Page 1 of Unholy Vows

Malachai

T he man on the other side of the grille was testing my fucking patience.

Listening to him drone on about how he cheated on his wife with his young secretary was not only unoriginal, it was downright fucking tiresome.

And if he didn’t hurry up and conclude his monologue, I might consider ending his miserable existence and call it recompense for forcing me to endure his bullshit.

“Father?” he asked hesitantly.

Clearing my throat, I said, “I am here, my son. I am seeking God’s divine wisdom.”

If God ever spoke to me, he’d whisper something along the lines of, “ Fucking fraud. ” And yes, I liked to envision God spewing profanities as he shook his head, entirely sick of my shit.

“Sin burdens the soul. Acknowledge your mistakes and seek forgiveness.”

Although that had never really been my experience. I found freedom and release in the things considered sinful.

But I wasn’t wired like everyone else.

“Thank you, Father. I will,” he all but sobbed.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Bet he wasn’t sobbing when he fucked his secretary in the copy room.

Then again, maybe that was his kink.

Silence fell thick and heavy between us.

I knew I was forgetting something, but all I could picture was some old guy photocopying his balls.

Not helpful, Malachai.

“Repentance,” I shouted and resisted the urge to pump my fist into the air.

“Father?” the man repeated, growing concerned now.

Softening my tone to just above a whisper, I said, “For your penance, you must pray the Rosary while you reflect on your blessings. Then you must take steps to rebuild trust with those you have wronged.”

Even though the confessional teemed with shadows, I could see the man nodding vigorously. I raised my hand toward him, and he bowed his head.

“God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of His Son, has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins, through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

“Amen,” he said as he let out a sigh.

As if that was the hard part.

I snorted and then quickly covered it with a cough. Just wait until he tells his wife where he’s been sticking his pogo stick.

“Go in peace,” I murmured, leaning into the role.

“Thank you, Father.”

The minute the door slid closed, I released a frustrated breath as I tugged at my collar. The plastic white band was tight around my throat, and I’d been itching to get rid of it all day.

When the faint tolling of church bells sounded, signaling the evening hour, I jumped to my feet, eager to be done with this farce.

“Thank fuck!”

My fingers curled around the handle of the door, ready for me to push it open, when the adjacent door slid open instead.

I ground my teeth together, my skin feeling too tight as it prickled. If I didn’t get out of this box soon, I couldn’t be held responsible for the inevitable explosion.

I hated confined spaces.

Small bouts in the confessional were fine, but it appeared all of fucking Southie needed to unburden themselves today.

Barely containing a sigh, I sat down on the bench and waited.

A soft huff came from behind the lattice, and I leaned closer to glimpse the parishioner.

It was a woman in her early thirties, give or take a year. She had long, brown hair and olive skin, which made me think she was of Italian descent.

“Father,” she whispered, sounding unsure.

The unease in her tone made my lips curl into a grin, and I suddenly didn’t feel the need to escape my prison just yet.

“Yes, child.”

She scoffed, and my smile grew wider.

“Something amusing in my greeting?”

“I’m hardly a child, Father.”

“You are a child of God, no?” I pressed, my interest mounting with each passing second.

I didn’t know what, but something about this woman demanded my attention. Her sweet, melodious voice called to me like a Siren’s song, and I wanted — no, needed — to unravel all of her secrets.

“To be honest with you, Father, not really.”

My mouth fell open for a moment, and then sharp laughter burst free from my chest, booming and unfiltered. It caught me by surprise — a genuine, raw, unguarded reaction.

Very little surprised me anymore, but this woman’s honesty certainly did.

“Then what brings you to Saint Augustine’s this evening?”

The woman sighed.

“My sister is getting married in a couple of months, and she’s into all of this,” she stated, waving her hand in front of her.

“But you’re not?”

“Nope,” she replied, popping the p .

“She asked me to go to confession before her wedding. Said it would set the ‘right energy’ for the day or something like that. Next thing I know, I’m wandering the neighborhood, spot a church, and well… here I am.”

She folded her hands in her lap as if waiting for instructions.

“Just so I understand,” I said, savoring every second of her discomfort. “You don’t believe in God or religion for that matter, but you would like me to take your confession because your sister doesn’t want you to bring any bad mojo to her wedding day?”

She winced.

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.”

“Okay, sure, let’s do this,” I chuckled.

“You know, Father, you don’t sound like any priest I’ve ever met.”

“Have you even spoken to a priest before?”

Despite the grille obscuring her from me, I could still make out the sheepish expression that spread across her face.

She tucked a lock of her silky brown hair behind her ear as she mumbled, “No.”

“So, I’m your first?” I rasped, and she inhaled sharply.

The thought of being her first made me hard.

First priest.

First one to choke her out.

First one to mark her body.

First one to awaken her darkness.

The possibilities were endless.

She swallowed thickly.

“Yes.”

Need dripped from the single word, and she pressed her thighs together.

Interesting.

She hadn’t even seen my face. Yet, my voice was enough to leave her wanting.

I think I just found my new obsession.

I would thank the Lord above, but I was confident he wanted nothing to do with what was going on inside this confessional.

“Tell me all your dirty little secrets. Confess to me,” I murmured.

A full-body shudder rolled through her, and her fingers moved to the base of her throat as she stroked her pulse point.

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to replace her hand with my own.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“Well, lately I have been thinking about partaking in some, not so conventional pastimes,” she admitted.

“Oh,” I said, not bothering to hide my intrigue. “Go on.”

“There’s this website, The Wild Hunt. It’s a place where people with certain… sexual preferences… can connect.”

The way her throat bobbed as she swallowed and how her cheeks grew hot had me reaching for my belt. The vision of her lying beneath me as I wrapped my hands around her neck, cutting off her oxygen as I choked the life out of her, was too much to endure.

My fingers unclasped the buckle, and the sound rang out in the small booth. The hitch in her breathing let me know she heard it, and judging by the way she licked her lips, she knew exactly what I was doing on my side of the confessional.

“Father,” she whispered huskily, and her eyes widened as though she hadn’t meant to.

“Keep going,” I encouraged as my hand slid beneath the waistband of my pants. “Tell me about the type of experiences you’re looking for.”

“There are these forums. The Prowler’s Circle and The Marked. They offer a safe place for people to explore their shared kinks.”

“And what’s your kink?” I asked as I wrapped my palm around the base of my cock.

She hesitated for the briefest moment before she said, “Primal play.”

“Fuck me,” I groaned as I pulled my cock free.

She was into the mother of all kinks. And she was ready for the taking.

“Unbutton your jeans,” I commanded in a rough tone, letting my words graze against her unblemished skin.

“What?”

“You heard me. Unbutton your jeans.”

“This seems highly inappropriate given our setting,” she hissed, her eyes darting around despite not being able to see anything beyond the four walls that contained her.

“You don’t even believe in God,” I reminded her.

She shifted in the booth, the wooden seat creaking beneath her. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is?” I challenged, stroking myself slowly, deliberately.

The tension between us was electric, crackling through the thin barrier separating our bodies.

“I just —” she paused, her breath quickening. “This isn’t what I expected.”

I laughed, the sound dark and sinful. “Life rarely gives us what we expect. Sometimes it gives us what we need instead.”

“And you think I need this?”

Her voice had dropped to a whisper. But there was an edge to it now, curiosity mingled with desire.

“I think you walked into this church for a reason, and it wasn’t for your sister’s wedding.” My grip tightened around the base of my cock. “Now, unbutton your jeans.”

She hesitated, but the fire burning in her eyes told me all she needed was a little push, and she’d be putty in my hands.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The silence stretched between us, heavy with tension. Then I heard it… the soft pop of the button. With a shaky breath, she leaned back against the wall and did as I instructed.

“What’s the purpose of the forums?” I asked as I stroked the length of my cock.

“The Prowler’s Circle is where you find people willing to play. The hunters, if you will.”

Need pulsed in my gut, and I tugged harder.

“Push a finger inside your cunt.”

Again, she hesitated, but she complied more quickly this time. She bit her lower lip, and her eyes fluttered closed as she followed my command. A small, breathy moan escaped her, and I picked up my pace, stroking in earnest.

“And The Marked?”

My voice was coarse as my desire consumed me.

“It’s for the prey,” she muttered, losing herself in her pleasure. “Those who want to be chased.”

“And which one are you? The predator or the prey?”

“The p-prey,” she stammered, pumping her fingers faster.

So, she wanted to be hunted like an animal and fucked in the aftermath?

“Make yourself come,” I commanded as I slumped against the wall, fucking my fist.

“Ah,” she cried out before whimpering.

“That’s it, Little Sinner, let go for me.”

My words were her undoing. Her back bowed off the wall, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to stifle her moan.

I still heard it, though. The sound sent me spiraling over the edge into my own orgasm.

“Fuck,” I grunted as hot ropes of my come spilled over my hand and onto my trousers.

For a long moment, our heavy breathing was the only noise disturbing the silence.

“Well, that was… surprising.”

An amused chuckle escaped me, and a second later, she joined me. I watched as she buttoned her jeans and pushed the sweaty strands of her hair away from her face.

“Shouldn’t you say a prayer or absolve me of my sins, or something?” she asked, unease creeping into her tone.

I leaned forward until my forehead pressed against the grille. “Little Sinner, you’re playing in the devil’s playground now. There is no absolution to be found within the darkness.”

She stiffened, her body going rigid as a mix of fear and… longing washed over her.

“I’ll be seeing you,” I taunted as I tucked myself away.

She rose quickly from her seat and moved toward the door. The smell of sex and sin permeated the air, and a satisfied hum worked its way up my chest.

Just as her fingers brushed the handle, I called out to her, making her freeze.

“What’s your username? On The Wild Hunt.”

She glanced back over her shoulder, weighing my words as she decided whether she wanted to play my game. Something flickered across her face, and I saw the moment she made her decision.

“CuriousMouse26,” she said.

Then she disappeared into the night.

“Curious Mouse,” I repeated, tasting the words on my tongue.

I’d been planning on spending my evening lurking in the shadows outside the apartment of one Jason Redding, a known rapist and blight on this earth, as I studied his routine.

But Jason would have to wait.

Because I had a mouse to hunt.