Chapter 8 #2
The TV flashed with an image that made me pause, and my sigh turned into a growl.
There on the screen was Jedidiah fucking Franklin helping teenagers pour soup into bowls for homeless townspeople.
His bright, fake smile was like a billboard of lies, yet everyone around him smiled with tears in their eyes, praising his ‘blessings,’ and acting like he was the damn pope.
Would you rush to let him help you if you knew he burned himself after jerking off in the holy bathroom?
They probably would.
The ōkami could do no wrong in the eyes of brainless Monticello.
He could murder a baby, and they’d all claim it was a sacrifice for the greater good. No wonder the Bishop had enlisted this particular soldier to lead his mindless masses. How was I supposed to show the world how broken the man was if they would only crucify me for being some harlot?
As it was, Jed needed only to blame me for his actions, and I would be the one stoned, not him. Bishop Matthews must have known this, and that was why I was given the position so willingly. It wasn’t winning the challenge of his threats…it was giving him a front row seat to my own destruction.
I was in the church, but it felt wrong the second I took a breath in the wide rows of pews surrounded by dripping candles, erected in gold holders. The air felt heavy somehow, yet sweet with incense that clung to the back of my throat like a lie I was ready to tell the world.
Candlelight crawled along the walls, bending shadows into shapes of my past. They looked like hands reaching to steal my soul, finally.
You weren’t safe here. Turn around.
I didn’t.
“I knew you’d come back for me, Mortifera.”
Jedidiah stood behind me, his words a whispered growl that made me shiver.
His heat was searing right at my back, his presence pressing into the space I thought was mine. The reflection in the stained glass windows didn’t show the priest I knew.
Jedidiah wasn’t wearing his collar.
No robe either.
His tattoos were bare, and I recalled the dark scripture written across his skin that had never been meant for God.
This wasn’t how it’s supposed to happen.
I was meant to lead. I was meant to pull the string.
Not him.
He pressed into my back, his lips finding my collarbone, and my body didn’t remember the plan.
Move your ass out of the way.
Stop him.
Paint his white skin red.
Despite my mind’s screams, my feet stayed rooted to the ground as if I were a fucking tree. My pulse betrayed me, loud and greedy, waiting to be heard.
“You’re shaking,” he said, and I growled.
The sound of his low, wicked voice inside the holy church felt obscene, even to me.
I hated that it did things to me, the flooding heat filling my stomach, and my skin feeling hyper aware of every soft caress of his touch.
I hated that I leaned back just enough to confirm he was really there, turning my head to meet his dark gaze.
His lips found mine in a hushed demand, my body walked forward with his guidance, his tongue making me dizzy. The altar was suddenly at my stomach, and he flipped me, making the cold marble bite through the flimsy fabric of the dress I was in.
The massive crucifix loomed above us on a stage, Christ’s face half lost in shadow but nonetheless watching us.
This was sacrilege, I thought, and the thought burned sweeter with his continued attention to my body.
Wait, this was all wrong.
“Stop,” I gasped, ripping free of his lips and trying to catch my breath.
Jedidiah obeyed me, stepping back with a lilted laugh at my disheveled appearance reflected around us in the marble. That was somehow worse than him continuing. I knew how to handle being used. I didn’t know what to do with consent.
His restraint felt intentional, as if he were choosing this slowly, savoring the way my breath hitched when his hand hovered at my waist, not quite touching me again.
I was supposed to laugh at him, mock him for lusting for anyone but his God. It was my duty to remind him of the vows he took and hell’s consequences.
Instead, my mind fractured around one unbearable truth: I wanted him to cross the line for me.
Why? Why him?
No, this was a job. I needed to seduce him, so I could ruin him and end his reign over Monticello.
“You say, stop, but your eyes are begging me to ruin you, Mortiferra.”
His fingers brushed my skin, barely, just enough to confirm how easily I would give in if he asked. My knees began to weaken, and I hated myself for yet another reason. I hated that I didn’t pull away when he reached his hand out for me.
The candles flickered, the shadows dancing on his beautiful naked torso, his white shirt open to show each curve and toned line, just like the shower. One of the candles flickered, the soft puff sounding in the silence of my breath.
Then another.
Wax ran down the altar like blood from a wound, and the church groaned softly within the heated air. The wood and stone complained as if they knew what was about to happen and disapproved, all too late, of their damning master.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, not sure who I was talking to. “There’s no undoing this line once it’s crossed.”
His mouth was close enough now that I felt his breath against my ear again, the warm, sinful rasp of his voice as a confession slipped free of his lips.
“I would implore you to stop me,” he said. “But I’d be creating yet another sin if I did, because it’s a lie. I need you. Last chance, my Oni. Stop. Me.”
I didn’t.
My body answered before my conscience could scream to pull away again. Every thought narrowed to the sensation of the heat, pressure, and the terrifying closeness of something that felt almost inevitable.
His soft hands reached around my back and unfastened my dress, the heavy sleeves slipping free, like my control.
I could only stare at his body while he stripped bare.
His cock was even bigger than the reflection from the fogged shower.
He didn’t look broken in this moment. He looked every bit the beast that resided in his tattoo on his back.
“Are you ready?”
I swallowed thickly, my body bare for him, knowing with horrifying clarity that once he moved the last inch, I would not resist him. I would open for him.
I would fall.
His mouth enveloped mine, his fingers slipped to my cunt, and sliding smoothly into the pooling wetness, I couldn’t deny that it was for him.
His words were wicked as he brought me closer to the edge, but right before he replaced his fingers with his maddeningly huge cock, I felt the world shift.
His whispered moans glitched like a movie.
“Are you ready?”
The words repeated over and over, a tear in the fabric of reality that left me breathless.
He was frozen, and his gorgeous body that was inches from entering me suddenly contorted to horrific angles of pain, his screams shattering each of the windows around us.
I dropped to my knees, my hands covering my ears from the shrieks.
“I shouldn’t have saved you. You are nothing but destruction.”
The broken shards of the glass swirled around him, the reflection of a vengeful woman holding a knife nearing him.
“No!” I reached for him, but the glass shards formed into a dagger, plunging deep into his heart while I watched in horror.
I jolted upright, clawing at my chest like the shards were piercing me next.
Nothing but darkness surrounded me and the quick flashes of the loud TV in the background.
My own breath tore out of my chest in wracked gasps, with the top of the sheets tangled around my legs like restraints pulling me to hell. There was no incense in the air. No candles flickering.
No church.
I was alone in my hotel room.
No, I wasn’t alone.
There was an echo of his voice drowning me with each ragged breath I took.
I was dreaming about Jedidiah, and in the damn nightmare, I wasn’t the seductress.
I was…the one being claimed.