Chapter 18
eighteen
The Merciless
Father Salvatore draws back from our kiss, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild.
“I can’t, lamb,” he says, his velvet voice now tormented.
“You can,” I say firmly. His hand is still resting on my hip, and I take it and slide it up, under the canvas top. He doesn’t stop me, and I lift it all the way to my breast.
We both suck in a shuddering breath when his palm connects with my soft flesh. My nipple pebbles painfully hard, and I moan softly as my clit throbs violently.
“Please, Father,” I whisper, my knees going weak.
When he doesn’t move, I release his hand and reach down, drawing the shirt over my head.
I let it fall to the floor, then quickly strip off the bottom of the uniform.
I stand before him, bare and shaved, the golden light from the candelabra glimmering over my curves.
He stares at me like a starving man given a feast, like he can’t quite trust that it’s real.
Before I can second-guess myself and back out, I reach for his belt.
I watch his eyes blaze with heat as I undo it, never dropping his gaze.
I slide the belt free, then unzip and let his pants fall to his ankles.
He wears a pair of black boxer briefs that hug his bulge and make me gulp at the size of it.
I let my eyes skim over his muscular thighs, the ones that have tempted me to the most sinful thoughts as I watched him move around his classroom.
“Lamb,” he says, his brow furrowing, a pained expression on his face.
“Yes, Father?” I ask, batting my lashes and biting my lip as I look up at him. I grip the edge of his sweater, tugging it up with the shirt he wears under it.
He hesitates, then reluctantly lets me draw it over his head.
When I drop it to the floor, we stand before each other, each of us taking in the other.
He’s seen every part of me, but I’ve never even seen his bare arms. They’re muscled but not bulging like Angel’s.
His is a quiet strength that speaks to his dignity.
Unlike the three boys, no ink marks his skin.
He’s pure and unadorned, and it fits him.
He needs no decoration. Every inch of him is perfection.
Swallowing hard, I slide my fingers into the elastic of his boxer briefs.
“Lamb,” he whispers, his voice raspy with desire.
“Father,” I whisper. “Forgive me.”
I kneel, dragging his underwear down with me. Holy hell, he’s enormous. I sway on my knees, lightheaded at the sight of him. He’s even bigger than Angel, which I thought was impossible. But I’m committed.
I owe him more than gratitude for releasing me from the bonds of shame that I learned far too young, that shackled my life for far too long.
I owe him for my reconciliation with the boys, for helping get my life and my friends back, and more than that, for allowing myself to fall in love with all of them.
Someone needs to take care of him too, allow him the freedom he’s allowed us, even if he can’t allow himself that pleasure, that abandon.
A shudder wracks his body as I wrap my fingers around his massive girth and bring it to my lips.
My core throbs as I press a lingering kiss to the head of his cock.
I can already feel wetness blooming in my center as I lick at his slit.
He sucks in an audible breath through his teeth, his hips moving back, as if he’ll pull away.
Before he can, I open fully, stretching my mouth as wide as it will go and forcing his tip inside.
I can barely suck in that position, but I ungulate my tongue along the bottom side, working the bundle of nerves at the base of his crown.
“Lamb,” he rasps again, as if he’s unable to form full sentences with my mouth working his cock. His fingers fist in my hair, and I hold his length with both hands, forcing it deeper.
I can’t go more than an inch down his shaft before I gag. Arousal pools hot between my thighs, aching and heavy, as the first drop of his precum spreads over my tongue and I taste him for the first time. I whimper helplessly, my hips shifting, my back arching with need.
I cast my eyes up to him and see his black eyes consumed by infernal heat.
“Touch yourself,” he commands.
Weak with relief, I sink my fingers between my thighs, stroking my tender bud.
“Fuck yourself with them,” he orders, his voice husky and hoarse with lust.
I obey. He is my god. The god who lets me explore my every desire, who doesn’t make me feel dirty or shameful or sinful, who embraces every part of me and helps me embrace myself.
I sit up on my knees, sucking him in deep, and I worship him.
I lick and suck his cock, pulling it deeper until I’m gagging with every thrust. I don’t stop, hollowing my cheeks and going even deeper, stretching my throat as I strain to take him further.
“Mercy,” Father says, his voice ragged but commanding.
I gag one more time before I draw back, letting his cock spring free as I take in air.
“Yes, Father?” I ask, looking up at him.
“Not here,” he says, hooking his hands under my arms and lifting me to my feet.
My foot hits the body, and that’s when I remember it’s there.
That Father Salvatore, a priest and man of God, killed for me.
He killed the evil doctor, a man too busy admiring his own ingenuity to see mine, to realize I was biding time, hoping—not quite knowing—that this man and the boys he commands would find me.
That they would free me. I didn’t know it would be Father Salvatore himself who would defend and avenge me.
My heart melts into a puddle of the purest, holiest love inside my chest again at the thought.
The priest is watching me, but I can’t read his expression.
His eyes are dark behind his glasses, his cheeks flushed.
The candlelight dances over the ridges of his muscle, the obscene spectacle of his cock.
We stand naked together, like Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden.
Nothing could be more natural, more simple.
“Here,” I say, and I step forward. He steps back, avoiding the inevitable collision of our bodies.
His thighs hit the desk, and the next moment, I step forward again.
He slides onto the bloody desk, but I won’t be deterred.
I crawl onto him, and he leans back on his elbows.
My hair falls around my shoulders as I lean down, my lips finding his again.
He shudders under me, his hand rising to grip my head and pull me closer, and I know I’ve broken down his walls. I will give him what he wants, whatever he wants. I will give him everything.
“I love you,” I tell him, breaking the kiss, our hot breath mingling in the inch between our swollen lips. “You set me free. You taught me how to let go. Let me show you what a good job you did.”
He groans, nipping at my lower lip as his hand sweeps down the arch of my bare back. “You did that yourself, Mercy.”
“No,” I insist. “You did. Let me do the same for you. I’ve wanted to for so long. Don’t you want me, Father?”
“Yes,” he admits instantly, not making me beg for answers that my previous fathers never gave. His resistance is already fading as his hand moves over the curve of my ass.
“Do you love me?”
“Yes,” he says, more emphatic this time, even urgent. His middle finger hooks into my crack, pressing to my knotted flesh. “I love every part of you. Your unholy desires and your sacred purity.”
“There’s nothing pure about me anymore,” I promise as relax the ring of muscle, sinking back onto his finger.
I let him feel the tight squeeze as I take him in to the knuckle.
Then I sit up, straddling him. I grind along his length, from base to tip, while his finger stays lodged inside me, his grip moving me along his massive shaft.
His cock throbs under me, reaching all the way to his belly button, thick as an arm.
He drops his head back and lets out a helpless groan.
Power swells inside me, that I could bring this holy man to his knees, that I could make him abandon every vow. He did that for me.
None of my other fathers were willing to sacrifice the slightest convenience for me, but this man broke Commandments for me.
He killed for me, the ultimate act for a man as gentle and kind.
He broke his vow of celibacy for me. I feel no guilt, no shame for that.
All I feel is the power in my body, the body that God gave me, that he wants so much he would give everything to claim it.
And it’s not just my body that is his. It’s my heart, so filled with love for him that I can’t contain it.
“Father,” I pant. “I love you, Father. You are my shepherd. Guide me.”
I shudder with desire as I grind again and again, drenching him in the wetness that coats my thighs and drips from my pussy. I ride him harder, faster, whimpering for relief. “Put it in,” I gasp out. “Please, Father. Please. I need you.”
“I can’t,” he grits out. “I want to—God, I want to. I wish I could fuck you again more than anything.”
“So do it,” I say, lifting up and positioning him at my entrance. “Fuck me, Father. Destroy me. I’m yours to ruin.”
I bear down, but he’s too big. He slips away, unable to breach my entrance even though it’s soaked and ready. I try again, panting and straining to take him.
Suddenly his words from a moment ago sink in fully, and I go still, frozen with shock.
My mind loops back to the moment in the sanctuary at Thorncrown, the one I haven’t let myself think about for months, the one I pretend never happened.
Tied over the altar, terrified and helpless.
And how hard my assailant struggled to breach my tightness, how he had to hold a fist around his length to keep from entering me fully, even though he was bruising my depths.
I told myself it was Angel, that it only hurt worse because it was my first time, that I only couldn’t take all of him because I had no experience.
I back off Father Salvatore and drop my feet to the floor, staring at him with wide eyes as he reclines there in the pool of blood left from the man he just killed.
“What do you mean, you want to fuck me again?” I whisper, tears blurring my vision.
“That was you? You’re the one who took my virginity? ”