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Wildfire spreads down my spine, gathering at the base with a sharp stab of sinful need, and I’m unable to hold back. I erupt, watching as long, thick ropes of cum stream over her chest and neck, face and hair. I keep coming, pumping fast and hard, and Larimar opens her mouth so some of my release slips through her lips and onto her tongue.

Finally, I’m empty, my cock spent and twitching, though I know I could go again in a second. Except I wouldn’t fuck her tits again. Maybe her mouth. Or maybe I would throw my vows to the wind and wedge into that pretty little cunt of hers, just like she wants. Maybe I’ll find salvation there.

Maybe I’ll find hell.

For now, though, I am dizzy and somewhat sated, the fruitless anger dissipating and that sweet haze of peace washing over me. I get to my feet carefully and loom over her. I want to sear this image of her into my brain: lying below me, my ejaculate sprayed over her, her eyes dancing with coy excitement as she stares up at me.

Filthy, filthy priest, I think.

I tuck my cock back into my trousers and then grab one of my robes before kneeling beside Larimar and dabbing it across the mess I left. It’s the least I can do. Besides, the stains will remind me of her while I’m delivering my sermon.

She sits up and looks at her shift. “This didn’t last very long.”

“Thankfully, I brought you a spare,” I say, pulling up the shift on her shoulders, just so her breasts are barely covered.

“May I ask where you got these clothes from? Do you keep women’s garments on hand, perhaps locked in a trunk somewhere, just in case you find a Syren?”

I give her a wry smile as I sit down on the chair. “I stole them.”

She looks surprised. “From who?”

“The general’s wife. They live in another town, about a full day’s ride from here.”

Her lip pouts slightly as she frowns, thinking. Now that I know what her lips feel like, what her mouth tastes like, I can’t help but want to kiss her again.

But that would be a mistake. If I kissed her, I would become ensnared by her feminine wiles. Only now is that haze starting to lift, hard clarity settling back into my bones. I need to put distance between us again. I need to stop thinking with my dick.

“When did you do all this?” she asks.

“Last night.”

“But when?”

“When I left you on the cross.”

“But a full day’s ride…”

“You know I can move fast. Being a blood-drinker isn’t just about drinking blood to survive. You know how strong I am. All my senses are heightened, and I’m fast too.”

“Anything else I should know?” she asks with a small smile.

“I’m immortal.”

She seems surprised by that admission, her mouth forming an O, and for one lewd second, I dream about grabbing her head and shoving my dick past her lips.

Lord, protect me from my thoughts.

“You mean you can’t die?” she finally says.

I shrug. “Well, it’s not that I can’t. I can, but it takes a specific kind of effort. Otherwise, I will live until the end of time. How long do you Syrens live?”

“Three hundred years, give or take,” she says.

“That’s still a long time.”

“I suppose, though it’s hard to know now that I’m in this body,” she says, gesturing to herself, and I try not to stare at the body in question.

“You still have Syren blood. You have your gills, though thankfully, not your teeth.”