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CHAPTER TWENTY

MERCY

I t feels like a dream, being down here. Or a fantasy, like the fantasies I conjured up when I was in the marriage suite alone, sliding my hand between my legs. But it’s neither.

It’s real. I broke Ambrose into the bunker; I helped him steal a file that’s supposed to be sealed. And there’s a killer stalking the church, one who could walk through the unlocked bunker door and attack both of us.

“Don’t you want your reward?” Ambrose says softly, kicking the box aside to step up closer to me. He presses his fingers under my chin, tilting my head upward.

His erection is more than evident.

“Y-yes,” I whisper, my thoughts hazy. “But I wish you would tell me what you’re going to do.”

“You’ll find out,” he says. “Now undress.”

I know I should refuse. I’m married—before God if not legally, which is all that matters. I made a vow.

A vow you never meant .

“Mercy.” Ambrose’s voice lilts in a warning. Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small and slim. I don’t know what it is until he squeezes it and a narrow silver blade whips out. I gasp, a sharp lance of terror moving through my chest?—

“Don’t make me cut that dress off you.”

“Why do you have that?” I whisper.

Something dark flashes through Ambrose’s features. “There’s a killer loose. I needed something to protect you.”

My chest flares with heat. He wants to protect me .

But then he presses the flat side of the blade against my cheek, and any warmth is swallowed up by the chill of the metal.

“However,” he continues. “I will use it on that dress if you don’t get moving.”

This time, the fear that curls through me is almost indistinguishable from lust. I twist my arm around to pull down my zipper, the sound impossibly loud in the bunker’s echoing silence. Ambrose keeps his eyes fixed on me as I shrug out of the sleeves, revealing the ugly, industrial-strength beige bra I have to wear. I push the dress down and stand at the same time, letting the stiff fabric fall around me in a pile.

Ambrose’s eyes gleam, taking me in. I have to resist the urge to cover my body, even if I’m still in my underwear, because the way he looks at me?—

It’s like he wants to eat me.

He fingers the handle of the knife, and the blade catches the dim lights and flashes like a camera.

And then he moves . He moves so fast I don’t see him. One second, he’s watching me, and the next, he has his arm around my waist, pulling me into him, and the knife has slipped between my panties and the skin of my hip.

“I was going to take them off,” I gasp, stunned by his quickness.

Ambrose’s eyes burn. “But this is so much more fun ,” he murmurs, pressing the knife blade against my hip as he kisses along my neck, making me tremble and gasp. I wait for the sound of shearing fabric, but it never comes. Instead, Ambrose slides out the knife and slips it under my bra band.

“Or should I start here?” he rasps into my neck.

“I-I thought you were rewarding me.”

Ambrose chuckles and slides his free hand between my legs to my palm my sex, the heel of his hand grinding into my clit. Even with the layer of cotton, my body explodes with heat.

“Is that enough of a reward for you?”

Then, in another lightning-fast movement, he yanks the knife sideways. I feel my bra band snap more than I hear it, and then I feel it when he slices away the straps with two quick slices of the knife. The ruined bra falls to the ground as Ambrose steps away.

For the first time, he sees my bare breasts, his eyes dark as he drinks me in.

“God, you’re fucking perfect,” he says.

The compliment surprises me; Reverend Gunner has made it clear, on multiple occasions, that I should be a little thinner, with smaller breasts and smaller hips—that if I were, maybe I would be worthy of being a first wife and not a helpmeet. You have a Jezebel’s body , he told me once, right before he took me over to tend to Pastor Sullivan’s needs.

But with Ambrose, the way he compliments me—it’s like he can’t believe I’m here in front of him.

“Get the panties off,” he orders, in that rough, dark voice he uses sometimes. “I want to see all of you.”

I shove the panties down without hesitation, eager to obey him. He watches me, eyes roving over my body, as I step out of them and stand there in the damp, warm air of the bunker, utterly exposed. I’m not sure what to do with my arms—hang them at my side? Wrap them around my waist? I do the latter on instinct, but Ambrose moves fast again, grabbing my wrists and jerking my arms overhead .

“No,” he says darkly. “Don’t cover yourself. You’re too fucking gorgeous.”

He walks me backward, my bare feet skittering over the cool, dusty floor as he guides me through the maze of old boxes. His eyes never leave mine, and I have no idea how he sees anything. How he knows where to step. But he does.

Suddenly, he shoves me, and I yelp as my backside presses into the wall. Ambrose leans into me, still pinning my arms overhead, and trails his mouth along my neck. It’s not a kiss, not even close. He breathes in deep, smelling me.

“Delicious,” he purrs, the movements of his lips teasing my skin. He steps backward, his hand already fumbling with his fly.

“What would you like me to do?” I breathe out.

Ambrose smiles at that and jerks his pants down over his hips just enough to pull his cock out, as big and meaty as I remember. Bigger.

“You’re so eager to please, aren’t you?”

I stare at him, not quite sure how to answer. “For you,” I finally say. “I am for you.”

It’s too dark to really see his face. The lights are behind him, wrapping him in shadows, and I worry I misspoke, that it was too much for him—too close to telling him that I want him, not just sexually, but?—

But for real.

“Good,” he says. “Then you’ll do exactly as I say, won’t you?”

Heat burns through my core. I nod.

He steps closer to me, his cock bobbing, and presses his hand on the top of my head. Then he presses down, and I fall to my knees, eyes lifting to him. I know what he wants, but I still wait for the order.

“Open.”

I do, dropping my jaw, still looking at him. He keeps his hand on my head and uses the other to guide his cock over my waiting tongue .

“Worship me,” he commands, his voice black as the shadows.

And I do. I draw his length into my mouth even though it’s more than what I’m used to, pulling it as deep in as I can go—so deep my throat constricts and my eyes water. I keep going, though. I brace myself against his thighs and bob my head back and forth, worshipping every veiny inch of him with my mouth and tongue. He puts both his hands on my head, just as he did when he prayed over me, his fingers drawing up clumps of my hair.

I moan around him. Suck a little harder. I desperately want to taste him again. I want to swallow every drop of his release without wasting it like before. The idea spurns me on, and I roll my hips, my sex so drenched with my arousal that it almost feels cool against the air.

Ambrose grunts and pulls hard on my hair. But the pain doesn’t deter me. If anything, it drives me on. I use every trick I learned to mollify Reverend Gunner, even though it’s harder with Ambrose’s size. I suck on his sensitive head, then lick his entire length, all the way down to his testicles, still half-buried in his underwear. I try to swallow him whole again, although I can’t quite manage it.

But I know he likes it because he groans and sighs and pulls harder on my hair, digging his fingers into my scalp. I’m so sure he’s going to finish. So sure I’ll get to take his communion again. To eat of his body?—

Would I drink of his blood? I think I would.

But then Ambrose wrenches himself out of me, so roughly that his cock slaps across my mouth like a warning.

“No,” he says roughly. “Not like that.”

I stare at him, my body so flushed with desire I feel like I’m going to lose my mind.

“I want to come in your cunt,” he rasps, staring down at where I kneel before him. His words send heat shooting through me, even though I know I could wind up pregnant. But I don’t care.

“I’d like that,” I whisper, and Ambrose smiles.

“Then turn around and get on your hands and knees. Show me how wet you are for my cock.”

His vulgarity just stokes lust inside me, and I immediately do as he asks, arranging myself on the floor. For all that I’ve been used as a helpmeet, I’ve never done this position before, and I feel degraded and exposed and desperate all at once—but because it’s Ambrose towering over me, it all just heightens my lust.

“There it is.” Ambrose runs his hands over my behind, his touch soft and reverent. “There’s that pretty pussy.” A single finger slides inside me, and I yelp and jerk back against him.

The movement is met immediately with a sharp slap across my bottom. It stings, but it’s just like when he pulled my hair. The pain and the pleasure meld together into something new.

“Hold still,” Ambrose says. “If you move, you’ll get another slap.”

I hold my breath, bracing myself on my forearms, my hips lifted to meet him. He works another finger inside me, his strokes firm. I whimper, using every ounce of willpower to stay still.

“That’s it.” He runs his other hand over my lower back like he’s holding me in place. “You’re going to come around my cock, do you understand?”

I bite my lip, trembling. I want to, more than anything. But orgasms are new for me, and I’ve still never experienced one during actual sex.

Ambrose slaps my ass, harder than before, and I cry out.

“Do. You. Understand?” He strokes my sex in time with his words, and that’s harder than before, too.

“Yes!” I cry out. Then, in a rush: “I’m just afraid I can’t! ”

Ambrose’s fingers go still inside me. “You will,” he says softly. “I’ll get you good and ready before you take my cock.”

As he speaks, he slides his fingers out and rubs them against my clit, making me moan and buck back against him. That earns me another slap on my behind.

“What did I tell you to do?”

I shiver. “Hold still.”

“Good girl. You really do like to obey me, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.” I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my hands into fists. He keeps rubbing my clit in quick circles, and that still-unfamiliar pressure builds up in my belly.

“Then obey. I want you still while I fuck you. I’m in control here.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I don’t know where the sir comes from, but at this moment, it feels right.

“Fuck, you’re a treasure,” Ambrose groans. His hand falls away from me, and I moan softly at its absence.

“Oh, you don’t like that, do you?” He’s touching my hips now, arranging me into position. “Don’t worry, darling. You’ll like this even better.”

I wish I could look at him. Wish I could see his face as he stares down at me, stroking my skin while I tremble and shake beneath his touch.

“After all,” he purrs, and I feel something press against my sex, something much bigger than his fingers. “This is your reward.”

And then he pushes his cock inside me with one firm stroke, filling me to the brim.