37. Total Desecration
TOTAL DESECRATION
TALIA
The heroine doesn’t trip and fall into someone else’s story. She jumps into her own. She takes what she wants.
T. SALAREN, PRIVATE NOTES, UNDATED
Who made this awful plan? She hated running.
She and Lore had drawn the lawmen away from their friends, but now they were at the edge of town.
Beyond this last row of crumbling buildings, they’d be completely exposed.
Lore grabbed her wrist and pulled her through a split in a rotting wooden doorframe.
Inside, a cavernous space echoed with their ragged breathing. The air smelled like damp stone and old incense, something her body recognized before her mind caught up. Her hands clasped together purely on instinct.
A white stone altar stood at the far end of the room, carved with ships and stars.
Broken pews ran down each wall, and stained glass gods stared down through fractured windows.
How many afternoons had she knelt in places like this?
She wondered what the Divine Navigator would have to say about how far his name had spread and how little it mattered here.
“We can’t stay—” she whispered.
Lore’s hand clamped over her mouth.
Footsteps sounded outside. Voices called out. He held her mouth closed long after the sounds had faded.
“I think they’re gone,” he murmured, finally releasing her.
She nodded, her breath coming shallow. He stepped back only far enough to strike a match. A candle stub flared in a wall sconce, throwing violent, shifting shadows across the broken gods.
He scanned her face. “You’re bleeding.”
He reached up, tilting her face into the candlelight. A thumb traced her cheekbone. The touch was deliberate, experimental, like he was daring her to pull away. She held her ground and watched him. What game was he playing?
“It’s not serious,” he murmured, but his thumb stayed on her cheek, tracing the same line again, slower.
Warmth rushed up her neck, and she knew she must be blushing. She couldn’t hide it and she wouldn’t look away, so she met his eyes instead. He nodded, like that told him something.
“Holloway was right, you know,” Lore said. He slid a finger along her temple and tucked a runaway curl behind her ear. “You never let yourself have what you want. But when you do, you will be more capable than any of them.”
Holloway’s words still stung, and Lore must know that. He was obviously trying to provoke her, but there was enough truth in everything he said for his praise to feel good. She’d play along.
“And if I let myself have what I wanted,” she said, aiming for confident and landing closer to breathless, “you think I’d want you?”
That got him to smile.
“I think”—his lips just brushed the shell of her ear—“if you did, you’d be surprised by how much you could take.”
Was it a challenge or a threat? She shivered. She didn’t like to be touched, but his fingers felt so soft. It made her wonder. She curled a fist into his shirt, and that spicy amber scent wrapped around her.
“But you hate me,” she said, breathing him in.
“You want that, don’t you.” His voice rumbled through the church, deep and ominous, but he was smirking. “You broken, hungry thing. You don’t want to be loved at all. You want to be used.”
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let out a shaky breath.
She did want him to use her, she realized, with a shock.
She wouldn’t have to worry about hurting or impressing him.
She could just let go and let him—she pulled her imagination back, but not before a warm feeling spread through her, liquid and aching.
He had way too much control. If they were doing this, she couldn’t make the first move.
His mouth hovered over hers, daring her to give in. His hunger flooded every point of contact. She could hardly breathe through it, but she held on.
It was worth it when those gold-flecked eyes blinked first. With a burst of irritation and a surprised chuckle, he tipped forward and claimed her mouth. Finally.
“You’ll pay for that,” he said in a muffled voice before his tongue swept back in.
She should have pulled back, but the sheer force of his desire was intoxicating. He wanted her, and she wanted more of that. They stumbled backward through broken pews, tongues and teeth clashing. She didn’t think. Didn’t care. Didn’t stop until her back hit the altar.
The stone was shockingly cold on her spine. His hips ground into hers. Lightning flashed through the broken glass, throwing red and gold across his face. He broke the kiss to speak against her lips.
“Is this what you want?”
“Yes.”
“The bond—Dawn will feel—”
She didn’t want to think about Dawn. For once, she wanted to make a choice without worrying about everyone else’s feelings.
“I don’t”—she pulled him in harder, biting his lower lip—“I don’t care.”
The black in his pupils expanded, swallowing the color.
She watched it happen, his physical reaction to her words, and she shivered. What else could she make him do?
“You’re done pretending to be perfect, then,” he murmured, pressing back her curls on both sides of her head, looking her straight in the eye.
He’d been working toward this for weeks. He was using her, and she knew it. She reached for him anyway, slipping a hand beneath the hem of his shirt. Two could play that game.
She traced a slow path from the coarse hair below his navel, over each ridge of his stomach. His skin was velvet-smooth, just like she’d imagined, and he flexed under her hand.
“I want you to take this off.”
His smile sharpened and he pulled the shirt up and over his head. His bronze chest was lean, nearly hairless, and taut with muscle.
Lore kissed her harder, fingers moving under her blouse, over her ribs. His mouth slid down her throat, teeth dragging on the spot where her pulse thrummed out of control.
“We’re desecrating this place,” she breathed.
Lightning cracked overhead, chased by a peal of thunder.
“We will,” he murmured. “Unless you want to stop.”
She didn’t.
“No,” she breathed.
He dragged each button open down her blouse, and she let it slide off her shoulders. She shivered, half from chill, half from the way he looked at her, like he was taking inventory.
“Talent,” he said, quiet and absolute. “Get on your knees.”
Her breath caught. The demand in his voice shocked her, but her body thrummed: Yes. Wet stone bit her shins as she sank in front of him. The altar loomed at her back.
“Good. Now look up. At me.” He pinched her chin and pulled her face toward him. When their eyes met, he inhaled sharply. “Oh, Talent. You do want this.”
He reached down, palming himself through his trousers. The bulge of his desire strained against the fabric, taut and undeniable.
“Let me show you how much.” Her voice echoed back like it belonged to someone else.
He hummed his approval as she reached up to unlace his pants. Her hands shook, and the knots slipped under her fingers. He watched her fumble for a moment, then let out a low, dark laugh and undid the ties himself with three quick, practiced pulls.
When his cock sprang free she took him in her hand, pulled his silken length gently to her lips. He hissed, his hips jerking, as she took him in.
Her palms braced on his thighs as his shaft pressed deeper, and his pleasure flooded in—ecstasy, and beneath it, the tense edge of control. She felt powerful, and she pushed that feeling back into him.
“You see it,” he said, threading his fingers into her hair as he fell into a smooth rhythm. “That’s how you take power back.”
Power. Something unlocked in her. If he was going to wreck her, she’d wreck him harder. Her knees were soaked through and raw on the wet stone, but she drew him deep, past the point of comfort. He pressed into her throat with each thrust, and she took it all.
“Fuck,” he gasped. “You won’t yield.”
She swirled her tongue as she pulled back, and his whole body shuddered.
“No, but I think you might.” She smiled sweetly up at him.
His jaw flexed. Oh, he didn’t like that.
She would have laughed, but his fingers tightened in her hair and his hips jerked forward, rougher than before.
When he hit the back of her throat, she felt his control snag like a loose thread, then start to unravel.
He pulled out with a sharp gasp and glared down at her.
His chest was heaving as he gathered her hair in his fist and tipped her head back until she was looking up at him.
“No.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “It’s not that easy.”
Isn’t it, though? I almost had you.
He slipped his fingers between hers and pulled her up.
Then he reached behind her and used one arm to sweep the altar clear.
Relics smashed to the floor. Musty books slapped stone, pages flying.
The clatter echoed obscenely through the empty church.
He slid both hands beneath her thighs and lifted her to the altar’s edge.
He looked into her eyes, thumbing her waistband. “You asked for this. Tell me you’re ready.”
She knew she’d pushed him, and she was about to find out what that cost. But she wasn’t backing down now.
“Go ahead and use me.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost a laugh, and reached for her. He deftly unbuttoned her skirts and peeled them down her legs, taking everything with them until she was bare on the wet, cold stone.
One finger traced the goose bumps rising along her thighs before he pressed her legs apart. He slid his middle finger inside her, drew it out, and watched her intently as he pushed back in.
“You don’t have to be quiet.” His lips brushed her temple. “Don’t overthink it. You know exactly what you want.”
She couldn’t think if she wanted to. The analytical part of her brain was drowning in sensation.
“Say it.” His voice was calm, but his emotions were cycling too fast to pin down. Desire and anticipation and need, frantic and unbalanced.
“Please—Lore—I want—” She struggled to find words as a second finger pressed into her. “I need you inside me. I want—I want you to—” She broke off, heat flooding her face. “Gods, I can’t say it.”
“Try,” he commanded, fingers curling. She gasped.
“I want you to fuck me.” The word felt foreign in her mouth, embarrassing and filthy. She looked up at the ceiling as his satisfaction washed over her.
He pulled his hand away, gripped behind her knees, and tugged her to the very edge of the slab. One hand braced on the altar beside her hip as he stepped between her legs and positioned himself.
“Talent Salaren,” he said in a rough voice. “Gods. Look at you. I’ve waited so long.”
He watched her face as he pressed in, paused, and pushed a little deeper before drawing out again. She let out a frustrated whimper. The slowness was maddening.
“Oh, now she’s in a hurry,” Lore said, that half-smile drawing the dimple out as he took his time. “You really shouldn’t rush me, Talent.”
“You can’t make me beg,” she said between shallow breaths. Her hips bucked, chasing more friction, and he laughed.
“But you already are.” He pulled out and his thumb traced a slow circle on her hip as she writhed. Then—without warning—he thrust all the way in, filling her completely.
He groaned, pulled back, and drove in again. The altar shifted beneath them with each thrust, the church echoing with the shriek of old stone and the slap of skin.
“I knew you were brilliant,” he growled, hips driving forward. “They tried to make you small—but look at you—more powerful—than any of them.” His rhythm stuttered. “You’re perfect. So stubborn. So broken. Fuck—you deserve to be worshipped. I’ll crown you myself.”
The praise and insults mixed together made her brain short-circuit. Pleasure scattered through her, low in her stomach, down to her toes.
“Oh gods,” Talia said, fighting for breath. Then, softer, “Oh, fuck.”
Everything shattered. She heard herself cry his name, wordless sounds, prayers to gods she didn’t believe in anymore. The Divine Navigator stared down at her from the rafters, watching her unravel on his altar.
Lore wasn’t far behind. She felt his cock pulse, the liquid warmth of his release.
His forehead dropped to hers, both shaking, locked together.
Through the bond—distant, muffled by weather—she felt a flicker of Dawn’s concern.
She concentrated on the warm feeling in her chest and hoped it sent the right message: I’m okay.
For a moment they just breathed. Bodies locked together on a cracked altar. Then Lore pulled out and stepped away with his head bowed. Her body hummed, hollowed clean, as she watched him gather their things. She slid down and stood barefoot on soaked stone.
They dressed in silence. A pleasant ache settled between her thighs as she stepped into her skirts. He helped button her shirt with surprisingly gentle fingers. Adjusted her jacket. Brushed hair from her face.
“Tell me you wanted that,” he said softly.
She nodded and smiled. “Trust me, it wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t want it. You’re not as irresistible as you think.”
“No?” He kissed her forehead. “That sounds like a challenge.”
He led her to the back of the sanctuary, farthest from the broken windows, and made up a bed with his cloak and some musty curtains.
After he tucked her into the makeshift nest, he left to stand watch by the door. His face took on that boyish look it sometimes did as he gazed into the distance. She wondered, just before she drifted off, if she should have asked whether he’d wanted it too.
The mix of emotions she’d picked up from him was confusing. Desire, yes, and dominance, but none of the bitterness that laced his words. And at the tail end, a twist of something that almost felt like regret.