to give her more of a stretch.

Her thighs trembled around me as she panted and moaned. If I kept to that pace, she would come soon. I couldn’t let that happen. Not until she admitted she loved me, that I owned her.

“Please,” she pleaded.

I stood to my full height, never stopping my fingers, and moved the candle to her other breast, shiny with my spit. I didn’t let the wax drip on her yet. Instead, I blew a stream of air over the tight little peak, tiny little bumps erupting all over the wet flesh. Then I dripped the hot wax.

“Tell me you’re mine,” I demanded again.

“No. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, it doesn’t matter how much I want you to fuck me, it changes nothing. You are still a priest and admitting anything would just cause more pain. I won’t let you control me. I will not put my life on hold again for somebody else.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I said, dripping more wax on her, this time as punishment rather than pleasure. “I’m telling you to admit that you belong to me. Admit that you love me.”

“Why should I?” she asked between gasps as I pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

“Because it’s the truth,” I said, before I dropped to my knees and sucked on her clit, making her scream her pleasure as I lapped it up.

When I got back to my feet, she was out of breath, her thighs still trembling as she leaned against the wrought iron gate, breath still rising and each pant cracking the now-cooled wax that covered her breasts.

“Admit it,” I said, grabbing her jaw and forcing her to face me. I kissed her hard, demanding she open for my kiss, and she did. She melted into it, needing to taste her own pleasure on my lips.

“Admit it,” I whispered, needing to hear her say it. Just once.

“I hate you,” she said, looking into my eyes.

“Stupid little angel, don’t you know?”

“Don’t I know what?” she asked as I untied the ropes from her arms and dragged her over to the small altar in the memorial. With one swipe of my arm, I sent candles and offerings flying to the ground.

I picked her up and laid her out on the small altar like a sacrifice. Unzipping my pants, I stood between her thighs, my thumb pressed on her clit as I lined my body up with hers.

“Lying to a priest is a sin.”