9. Sacrifice and Worship #2
“It’s just the first step,” I reminded her.
But I could tell by the pinch of her eyes that all I was really offering her with this meal, were the flavors of anger and suspicion.
Waiting until the dead of night to sneak out to Deyva had been difficult enough since our little trysts began, but tonight was especially torturous.
I couldn’t stop thinking of her at the diner earlier, not only how she teased and nibbled my fingers when I fed her, but how protective I felt with every dirty look cast her way.
I wanted to block her from their eyes, to shield her with my body.
At this point, I fully believed their suspicion was unfounded.
She’d been here over a week already and had done nothing to harm anyone.
Kais went around to address concerns and assure people of their safety, but I couldn’t be sure if it truly did any good. And Deyva, sending me sultry looks and licking her lips from the morsels I placed in her mouth, probably didn’t help.
She only messed with me when Kais had his back turned, and I couldn’t help the “Good girl” that slipped out when I returned her to the church.
It was still just the first day, sure, but of how many? How long could we expect the succubus to stay here, and as an oddity for the people to gawk at and whisper about?
One day at a time, I thought, flopping over in bed to my stomach for the hundredth time.
At the end of the world, our days were precious and few.
I’d take her back to the diner again tomorrow.
And the next day. It would be uncomfortable for all involved, but necessarily so.
Exposure therapy took time—time we may not have had, but at least I tried.
I sat up in bed when I couldn’t stand it anymore, and carefully listened for any movement in the house.
Kais was out on night patrol, and Zach’s room was completely silent.
I slipped on a pair of pants, slippers, and a flannel shirt, before creeping out of my room, and then the front door of the cottage.
The air was cool and damp as I made my way across the lawn and small vegetable garden.
I kept my head on a swivel, making sure to look out for anyone on a midnight stroll, but it was mainly my paranoia about being caught with Devya that kept me vigilant.
Aside from those assigned to patrolling the border, no one went outside at night, and especially not alone.
My keys jingled from my pocket as I reached one of the back doors of the church. I could go in the front and straight to the chapel, but again, this dirty little secret made me extra vigilant.
The hallway was dark as I silently closed and re-locked the door behind me.
“Deyva?” I called in a whisper, then raised my voice slightly. “Deyva?”
My fingers trailed along the wall as I followed the corridor to the spare office she slept in. The door was open and the room empty as I swallowed down the mix of emotions—concern, fear, and a mild warning at the back of my mind.
I’d started leaving the office door unlocked, knowing how much she hated being confined to small spaces, but that didn’t stop the alarm from pulsing through my body as I hurried down the hall, peering into other rooms and around corners in search of the beautiful horned woman.
Fuck. Had I made a terrible mistake in letting her roam the church unwatched?
“Deyva!” I had stuck my head into the empty gymnasium, my voice amplified and bouncing off the walls of the empty room.
“In here, Stavros.”
I cocked my head, trying to get a sense of where her voice was coming from. It sounded like the chapel?
I pushed open one of the doors to find that the chapel wasn’t completely dark. A warm glow emanated from the front of the pulpit, casting long, eerie shadows of the pews and and figurines of the saints.
“Deyva?” I jumped the small staircase at the rear of the platform, crossing to the source of the light. “What are you doing?”
She was sitting on the altar, lighting candles.
The matchstick was nearly a foot long and she held it aloft like a wand, carefully moving it across the tops of white, pillar-shaped candles decorating the top shelf of the altar.
I watched, hypnotized as I slowly came around to the front of the altar.
There, framed by the candlesticks, ornate goblets, and the miniatures of saints set in their alcoves, she looked worthy of worship herself.
Deyva didn’t address me until she lit the final one, then blew it out with a purse of those lips.
“Just setting the mood.” She smiled, spinning on the altar top to face me with crossed, bare legs. “Honoring your sacrifice.”
The flickering candlelight illuminated her horns like some kind of twisted halo, an angelic creature who’d been rejected through no fault of her own.
I started to kneel in front of the altar, at first as a joke, but when my face came to the same level as her knees, and I had to look up at this otherworldly, beautiful creature that found us, I knew.
I was hers. And I was done for.
Her hands came down to the sides of my face, sweeping across my beard and neck with the tenderness and affection I’d craved for so long. And she gave it to me freely.
“Am I a worthy sacrifice?” I scooted closer, nudging my face between her knees to plant kisses on her thighs.
“Stavros.” I loved how she said my name. A moan, a plea, and a curse all rolled into one. Her knees parted for me—warm, smooth flesh gliding across my ears to grant me entry. “Am I worthy of your worship?”
“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation, emphasized with a sucking kiss just on the inside of her knee. I felt her shiver from the coarseness of my facial hair and turned my head to give the same treatment to her other leg. “Will you keep me?”
“Stavros…” Her fingers dragged over my scalp, forging pathways through my hair that sent tingling sensations all throughout my body. “I don’t think I could give you up.”
I ended the kiss I just planted inside her thigh, pausing to look up at her in my leisurely journey to her cunt. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes hooded and hungry, but a tiny wrinkle of apprehension between her brows stood out among her flawless features.
“Is that a confession?” I lifted my head to rest my cheek on top of her thighs, gazing up at the woman who had me since she first entered my dreams.
“What if it is, Father?” she whispered, a slight tremble in her voice.
I almost wanted to laugh at the notion that she was concerned about getting attached to me.
I was already bound to her by something that felt unshakable.
More than lust, more than her natural allure, or how taboo it appeared for a man of my station.
I was only a priest in name, and even that was debatable.
No, she was candlelight shining through darkness and desolation.
She was warmth and comfort, a beacon of hope where there was none left.
It might’ve been fucked up and weak to seek this, but I was miles beyond the point of caring.
We all needed something good to cling to in times like these.
For some, it was their family. For others, it was God.
For me, it just happened to be this woman sitting on an altar.
I rose to a standing position, wedging my hips between her legs to guide them open. Deyva’s thighs squeezed around my waist as she placed her hands behind her for support. Our chests mirrored each other’s movements and audible breaths.
“Then I hope to continue being a worthy sacrifice.”
My hands circled her waist, holding her firmly as I leaned down to take a kiss.
She sank her teeth into my lip, holding me attached to her while the rest of our bodies molded together.
Her hands went to my shoulders, immediately sliding down and curling into my shirt in search of buttons to do away with.
Her kisses were rougher tonight—biting, pulling, and taking with a desperation that I was all too happy to match.
I helped peel my shirt off my arms and let it fall to the pulpit floor before attacking the buttons on the one she wore.
She beat me to the punch, pulling the loose fabric over her head and tossing it to the side.
“Watch out for the candles,” I murmured, sucking at her earlobe while my palms memorized her lithe ribcage.
She let out a soft giggle, squirming slightly under my mouth. “If I didn’t, which would you save first—me or the church?”
“You.” My touch slid up to her breasts, palms running over her flesh while my thumbs worked her nipples into stiff peaks. “Always you.”
“Very good, my sacrificial lamb,” she sighed, rolling her head back on her shoulders. Her hand slid into my sweatpants, palm gliding over me from balls to head with heat and pressure that seriously made me question my stamina.
I caught her by the wrist and pulled it out of my pants with sheer force of will. “Let me make you come first this time.”
“I want to come together,” she protested with a slight pout, her lower lip so red and plump. “It’s better for me that way.”
“In terms of feeding or just in general?” I brought her wrist to my mouth and sucked at her pulse there, watching her writhe at the sensation.
“Both.” She sucked that fat lower lip between her teeth, biting back a whimper as she answered my question. “Your orgasm is like a megadose for me, and I just love the taste of ultimate pleasure regardless.”
“I want to please you, though.” My tongue dragged over the spot on her wrist I’d been sucking, while my other hand slid to the apex of her thighs, finding her hot, luscious center already slick for me. “I want to worship you like you deserve to be.”
Her grin became devilish, tongue running along her teeth. “You’re doing a bang-up job, I’d say.” She reached for my cock again, palming me through the fabric of my pants before reaching inside my waistband. “It’d be even better if you filled me up, my sweet sacrifice.”