Page 35 of A Gold Medal in Love

“Oh my god, you didn’t just call me out like that!” Imani squeaks.

“It’s your duty as a femme,” I goad her.

“Fuck you so much,” she returns, stomping toward me, finally ready to follow me into the sacred building.

We enter the marble structure under the watchful eyes of all the spires and flying buttresses, trading the lightness of the outer façade for the reverent deep tones of the interior. Scant light comes through the heavily decorated stained glass that allows just enough light to make out the stonework walls, the vaulted ceilings, and the columns on either side of us as we make our way to the center of the cathedral, where, beyond the pews, a large altar sits. The expanse is solemn but buzzes with the soft conversation of the busy crowd.

“Blake–” Imani begins to whine, but I place a finger on her lips to quiet her as I dip my middle finger into a holy water font, then, to Imani’s obvious horror, I make the sign of the cross. “Do I have to do that?” She whispers.

“No,” I explain in a low voice. “But if you want to, you can do what I do.”

Imani nods at me with wide eyes, clearly not knowing what to do with this aspect of my personality. She dips her forefinger into the blessed water and then slowly touches her forehead, her chest, her left shoulder, then her right.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” I whisper on behalf of her. “Good work, Cupcake.”

Imani screws up her face. “I’m still Cupcake here?”

“You’re Cupcake everywhere,” I assure her.

“But not a good girl?” She cocks her head.

“You are a good girl, too, but I don’t want you to associate “good girl” with a religion that you should choose of your ownfree will, and not because I’ve trained you to,” I gently explain, still whispering.

Imani makes a little “o” of surprise, but then nods, not objecting further.

I gesture for her to walk in front of me, and she does, continuing to look back in curiosity until she reaches a red rope blocking us from the altar area.

“Now what?” Imani asks, turning toward me, red rope at her back.

“Now, if you’ll join me, I’d like to pray. You absolutely don’t have to, but I’d like for you to keep me company. Would you do that for me?” I ask her.

“I don’t have to?” She double-checks hesitantly.

“Of course not,” I affirm.

“Then, yes, I will join you,” Imani nods decidedly.

I give her a small smile, then I bend on one knee, genuflecting as I make another sign of the cross, looking upon the crucifix up ahead, loath to tear myself away from Imani’s beautiful face for even one second. Then I walk into the pew, get as cozy as possible on the kneeler, place my hands in prayer, and close my eyes.

When I’m done, I look back at her.

“All done praying to someone who doesn’t exist?” Imani huffs.

“While I’m down here…” I trail off, smirking at her.

“Wait, really?” She leans forward excitedly.

I stifle a loud laugh, squeezing both my eyes and lips together. “No, but very cute. It’s busy as fuck in here.”

“Ugh. Then what the fuck am I even doing in a church?” Imani wails, her voice beginning to rise.

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh. So you just want me to Dom you? You don’t want to learn anything about me in the process?”

She squeaks. “That’s not what I––Fuck. No. I want to know you. I’m being a brat.”

I grin at her. “Definitely not the way to get fucked in a church.”

“No, Sir. It’s not,” Imani agrees and folds her hands demurely in her lap. “I’ll be good. Are you Catholic, then?”