Page 5 of Drag You Down (Bloody Desires #2)

When we’re in private, she isn’t nearly as subdued, but in front of Father Zachariah, she has no choice but to be docile and meek.

She takes my arm and helps me out of the room. I have to lean heavily on her, but she’s stronger than she looks.

Or maybe it’s that she’s had a lot of practice doing this.

Carefully, we make our way out of the apartment as the others filter around us. They don’t stop to express empathy.

I don’t deserve it.

Eve helps me to our apartment, which is only a few doors down the hall, and I’m grateful when I get to my bedroom. I collapse onto my stomach, and Eve hovers right behind me.

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asks.

“Do what?” I try to lift my head, and it makes my back burn in a way that heats parts of me that should remain unspoken.

“I know you didn’t pull the fire alarm,” Eve says. “Why did you cover for someone else?”

I lower my head again, sighing against the clean pillow. “Because I drew the Devil here. I saw him on the street outside. He looked straight into my soul, Eve. It wasn’t fair for Mary to take penance for something that had nothing to do with her.”

Several seconds pass without Eve speaking. I’m about to lift my head again, half-convinced she won’t be there anymore, when she replies, “Why do you think you drew him here? None of us are free of sin, Levi.”

I part my lips and lick them, remembering the taste of the kiss.

“I’m tempted all the time,” I whisper. “Things I cannot say out loud.”

“Levi,” she begins, only to pause. “Let me get the first aid kit.” I hear her footsteps retreating, then she returns.

Before I can speak, she says, “We are all tempted. Tell me what it is. I’m sure you aren’t as terrible as you think.

” I feel a cool, soft cloth run against my back.

It stings, but I stay still as she wipes the blood away.

My face heats with embarrassment.

I can’t tell her about the blood.

I can’t tell her about the kiss.

I shake my head. “No. It’s nothing. Thank you for tending to me, Eve.”

She sighs, but she’s used to me keeping my thoughts to myself. Part of me wants to confide in her, but while I trust my sister, I cannot expect her to lie or keep things from her new husband.

Why does he need a third wife, though?

The other men only have one wife. As God’s prophet, Father Zachariah deserves some privileges, but I can’t imagine sharing with another person.

I would want to be the sole focus of my partner’s attention, and know that they loved only me, and would do anything for me.

But that’s selfish.

We fall into silence as she spreads the cool ointment over my skin and slowly bandages it all up.

Would the Devil tempt me with soft touches like these, or would he only whip me as Father Zachariah does?

“Okay, you’re done,” Eve says. “Do you need anything else? Water? Food?”

“No. Thank you, Eve,” I say. Before she can go, I reach out and tentatively touch her hand. “Truly. I wouldn’t be able to survive without you, Eve.”

She gives me a crooked smile. “The same goes for you, brother. I hope you’ll remember that the next time you do something stupid like volunteer for penance. Let the others have a turn. Surely by this point, you’ve completely cleared your soul of sins?”

I laugh along with her, although there’s nothing funny about what she said.

I’m still dirty.

Eve shuts the door as she leaves my bedroom, and I squeeze my eyes shut. My back tingles from the ointment. When I flex my back, I have to stifle a moan.

It hurts, but I deserve it.

It hurts, but I need it.

It hurts, but I love it.

My cock, which had settled a bit while Eve was here, grows rigid again. I thrust my hips against the mattress, giving in to the shameful desires.

I’ve never been able to stop myself from doing this.

I try, so hard. I attempt to resist.

Don’t I?

No. That’s a lie.

I’ve never been able to wait more than a few minutes before I give in. I reach into my trousers and wrap my hand around my cock, that simple touch alone already making pleasure zap through me. Every movement makes my back twinge in pain, but none of it matters.

I stroke myself quickly, because the faster I do this, the faster it’s over with.

What’s the rush, little lamb?

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. No, no. I won’t fantasize about him. Whether he’s the Devil or not, he’s a temptation I need to shove aside completely.

But I’ve already failed to resist. I’m already masturbating like an animal.

My hand slows, and I remember his breath against my cheek, his strong hand on my hips.

Would he stroke me fast or slow? Would he simply watch as I did it, and call me a lamb , as if a lamb would ever do anything so shameful as this?

I press my mouth against the pillow to hide my noises as I lift my hips up. My back protests again, but as ever, it only makes my head grow dizzier with arousal, and I grip myself tighter.

Good boy , the Devil whispers into my ear.

That’s the problem.

I’m not good.

I’m dirty.

I’m tainted.

I’m disgusting.

No matter how much I pray, no matter how many times I repent, this stain stays within me. I judge the world around me, but I know that the dirtiest, filthiest place is inside my soul.

Only the Devil would think I was good .

My thoughts continue to spiral as I masturbate. Pleasure and pain mingle while I imagine the Devil touching me, egging me on.

While I imagine him kissing me.

I groan and reach for my back, pressing down on a welt I can reach. The bandage feels wet already, and when I draw my fingers away, I see a hint of red. I suck on those fingers and taste my own blood, delicious and sinful and wrong .

My vision is blurry when my orgasm slams into me. My seed spills, and I keep pumping myself until my cock is too sensitive to continue.

Then I lower myself down, not caring that my stomach lands directly against the wet spot.

I’m too exhausted to move.

The tears trail down my cheeks, and I sob quietly into the pillow.

Why am I like this?

Why does God want me to suffer with these terrible thoughts?

I breathe hard, trying to work through the moment, then I rub my eyes to erase the tears. I have no right to cry. All of this is my own fault.

I just need to be stronger.

I just need to resist.