Page 23 of These Hallowed Bones (Bloody Desires #3)

My hand slid to the back of his neck, holding him in place as my lips crushed against his. He yielded immediately, opening with a soft sound caught between surrender and relief.

He tasted of mint and adrenaline, sweet with the chemical signature of desire. My other hand gripped his hip, pulling him against me.

When the kiss broke, he trembled. "Please," he said, clutching his moth against his chest with one hand while the other gripped my arm.

"Not here," I said, allowing roughness to edge my voice. "Not like this. When I take you tonight, it will be in the proper setting. With the respect such a moment deserves."

"Yes, Daddy," he replied. "If you say so."

"Good boy. Let's go home."

The drive crackled with tension. Micah angled his body toward me across the center console, leaning dangerously close whenever we rounded a curve. His breathing came quick and shallow, filling the cabin with anticipation.

As the miles passed in silence, his restraint gradually unraveled. His eyes never left my profile, tracking every subtle movement of my hands on the wheel.

When we turned onto the final stretch of road toward my home, moonlight flashing through the trees across our faces, he could contain himself no longer. He reached up, placing his hand over mine.

"Ezra," he said, my name carried the weight of prayer on his lips.

I slowed the car and lifted one hand from the wheel to stroke his lower lip. "Tonight you've proven yourself, Micah. You're ready for everything now. The exhibition, my collection, my methods... my full trust."

His eyes darkened at my words, pupils expanding until only a thin ring of color remained.

"I want all of it," he whispered, his voice rough with need.

"Everything you are. Everything you do. I've never felt more alive than tonight, with you, with your work.

" He tightened his grip. "Transform me like you transform them. Turn me into your masterpiece."

The raw hunger in his voice satisfied something profound within me. It should have satisfied me. Instead, it scraped at something tender I hadn't named. I guided the car up the final curve of my driveway, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The house stood dark and waiting.

We moved through the front door without speaking, the only sounds our footsteps across the marble floor and our quickened breathing. I placed the harvested material in the refrigeration unit for later processing. Tonight required a different kind of attention.

I led him up the stairs to my bedroom, where he had stayed once before.

Tonight carried a different weight as he returned, not as a guest but as a willing accomplice.

I instructed him to take off his shoes and lie on the bed, which he did eagerly.

I followed him down onto the mattress, hovering over him.

Moonlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting everything in silver and shadow.

I cradled his face between my hands, suddenly stunned by what I found in his eyes.

Something unfamiliar and dangerous stirred in my chest. All my practiced composure abandoned me.

The man who had meticulously sorted and controlled every emotion now stood drowning in unexpected longing.

I crushed my mouth against his, tasting salt and copper and raw hunger.

His moan vibrated against my lips as his arms wrapped around me, his body yielding with intimacy that threatened to consume us.

"Say it clearly," I commanded against his lips. "Who do you want to save you?"

"You," he whispered, then, with growing fervor, "You, Ezra. You."

My mouth traced his pulse, teeth grazing skin, drawing gasps. "Not God?" I asked between bites. "Not Jesus? Not your grandmother's vengeful deity?"

"No," he moaned as my fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, slowly exposing the pale canvas of his skin.

I slid the fabric from his shoulders. Micah kicked off his shoes and pants, then stood there patiently while I removed my shirt.

Moonlight painted his chest silver as I lowered my mouth.

When my lips closed around his nipple, applying calculated pressure before biting just hard enough to make him cry out, he arched beneath me, wordlessly begging for more.

"Please," he whispered, his cock now leaking against his stomach.

"Tell me what you want," I murmured against his skin. "Say it clearly. Confess to me."

"I want you to touch me," he said, voice trembling. "I want you inside me. I want... everything."

"Good boy," I praised, the words sending visible pleasure through him. "So honest. So brave. Do you remember the prayers your grandmother taught you?" I asked as one hand slid down to grasp his cock firmly, squeezing just enough to make him gasp.

His eyes, which had been heavy-lidded with pleasure, flew open. "What?"

"The prayers," I repeated, stroking him slowly. "Recite one for me."

His breath caught, his eyes widening. I was asking him to blaspheme, to merge his religious conditioning with the carnal acts we performed. To destroy the last barrier between sacred and profane in his mind.

"Our Father," he began shakily as my hand continued its motion, "who art in heaven..."

The other hand reached for the oil I'd placed nearby, an ancient blend of sacred oils once used to anoint kings now repurposed for unholy communion. Frankincense and myrrh filled the air as my slicked fingers circled his entrance.

"Hallowed be thy name," he continued, his voice breaking as my finger pressed inside him. He tensed, then relaxed as I found his prostate.

"Thy kingdom come," he gasped, hips rising to meet my hand. "Thy will be done..."

"On earth as it is in heaven," I finished for him when he lost the thread, adding a second finger inside him. "My will be done, Micah. My kingdom come."

Something broke within him at that moment. His final resistance collapsed—accepting me as god, father, lover in one. His eyes glazed in the same way they had during our first painting session.

"Daddy," he whispered, the word carrying layers of meaning that transcended mere sexual roleplay. "Please..."

"Sacrilege becomes sacrament in the right hands," I whispered against his ear as I added a third finger inside him. "Your body is now my altar, your pleasure my worship."

I worked him open methodically, watching with satisfaction as he surrendered completely. His cock jerked when I brushed his prostate, eyes half-closed. The power dynamics between us intensified with each movement of my fingers, his submission deepening with every gasp I drew from his lips.

I stood, maintaining eye contact as I unbuckled my belt. His gaze dropped to my hands, then back to my face, uncertainty and desire battling across his features. My zipper echoed in the silence. As I pushed down my pants and underwear, his eyes widened.

I stroked my cock slowly, proudly, watching his expression shift from uncertainty to awe. His lips parted, breath quickening as I showed him exactly what would soon claim him. The head glistened with pre-cum, catching the light as I stroked again.

"This feels different," he said, his voice soft with anticipation, his eyes never leaving my cock.

"It is different," I answered, slicking my cock with oil. "But pain is the price of transcendence. You know this already, don't you? Your grandmother taught you that suffering leads to salvation."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving mine as I knelt between his thighs.

As I pushed forward, his mouth fell open in a silent gasp. The tight heat of his body gripped me like a vise, and it took every ounce of my control not to thrust fully inside him in one brutal motion.

His back arched. Tears welled in his eyes.

His fingers clutched at my shoulders, nails digging into my skin.

A sound escaped his throat, something between a sob and a moan.

His body tensed around my cock, then gradually relaxed as I pushed deeper.

Micah’s legs wrapped around my waist, his arms around my neck, clinging to me like a drowning man to salvation.

"Look at me," I commanded again when he tried to close his eyes, stilling.

He forced his eyes open.

"You're perfect," I murmured, then withdrew almost completely before pushing back in. His mouth fell open, jaw quivering. I found a steady rhythm, hard and fast, just short of punishing. The tight heat around my cock was exquisite.

I angled my hips to hit his prostate, rewarded by his sharp intake of breath each time I found the spot. "So perfect for me. Your ass was made for my cock, just like your mind was made for my guidance, your soul for my keeping."

The praise unravelled him. He moved with me, taking me deeper, our rhythm both primal and precise. The shadow inside him emerged fully, meeting my darkness without reservation, twining with it until separation seemed impossible.

"Say it," I demanded as I thrust deeper. "Who am I to you? What am I to you?"

"My god," he gasped, the blasphemy tumbling from his lips without hesitation now. "My Daddy. My everything."

My hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in counterpoint to my thrusts, bringing him to the edge and then deliberately retreating until he trembled beneath me, his cock leaking against his stomach.

"Please," he whispered. "Let me come."

"Say it properly," I instructed, rhythm never faltering. "Who am I to you?"

He blinked slowly, his eyes refocusing as he caught his breath.

"Please, Daddy," he whispered. "Please let me come."

I groaned deeply. "Good boy," I praised, thrusts deepening, angling to hit his prostate with each stroke. "My good, perfect boy. Come for me."

He convulsed and let out a cry that sounded almost mournful. Hot ropes of cum painted his chest, his body clenching as his cry echoed. His release took my breath, pushing me over the edge. I came hard, driving deep inside him.

His sobs echoed as I held him, face against my chest, still joined.

"Sweet boy, why the tears?" I asked softly, stroking his hair. "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head against my chest. "No. I don't know why. It's too much. Everything. Like something old is breaking apart inside me."

I continued stroking his hair. The tears had a purpose. His old self was dissolving, making room for what I would shape him to become.

"I'm yours," he whispered between sobs, gripping my shoulders tightly. "I'm yours forever."

For a long moment afterward, neither of us moved, joined in perfect stillness.

His body trembled slightly, aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him.

The vulnerability of this moment—physically joined, emotionally open—created the deepest imprint, the strongest bond.

It was supposed to be symbolic. Just another layer in the design.

But the way he clung to me, the way his breath slowed against my chest—it felt like something else.

Something dangerous. My cock remained buried inside him, a physical manifestation of the claim I had staked.

When I finally withdrew, my cum leaked from his ass, sending a jolt of pride through me. I cleaned him, wiping away sweat, semen, and tears.

"Look," I said, helping him stand before the full-length mirror I had strategically positioned for this purpose.

The person reflected back appeared both familiar and transformed.

His body gleamed with sweat and cum. His eyes widened as he studied his reflection.

His lips parted in a silent gasp, then curved into a smile I'd never seen before.

Not his usual hesitant half-smile, but something confident and hungry.

Something sharp and unfamiliar stirred in my chest. I hadn't planned for pride to feel like this.

He reached up to touch his own face as if confirming the person in the mirror was truly him. "What happens now?"

"Now you rest," I said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Tomorrow, we continue your education. Your becoming."

He slid under the covers without complaint. I curled around him, one arm draped over his waist. Micah sighed softly, his muscles relaxing as he pressed back against my chest. He drifted quickly into sleep, his breathing deep and regular.

The night had succeeded beyond my expectations, but tomorrow would bring a greater test. The private collection. The unvarnished truth about Able and the others before him. The question of how far Micah would follow me into the darkness.

I traced the outline of his sleeping face with my fingertip, careful not to wake him. So perfect in his surrender. So eager to please.

Still unaware of the role he'd come to play. Or how much of myself I was sacrificing for him.