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He lets out a soft laugh. “No, not like that. It’s just…it’s between you and God.”

“The very God you don’t believe in?”

“I didn’t say the man on the cross is listening to me,” he says, nodding at the giant silver cross on the wall. “But someone is. They might not act on it, but they listen, and that’s enough for me.”

I wait a moment, strategizing my best approach. I feel like I’m back in the water again, in the murky depths, approaching my prey.

“So this God, this being, only listens to your prayers…and yet you feel you must uphold all your vows? For what?”

He gives me a steady look, his brows pulling together. In the flickering candlelight of the church, his handsome features seem sharper, more dangerous. He reaches into his shirt, and I see him grasp the beaded necklace around his neck like it might save him.

A thrill runs through my body.

Am I actually about to do this? Make my escape?

Will I make it out of this alive?

Or the better question is…will he?

Chapter Thirteen

LARIMAR

“I’ve told you,” Priest says in a slow, measured voice, “my vows keep myself in line for me. For that humanity you pretend to care about.”

I give him my most innocent smile and turn around so I’m facing down the aisle, the top step pressing into my lower back. “And how does fucking me mean the downfall of humanity?” I ask, reaching down with my bound hands to pull the hem of my dress until it’s hiked at my waist. I spread my legs, making sure he has a good view of my bare cunt.

A rumble sounds from his chest, his brows lowered as he glowers at me.

“It’s about control,” he says thickly, and I can tell he’s trying hard not to look between my legs.

“But making me come on your hand isn’t about control? Or you coming between my breasts?”

“Christ, woman,” he swears.

I nearly laugh. “Who is blasphemous now?” Then, I put my hands on myself. I should be ashamed at how wet I’ve gotten just from teasing him like this. “Fine then. If you won’t give me what I want, I’ll have to give it to myself.”

His nostrils flare, the grip on his necklace making his knuckles white.

But he doesn’t tell me to stop.

I move my fingers lower, the sound of my wetness incredibly loud in the silence of the church. It’s hard to get purchase with the way my hands are bound together, but it’s all part of the show.

I arch my back, my hair flowing behind me like a sheet. I moan, my mouth open. I feel his eyes on me, on my face, my chest, my open legs. They burn like fire under his gaze, making my skin feel hot and tight and exposed.

“You could help me,” I whisper, staring up at the rafters. “You could help me in so many ways.”

“You seem to be doing fine,” he says in a raw, ragged voice.

I lift my head to see him staring at my cunt intently, like he’s ravenous and desperate for a taste.

I spread my thighs even wider and watch him swallow the sight.

“You could loosen the rope,” I say on a whimper. “Let me do to myself what you won’t do to me.”

He glances at me sharply, the line deepening between his brows. He assesses me for a moment, breathing heavily as he weighs his options. Tension crackles between us, stretching on seemingly forever before he reaches over and unties the rope binding my wrists, throwing it to the side.

Then, to my surprise and delight, he gets on the floor and moves between my legs. With a firm grasp on my thighs, his hard fingertips digging into my skin, he spreads them further, his mannerisms rough. His long black hair tickles my sensitive skin, adding to the sensation.