Chapter 4 Confess Me, Father Ch4

• He cleaned her off with the torn hem of her dress.
• It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t gentle. It was reverent in a way that made her stomach twist.
• She let him.
• Her body was spent, boneless against the altar. But her mind? Her mind was a storm, worse than the one that had poured the first night they touched. Because he hadn’t just fucked her. He’d claimed her. Spoken like she belonged to him. And worse?
• She liked it.
• "You're not just temptation," he murmured as he wiped her back. "You're punishment."
• She rolled onto her side, cheek pressed against the warm wood, watching him as he tucked himself back into his robes. "Then maybe you deserve me."
• He looked at her like she’d just spat on the cross.
• "Don’t joke about that."
• "Why?" She sat up slowly, breasts bare, thighs still spread. "Because you might actually believe it? Or because you know it’s true?"
• He didn’t answer. Just stared.
• So she pushed. “You never asked my name. Don’t you want to know what sin you’ve been inside of?"
• He exhaled through his nose. "No."
• "Liar."
• She stood and crossed the room on bare feet, reaching up to drag her finger down his collar. “What would you do if I whispered it in your ear right now?"
• "Don’t."
• She leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Say it, and I’ll let you fuck me on the pulpit."
• He grabbed her by the waist and slammed her into the nearest pew.
• "You think I won’t?" he growled.
• "I’m begging you to."
• He yanked his belt free and bound her wrists to the carved edge of the pew.
• Her breath caught. Her thighs clenched. He noticed.
• "I’ll make you scream your name first," he muttered, kneeling in front of her. "Make you forget you ever tried to weaponize it."
• His mouth hit her like a curse.
• She jolted against the restraints, wrists twisting against the leather, but he didn’t let up. His tongue was merciless. His fingers spread her wide, keeping her open as he buried his face between her thighs.
• "Oh, fuck," she gasped. "Oh my God, Father—"
• He growled against her clit.
• She writhed, moaned, begged. He held her there, flicking, sucking, biting until she was begging him to let her come.
• He didn’t.
• He stopped.
• "No," she whined. "Don’t you dare."
• He stood, mouth slick with her. "Then tell me."
• She narrowed her eyes. "No."
• He unzipped and stroked himself slowly, just enough to make her groan.
• "You want this again?"
• "Yes."
• "Then give me your name."
• She opened her mouth.
• And lied.
• "Isla."
• He paused. Smirked.
• "Liar."
• He shoved inside her.
• She screamed.
• His hands gripped her hips like she was his penance. He thrust hard, slow, deep, grinding into her until she was clawing the air.
• "Tell me the truth," he growled.
• "Fuck me harder. Then maybe I will."
• He fucked her like he wanted to pound the truth out of her. The pew creaked. The candles trembled. Her wrists burned against the leather.
• "Come for me, Isla. Come while you lie to your priest."
• She did.
• Violently.
• She sobbed through it, shaking so hard the belt strap slipped.
• He didn’t stop.
• He lifted her off the bench and bent her over it, one leg hooked over the armrest.
• He came inside her this time.
• Deep. Raw. Unholy.
• When she turned her head to look at him, she expected guilt.
• But all she saw was want.