Sinner
I know it is wrong, what I do, as she sleeps beneath me. But at this moment, I can’t resist her allure. Her peaceful slumber and innocent appearance draw me in like a moth to a flame, her sun-kissed skin glistening under the moon’s glow. She responds effortlessly to my touch, even in her sleep, tightening around me as we move in harmony. As she moans softly, her full lips part invitingly, I can't help myself. In the morning, she might think it is all just a dream, if not for the evidence of my release inside her tight warmth.
My intention wasn’t to have sex with her; at least, not until I stumbled into her room and saw her lying there, tempting me beyond control. Despite my vows to the church, I am a man full of sins. My demon longs for her more than my need for salvation. All I want is damnation if it means I get to keep her. Despite my plans, I can’t help myself. I have to see her, to be inside her. I have no control over my demon when it comes to her. Truthfully, I care little to control it. I know this is wrong. I made a vow, but those are just words to me. This means more.
I know I am undeserving of such pleasure, of such Eden, but my desire for her goes beyond any sense of holiness or duty. My wants are wicked, my love a shameful profanity, but the feel of her naked body sated, flushed, and sleeping over mine is a divine sacrilege I am willing to commit over and over again.
But I have plans, and tonight the Prophet will meet his end. I will take her out of this God-forsaken town. There is nothing but wickedness left in this place, nothing but the incurable cancer Victor has spread. They will all burn. One by one, they will all burn with their false prophet. But her, I will save, because her soul belongs to me. She is mine to keep, to worship, to break, to bring salvation but also penance. After all, she is a sinner.
I study her features closely, counting the three beauty marks spread on her face: two by her lip in a diagonal line and one right where her eyebrow ends. Her cupid-bow lips part once more in a soft sigh as she turns in her sleep, her bare leg slipping out from under the satin sheets. I trace my fingers along the length of it, feeling the goosebumps rise up where her skin meets the cold night air.
Even in her slumber, she is bewitching, sinful, and so fucking mine. The moonlight hits her just right, creating a halo around her form, reminding me of a fallen angel. My little sinner.
I breathe in the smell of her cocoa butter and incense with a hint of fresh linen as I listen to the movements in the other room. The reason I am able to remain with her sleeping in my arms is because Victor and his demons are too busy spreading their seed. Tonight is the night when the seedlings bless the maidens with their cum. An unholy ritual, deeply entrenched in the dark practices of Victor and his acolytes. It is their way, their perverse ritual that holds this town in its unholy grip. I can hear the muffled cries, grunts, and the moans of sin being whispered from room to room. But all I feel is relief that Marisol is here in her room when I arrived and not tied up on all fours waiting for her seedling to take her. He needs to die before he can make her officially his wife, claiming her and filling her with a child.
My hand drops to her stomach, and I trace my fingers around her belly button. For a brief second, I think of a child. I’ve never had the slightest desire for one. I’m not a good man. I wouldn’t be a good father, but as I touch her stomach, all I can think of is a child born of love, not a spawn of sin, but love. A product of our divine union and not born from this wicked, perverse ritual.
My jaw clenches as I think of Victor filling her with his seed, swelling her perfect stomach. I pull altogether away from her. Quickly on my feet, I prepare myself for what’s to come. I’m not suicidal nor stupid. I’m only one man, and there’s quite a few of them. I can’t risk it. So, fire it is.
One thing that man was right about: I am a patient man. After all, patience is a virtue. I lack the virtuous part, but I am patient. I lean down and inhale her scent, thinking of the words that slipped out of my mouth as I came deep inside her.
“Love,” I whispered. “I think I’m falling in love.”
That scares me more than anything has in a very long time. I don’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse, but it doesn’t matter. I feel something… there’s no hollowness when it comes to her. If it’s not love, then it’s close to it.
Placing a gentle kiss on her jaw, I quietly pull away and head to the door, but not before taking one final look at her. One final glimpse at the sinner who has me ready to burn the world down for her. The angel who has clipped my wings and cast a celestial glow on my darkened existence. Marisol has bound me to this earth in a way I had never known. There is no stopping my fall. I’m down. Undone. Damned.
As I step out of the room, adrenaline instantly kicks in, and my mind clears from my obsession. I can now focus on my hunt, let the devil take control. The priest sits on the sideline as the devil begins his hunt. Following the grunts, I make it maybe three doors down before I find the room. I can hear the slapping of skin against skin, moans, and groans, but only from the men. Not a peep from the maidens. Rolling my neck until it cracks, I listen, fueling my rage, my determination to end this all tonight. I let their pleasure fuel my anger as I force myself to move, to continue my plan. Marisol is mine. Victor has no real power over her, not since I came into the picture. I know she feels it too.
A smile spreads across my lips as I walk towards the back, slipping out of the backdoor and into the yard. Walking over to the white shed, I retrieve the red gas can that remains back here at all times. Good thing I like stalking my prey before the hunt my only saving grace for this plan. Unfortunately for them the gas can is there like I remember from my last run here. And fire will be their penance.
Fire .
How ironic.
My plan is not the best plan, I’ll be the first to admit it, and fuck, it might kill me in the process. But that's all I’ve got. Allowing myself to be caught is not something I can risk. At least this way, I can use my hands.
My pulse quickens as I unscrew the cap of the gas canister. The harsh smell of the fuel fills my nostrils. It reeks of death, destruction… and freedom. The corners of my lips curl into a smirk as I picture the screams, the fire consuming them. My demons take in the panic, the fear, the pain. A groan escapes my lips as I think of it. The glory of the fire, the look on Marisol’s face as I fuck her, looking over the destruction. As I show her what I’m willing to do for her. How I’ll burn for her, starting with the ones here. With her at my side, we will eradicate the sickness from this town and disappear. The thought alone increases my heart rate and hardens my cock. It’s intoxicating, more intoxicating than the rush I feel as I deliver penance. As the leather whip bites into my skin.
Tonight, they will burn. And she will be mine.
My hand tightens around the gas can as I tamp down my excitement. I need to focus. If I’m dead, I don’t get the girl. No freedom. And that alone anchors me as I start to purposefully pour the gasoline around the house, making sure that only Marisol’s window is free from the liquid. Carefully, through the shadows, I cover the rest of the ground before making my way inside. The backdoor is the first to be covered as I spread it throughout the kitchen, living room, and drag it to the corridor. I cover the door where the grunts and moans of pleasure continue. For fuck’s sake, it’s been hours. Yet they continue, oblivious to their punishment, indulging in their pleasures. It isn’t that which damned them to hell, however, but their perversion. How they prey on the weak to break them… to rape them and mold them. A cancer that spreads till it snuffs the life from you. And I can’t allow that.
My hand goes down to my pocket, pulling out a box of matches. Quickly, I look at the trail of gasoline trailing down the hall, and my heart quickens. Adrenaline is at its highest right now from the thrill. They wouldn’t all die in the fire. I made sure to leave enough openings around the areas where the women and children lived. Making sure they can escape, but the rest will die. I swallow down the laughter clawing at me as I step back and light the match. But I won't drop it now. I watch the flame before throwing it behind me towards the back. There are only two ways out now: Marisol’s room and the front. For now, I’ll be happy with taking Victor out, so I’m betting he will go for Marisol. I’ll kill him there and take her from here. Then I’ll burn that hell disguised as a church down and deliver them peace.
The fire starts with a small sizzle, almost timid, as though questioning its job. But then it grows and engulfs the kitchen in minutes, reaching out greedily to the living room. I can hear it snap and hiss behind me, like a beast awakening from a long slumber, eager for its first meal.
Springing into action, I head down the hall and into my little sinner’s room. Quickly, I open her French doors, making sure she’s able to breathe in here and, well, I can get out quickly if I need to. But for now, I wait. Placing myself in her bathroom, I wait for Victor with my switchblade in hand. I’m not one for killing someone by stabbing them in the back, but right now I need the element of surprise. This is his hell after all. I need this to be as quick as possible. Just like that, the man comes running into the room, startling Marisol out of her sleep. Her naked form jumps up as his voice booms through the room.
“Get up! We need to leave!” he shouts.
But he freezes when he sees her, naked and vulnerable, a twisted smirk etching his face. The flame reflecting in his eyes gives him an even more monstrous look. And even with death knocking on his doorstep, his desire for her overrides him. Unfortunately for him, he sealed his fate. He doesn’t even sense me behind him until he feels the coldness of my switchblade sink into the base of his neck. Marisol’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t scream… doesn’t look away. She watches as I twist the blade, cutting his life away as easily as I had flicked that match just moments ago. Victor’s hands shot up to his neck as I remove the blade. I circle hi m, watching as the blood spurts through his fingers, his eyes locked on Marisol with horror and disdain. But she doesn’t look away. No, my little demon stands in all her naked glory and crouches in front of him, her hands going up to his wound, her fingers playing with his blood.
“Burn in hell,” she says before shoving him away from her.
His body hits the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling around him. Now we can hear the panic from outside the room, the screams. But Marisol doesn’t speak. She walks over to her dresser, pulling out yellow sweats and a white V-neck. Quickly, she slips into everyday clothes, surprising me with how normal she looks.
“I wear sweats too,” she says, tipping her chin at the corpse of the Prophet. “He prefers dresses. Makes me look innocent,” she adds as she slips into her clothes.
The smoke begins to filter into Marisol’s room, and I can hear the crackling of flames growing closer, licking at the edges of the door. The heat starts to build up, creeping in like an invasive entity. Still, Marisol doesn’t flinch. She continues to put on her shoes, then grabs a bag, throwing her belongings in it quickly.
“We have to go, pretty girl, before we burn,” I say, watching the door as it starts to cave in. The smoke makes the air hard to breathe even with the French doors open.
“I’m ready,” she says as she walks over to me.
My bloody hands move to her face, and I kiss her. Not a soft or tender kiss, but one filled with lust, passion, and death. At this moment, the world outside her room ceases to exist. All I am aware of is her, Marisol.
Her lips taste like sin and vengeance, a tantalizing combination that leaves me wanting more. But there’s no time.
The soft, whispering hiss of the fire begins to amp up into a roaring crescendo. I pull away, our eyes locking for a moment—a mirror of the madness we share. Then I turn, leading us out through the French doors.