Page 17 of Borrowed

T he marble was cold against my chest, but his hands were fire.

The cold leaves a burn. One gripping my breast, the other splayed over my stomach, holding me there like I might disappear. He moved harder now, grunting against my ear, muttering curses in Dutch between growls of my name.

“Mine…fuck, mine…you’re every broken, beautiful piece of me, do you hear me? There is no you without me. You are mine.”

“Yes,” I sobbed, back arching. “Only you, just you. I love you, Toby.”

“I’ll bury you if I have to,” he hissed. “Keep you in a glass box, keep your pussy tight and perfect forever. I won’t let you go. Ever. I have burned for you. I always will.”

I felt my skin rip with his size, the power of his body, the speed of his strength. He was wild, wicked, and possessing.

Mother was right. I was possessed.

By love.

By need.

By the fact that without my twin, I’d disappear into the mist.

My climax hit like a divine punishment, loud, soaking teeth sinking into my wrist to stop the scream. And even then, he didn’t stop.

He wrapped a hand around my throat, fucked me into the water harder, and made the font shake like the church itself was rejecting us.

Or maybe it approved.

Toby’s moan was guttural…animalistic.

“You like that, Sister? Succumbing to your damnation under my fucking cock. These walls that caused us so much pain but now will only ever be a memory of your tight cunt gripping me, squeezing me, demanding my come right where it belongs. Tell God how much you love being fucked by me. How well your pussy takes my cock. Did he like hearing your screams? Oh, fuuuuuuck—yes, Tabby. Come again for me. Drain me dry.”

His release spilled hot inside me, and he collapsed over my back, panting into the hollow of my neck like he’d just been saved.

We were shaking together.

Still tangled.

Still inside.

The candles flickered.

The water splashed onto the ground, waves and waves crashing over the edge just as we had.

Somewhere, a door opened.

And Toby smiled, still buried inside me, voice low.

“Looks like the Father wants to join our little baptism.”

The door creaked open.

Slow.

Hesitant.

Like, even the hinges knew better.

Toby didn’t move.

He stayed deep inside me, one hand gripping my hip, the other coiled around my throat like a rosary made of fingers. His chest rose and fell against my back, but his grin—his grin didn’t twitch. Just stretched wider.

I turned my head, neck craned lazily over my shoulder.

And there he was.

Father Elliot.

Mouth open.

Bible clutched in trembling hands.

His voice broke before it even formed a word.

I smirked. Let him see. Let him take in the way my knees were spread, the way the water rippled and steamed between my thighs, how Toby’s body molded against mine like we’d been carved from one twisted block of bone.

“Child,” the priest choked. “You—this is blasphemy.”

I giggled. Toby licked my shoulder.

“She’s beyond that now, Father. Didn’t you hear the sermon? She’s been claimed.”

Toby pulled out just enough to make the water gurgle between my legs, then sank back into me.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I moaned.

Father Elliot staggered forward, the Bible clattering to the floor. “Stop—stop this. You need help?—”

“She’s already been helped,” Toby said. “Sanctified. Filled to the brim.” He kissed the back of my head. “But if you want your turn, you’ll have to get wet.”

The priest’s face went white.

He backed away but too slowly.

Toby slipped out of me.

And I stood.

Water dripped from my thighs like tears from the Virgin. I walked toward Father Elliot naked, smiling. Toby was behind me, like a shadow that never quite touched the ground.

“You came to save me,” I whispered, brushing my fingers over the priest’s wrist. “So noble.”

He stared at me, at all of me, and trembled.

“You’re sick,” he murmured. “You’re not…this isn’t—please!”

“You did it, Father. I feel…divine.”

And then I lunged.

“Tobias!”

The scream caught halfway out of his throat.

“Toby won’t save you, silly man. He wants you to burn.”

We crashed into the baptismal font with a slap of flesh and stone. I was on top of him now, straddling him as he flailed. Toby circled us like a shark. The water frothed as the priest screamed, begged, and prayed.

“Let’s see if He listens to you,” I said.

Then I pushed his head down.

Hard.

His legs kicked.

Hands flailed.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “It’s a baptism. You’ll be clean soon. Cleanse yourself, Father.”

Toby crouched beside me, watching like a boy at a fish tank.

“Good girl,” he said softly, brushing hair from my cheek. “Hold him down. Don’t stop. Just like he did to us.”

Bubbles rose like ghosts. Then slowed.

Then nothing. Just quiet.

I held him there with both hands and felt his last breath escape like a confession.

I let go. The priest’s head slumped forward, resting gently in the water like a tired child.

“Oops,” I said, licking the blood from my lip where the priest’s head smashed into me. “He must not have wanted salvation after all.”

Toby snickered, petting his grey head. “We did him a favor. He wanted to see his God so bad. Now he has. You’re welcome.”

I smiled. Feeling Toby’s come run down my thighs.

“Sleep tight, Father.”