32. Bonding Day #3
Carrson’s fingers hover above my shoulder. He leaves them there so long I see he can’t be the one to do it.
So I reach up and push the robe off myself.
The fabric falls to my hips, exposing my chest and stomach to the cool air drifting through open doors across the room. I keep my eyes on Carrson, refusing to look beyond him at the people watching us.
I expected shame. Instead, anger fills every place where shame might have taken hold. They know we don’t want this. They know they’re forcing us, yet they sit in their rows and call it sacred.
I reject it. The shame belongs to them.
Carrson’s gaze moves to my chest. Color rises into his cheeks, and the hunger that moves across his face is so familiar it almost makes us feel alone.
He wants me. Even here.
Without looking away from him, I untie the belt around his waist, then lower my hands. I won’t remove his robe. That choice belongs to him, just as removing mine belonged to me.
He draws in a breath and lets the robe fall. He’s naked beneath it, his cock hard. The instant he sees his body’s response, desire gives way to distress, as though it has betrayed me by responding in front of everyone.
Relief moves through me instead. I don’t want this room to witness us, but I won’t let them use his body against us later. I won’t give them another reason to question our bond or demand that we prove ourselves again.
I ease onto my back and let the rest of the robe slip from beneath me. Carrson climbs up on the table and moves between my legs. He angles his body so the crowd can see as little of me as possible.
While The Order claims the right to watch us, he tries to keep part of me only ours.
I part my legs and glance toward Carr, who stands near my head. He stares over us at the crowd, refusing to watch. Deep lines bracket his mouth, and his shoulders are held so rigidly beneath the robe that the posture looks painful. He didn’t stop this, but he doesn’t look happy about it either.
“Hey, tiger.” Carrson draws my attention back to him. “Eyes on me.”
I nod and rest my hands at his waist. He bends to kiss me, taking his time, his mouth tender despite everything happening around us. The length of him brushes between my thighs, gently stroking and pressing. My breathing quickens as heat gathers low in my belly and spreads outward.
My body knows him.
My legs widen, dropping to the sides, and Carrson settles deeper against me. His mouth is on my neck now, his hand slowly stroking along the side of my breast. I arch toward him, hungry for his touch regardless of the room around us.
I need him. I want him. No matter who’s watching.
Carrson draws me against him until our foreheads meet. His hand goes to touch the necklace I still wear.
“Mine,” he breathes.
“Always.”
His hips shift, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. Every small movement brushes against my clit, spreading the heat through my body. He eases forward, entering me just enough to make me moan. I smother the sound, but not quickly enough.
I’m lost in Carrson, in the slow pressure of his body pushing into mine, when someone in the crowd coughs.
Carrson goes rigid inside me, and I freeze beneath him. Our eyes open wide, fixed on each other, both of us hearing the same reminder in that single sound.
Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.
I look.
Hundreds of faces stare back at me.
The hall is so still the flames barely seem to move.
Some members watch with open fascination, like the man in the second row with the prominent hawk-like nose.
Others clutch their crosses, their lips moving in silent prayer while their eyes remain fixed on the altar.
A few have turned their heads away, but none of them stand. None object. None leave.
Thom looks at the floor, one hand closed around his cross necklace. Rebecca’s face is pale beneath her hood, but she remains seated.
More familiar faces emerge from the crowd. Gillian sits beside her friends with her arms crossed, wearing an expression of boredom so deliberate it gives her away.
Most of the Sisters and Brothers look away, though several of the Brothers do not.
They follow us with the avid look of men who remember when Carrson used public sex as a display of dominance, never love. I can’t tell whether they want to see me naked or to watch him become that man again.
Carr has positioned himself with his back to us.
Jack watches from the front row. He has a smirk on his face, a look of sick satisfaction as his gaze moves over my body and the place where Carrson is joined with me. His son Jackson sits next to him with the same satisfied curl to his mouth.
Behind him, the red light on the camera burns steadily.
Carrson follows my stare. His body shifts immediately, shoulders widening as he lowers himself over me and blocks as much of their view as he can.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
But I can’t stop seeing them.
All those lowered eyes. All those hands wrapped around crosses. All those people who know this is wrong and have decided that obedience matters more.
Such hypocrites. The bastards.
Wait.
Bastards. Bastardes.
Sam’s words click in my mind, making sense. “Don’t let the bastards grind you down.” A quote from The Handmaid’s Tale. The book I lent Sam about women trapped inside a society that called their oppression sacred. She never told me what she thought of it, but now I know.
She understood.
That’s when I smell smoke.