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He just nods. “Lie back down. Spread your legs.”

My eyes widen. Again? We’re doing this already?

“I’m cleaning you up,” he adds quietly and gestures with a raise of his chin to do as he asks.

“You just bathed me.”

“And I just made you filthy again,” he says and motions again. “I wanted clean water for this.”

I lie back on the pew, my hands bound beneath me, and stare up at the ceiling.

I hear the washcloth going in the water. It’s deliciously cold and wet as he presses it against my inner knee and gently glides it up my thighs. He cleans me much like he did earlier, with delicate, methodical strokes.

He murmurs for me to flip over to my stomach, and I do so, parting my legs for him again. There is no shame with him, no inhibitions or humility, not when it comes to my body, but even so, I tense up a little as he parts the cheeks of my rear and gently dabs the washcloth there, that part of me a little sore from being used in such a foreign and savage manner.

“There,” he says. After a few more minutes of tender care, he removes the cloth, and then…

SMACK.

I yelp against the chain, jerking from the impact of his palm against my bottom.

I glare at him over my shoulder, and he’s grinning deviously at me, the kind of smile that soothes the sting. A smile that makes my heart stumble.

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help myself. I shall have to blame the monster.”

Then, he reaches forward and grabs me by my shoulders, hauling me up to sit. “I’m going to untie you for a moment while I get this shift on you,” he says, lifting the linen.

What’s the point? I think as he reaches behind me and starts undoing the rope. I’ll only end up naked again.

“Promise me you’ll behave,” he whispers against my ear, making my eyes roll back in my head. “Then maybe I’ll undo the chain too.”

I nod as he frees my hands. I wriggle my aching wrists, and he immediately grabs them, bringing them forward, a warning in his eyes.

Then, he lifts them up to his mouth, and with his gaze intently focused on mine like he’s staring into my very soul, he places his lips on the soft underside of each one.

Goodness, I feel like I’m melting at his touch. It’s as if he’s trying to win me over with tenderness now.

And it’s working.

I’ll behave, I think. I’ll do anything you want if you keep looking at me like that.

He smiles gently and then lifts my arms, slipping the shift over me and pulling it down over my head and chest.

“Good girl,” he says appreciatively as he reaches behind me to undo the chain.

Then, he stops.

Sucks in his breath.

The energy in the room suddenly changes into something dark and cold.

I glance up to see him staring over my shoulder, and I follow his gaze to the door to see a man standing there.

I gasp against the chain, and Priest drops his hands.

“What is going on here?” the man says. He’s dressed in authoritative clothing, which makes me think he might be a priest too, but then I see the sword sheathed at his side, a gun in his hand. I became very familiar with them after Asherah was taken.

Is this man a pirate? He seems too well-kept to be one. He even has one of those white curled wigs.