21. Evelyn
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EVELYN
I was woken by the pale sunlight filtering through the thin curtain in the familiarity of my own room. Like a shattered film reel, flashes of disjointed images assaulted my mind. Levi’s strong grip on my hips, his guttural rasp murmuring obscene commands as he had done things that hurt and made me scream in pleasure at the same time. The memory created a low thrum that fluttered in my core, a searing reminder of the pleasure he’d brutally extracted from me.
The silent tears streamed down my face, hot and heavy, as I buried my head in my hands. I drew my knees to my chest, rocking silently and frantically, my thoughts warring between shame for betraying my sacred vows and the heat of his touch still lingering inside me.
He had to have given me some kind of drug. There was no other explanation for the delirious arousal that had overtaken me, stripping away my ability to resist and making me a willing participant in abandoning my oaths. And yet… the betrayal of being drugged was overshadowed by the horrifying realization that a twisted part of me had enjoyed submitting to Levi’s dominance.
Shouldn’t I despise him? Shouldn’t I want to scream at him, to demand punishment against him for his violation? Instead of righteous fury, desire simmered beneath my shame. Yes, I desired to smash my fist into Levi’s handsome face for dominating me, but an even darker urge longed for him to overpower me and do it all over again.
What was wrong with me? It wasn’t the sting of broken chastity or the degradation of being used like a toy. No, the worst part was the hunger, a persistent yearning for Levi’s touch.
Disgusted with myself, I hauled myself from the bed, my legs unsteady beneath me, the room swaying slightly. I had to pull myself together. I couldn’t let this break me. Mechanically, I showered and dressed, determined to bury these confusing feelings and carry on with my duties.
In my heart, a quiet transformation had begun, subtly eroding the beliefs I once cherished, leaving them distant and alien. Whatever Levi had awakened, it was a potent, sinful poison slipping through my veins.
Driven by a desperate, clawing need for answers and absolution, I was propelled toward Father Hudson’s office, the only place I hoped to find peace, its familiar comfort drawing me closer. I practically flew down the hall, each step a muffled thud in the quiet building. There was a storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. Mortification, guilt, a perplexing hint of pride, all underpinned by a deep, smoldering rage.
Father Hudson’s door stood slightly ajar. Taking a slow cleansing breath, I tapped softly and stepped inside. “Father? Will you hear my confession?”
He glanced up from the papers he was reading, his expression calm but wary. “Of course, Evelyn. Please, have a seat. What brings you here?”
My knees buckled beneath me and I sank to the floor, my fingers clasped together in a prayer that was as much for strength as it was forgiveness. My hands shook, mirroring the tremor that ran through my entire body.
“Father, f-forgive me, for I have sinned,” I stammered through the familiar rite. Where to even begin? “I... I need to confess something. Something terrible.”
I’d planned to be vague, but the words that tumbled out in a chaotic rush revealing everything, the erotic dreams that had plagued me, the shame of sexual desire, the intoxicating sense of power it gave me to be wanted.
Falteringly, I recounted what Levi did to me, how he touched me, the degrading things he made me say.
“I should be broken after being treated that way. Violated. But instead... it energized me. Like I could do anything, take on the world. What’s the matter with me, Father? Why is God allowing me to be tempted and treated this way?”
I realized I was weeping, each hot tear burning a path down my cheeks. Father Hudson leaned forward, fixing me with an intent stare that seemed to pierce straight through me.
“Evelyn, we should take to heart the Lord’s words,” he said, opening the bible on his desk to First Corinthians, his finger hovering over the text. “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.”
A thoughtful frown furrowed his brow. “Evelyn, I believe this is a test. The Bible assures us that God offers a refuge and the strength to overcome temptations. You must fight these feelings with all your strength.”
“Fight them? But I already gave in. I’m weak, Father. I failed.” Fresh sobs wracked my body.
Father Hudson’s tone sharpened. “You must channel your emotions, Evelyn. Your anger. Your wrath. These are gifts from the Almighty. Holy fire that can purge you of sin, if you master them.”
Taken aback, I blinked, stammering, “Wrath? I don’t understand, Father. I’ve committed myself to living a life as free from sin as I can, striving for purity in thought, word, and deed.”
How could embracing anger possibly help me overcome my failings? It was unclear to me, but Father Hudson’s intensity was compelling.
Father Hudson smiled, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. “Not all anger is sinful. Even God has been angry. Without His wrath, we would not have the teachings of Noah. Righteous anger is a beautiful thing, a force for justice, for strength.”
His words resonated with a bitter truth, stirring a dormant rage within me. I had spent years suppressing my anger, believing it to be sinful and shameful. Given the green light to set it free, it was bubbling upward, a hot, roiling mass that threatened to erupt with a hiss and a roar.
My hands, slick with sweat and trembling like hummingbird wings, caught his attention. He stepped closer, gently coaxing. “Let it out, Evelyn. Don’t hold it in. Release it.”
On Father Hudson’s desk, amongst a scattering of papers and pens, sat a small porcelain statue of the Virgin Mary. I was immediately drawn to it. The serene, beatific expression on her face seemed to mock me.
Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the figurine and hurled it against the wall. It shattered on impact, shards scattering across the floor. I stood there trembling and panting, my heart pounding in my ears.
What had I done? Destroyed a holy icon in a fit of rage? Shame flooded through me, but it was quickly chased by a perverse thrill. The release had felt good. Wickedly good.
Father Hudson watched me intently, an unreadable expression on his face.
“Excellent,” he encouraged, the corner of his mouth curling up. “That’s it, Evelyn. Let it all out.”
The tension I’d been carrying melted away. I felt lighter, purged after my outburst. But as the adrenaline faded, a new sensation took its place. An unrelenting, pulsing ache at my core, making me slick. Arousal. No, this couldn’t be happening, not here, not now.
Mortification burned my skin as the yearning intensified, turning my body into a live wire of desire. With horror, I retreated from Father Hudson, my body throbbing with hunger.
“I have to go.” My hands trembled as I fumbled for the door. “I’m sorry, I just can’t... I’m sorry….”
Unable to complete the thought, I turned and fled his office at a run.
What was happening to me? It was as if all my darkest, most suppressed urges were clawing their way to the surface, refusing to be denied. Anger, lust, hunger—things I’d spent my whole life fighting.
I barely made it to my room before my knees gave out. Stumbling, I collapsed onto the mattress, my body trembling with the force of my need. It was unbearable, an all-consuming ache that demanded satisfaction.
With a broken sob, I surrendered, my hands moving of their own accord. I slid my fingers beneath my waistband, biting back a moan as I found my slick, swollen flesh. Pleasure jolted through me at the barest touch, and I knew it was wrong, so wrong, but I couldn’t stop.
Desperate now, I rubbed and stroked, chasing the release that seemed just out of reach. Tears streaked my cheeks as I moved faster, harder, hating myself even as I silently begged for sweet release. I could barely breathe past the need, the frustration, the despair.
The door creaked.
I froze, my fingers still buried between my thighs. Heart in my throat, I looked up to see Father Hudson stepping into my room. Shame burned through me and I snatched my hand away, scrambling to cover myself.
Father Hudson! Humiliated, I choked out a sob. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
But he offered no reply, his silence heavy and unnerving as he stared at me, his face a mask of blankness. Then, to my shock and horror, his body contorted and shifted, changing in front of me.
His skin darkened to a deep, eerie blue. Sharp, bony ridges erupted along his forehead and cheeks, casting jagged shadows across his face. His eyes narrowed into golden slits and when he smiled, his teeth gleamed like razors.
This wasn’t Father Hudson. This was a demon. Even in his true form, his aura writhing with a dark energy, I recognized him. This was Ian.
I should have screamed. Should have leaped up and tried to run. But I was unable to move, frozen with a paralyzing terror, while the arousal, dark and intense, continued to pulse through me.
God forgive me, but seeing Ian’s demonic visage stirred something primal in me, something I didn’t understand and couldn’t control. I could only stare, my breath coming in shallow gasps as he prowled toward me, his movements deliberate and graceful. The bed dipping under his weight as he settled beside my trembling body, his dark silhouette a menacing presence.
“Don’t stop on my account, Evelyn,” he purred, the sound like warm honey, thick and intoxicating. “You were doing so well.”
I tried to speak, to protest, but the sounds stopped as Ian’s hand slid down my stomach.
“Let me help you,” he said, his breath hot against my ear.
Ian’s touch was electric, a searing current that sparked beneath my skin. His fingers replaced mine, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at my apex, sending delicious currents across my nerve endings. His deliberate, almost tender strokes, warm and firm, coaxed a broken moan from me.
Without the drugged disorientation of the previous night, or the cloudiness of a dream, the sensations were all new to me. A physical pressure, a mental buzz, an emotional storm all at once. His touch was a slow burn, each movement deliberate, inching me closer to the precipice until I teetered on the razor’s edge, the exquisite torment almost unbearable. His skilled fingers made my body shudder and convulse as waves of climax crashed over me, leaving me crying out in ecstasy.
In a daze of pleasure, I watched in morbid fascination as Ian brought his fingers, covered in my essence, to his mouth and licked them clean. I dimly expected him to take things further, to claim me in the same way Aziz had done the night before. Instead, he straightened my clothes, leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. The unexpected tenderness of it stole my breath, leaving me stunned and confused.
“Why?” I managed to whisper.
Ian gazed at me, his expression unreadable. “Because I wanted to.”
Then, rising, he flowed back into the shadows, vanishing like smoke. I was left spent, lying there, breathing in the musky scent of arousal. My body trembled with lingering pleasure and self-condemnation, each note a chaotic dance in my bewildered mind.
As the last vestiges of the orgasm faded, the crushing enormity of my actions hit me, each horrifying detail crystallizing with brutal clarity.
Hot tears branded my cheeks.
“Is there any help for me?” I wondered, and God help me, even as the guilt settled in, a piece of me, a dark insidious part, yearned for Ian to return and do it all again.