Page 26

Marcelo pulls the straps of the corset down my shoulders, revealing me to the mirror. Of course, my nipples are already perky, but without the support, my breasts fall heavy and I immediately raise my arms to cover myself.

But my wrists are snagged the moment they do. “Why,” Marcelo hisses, “would you hide from me? Why would you hide at all?”

Instead of answering, I give a lame shrug, unsure how to respond. Because I’m repulsive? Because my boobs sag and I don’t want you to see? Because my stomach looks like I could be pregnant with ten cheeseburgers and an ostrich egg? Or maybe because I don’t want you to see all these stretch marks marring my skin?

I bite my lip, deciding I’d rather choose my answer by Russian roulette. After all, whatever I end up saying will definitely be the end of me—of this . . . thing between us, whatever it is.

“Be—”

“Look how fucking gorgeous these are.”

When I find Marcelo’s eyes in the mirror, they’re not on mine. They’re not hard and disgusted, they’re not terrified or nervous. His dark eyes are full of lust, full of want, full of need .

He cups my breasts, hard, staring at the way his fingers massage into them, his lips part as if he’s imagining them between his teeth. A small moan escapes me as his finger brushes against my nipple, as I see the way he holds me. He wants me—bad. But more than that, I see how attracted he is to my body, how much he admires and wants it, and how much he cares for it in every single touch.

The metal rosary dangles low, the cross resting between my breasts. I see the moment Marcelo’s eyes land on it through the mirror, feeling his erection grow hard as he grinds into me.

“Fuck. My little angel,” he groans, grabbing the cross. “Don’t you see how beautiful you are?”

I look at myself in the mirror, and with his hands wrapped around me, I do feel beautiful. I feel wanted and lusted after and cared for, all at once. For once, my curves are . . . nice.

There’s also something about being totally naked before him while he is fully clothed that sends fire between my thighs.

Marcelo kisses my neck, roaming his hands down my body. He squeezes my waist before splaying them over my hips. “So fucking sexy,” he breathes as his fingers dig into my skin, pulling my hips back against him. “I want to touch your pretty cunt so fucking bad.”

I tilt my head, giving him more access to my neck. “Please, I want you to.”

He grins, his facial hair rough against my skin. “Do you want my cock, songbird? My fingers? Or would you like my tongue?”

A shuddering breath escapes me as his fingers dance along my thighs, slowly and delicately drifting up.

“Everything,” I moan. “All of you. You can do anything to me, Marcelo—just . . . no belts.”

He huffs a laugh, his hot breath tickling me. “No belts. Anything else?”

I think for a moment. The idea of the masked man taking me, whenever he’d please—it makes my toes curl at the mere idea of what he might do. I remember how desperately I wanted the stranger to have his way with me, how hot I thought it would be. And Marcelo seems to be equally down for the experiment.

But one thing does cross my mind. “I don’t want to be choked.” I meet his eyes in the mirror, and he’s already watching me intently. “I can still feel the belt around my throat if I think about it too much,” I admit, my hand resting where it was a few nights ago. “Maybe eventually but—”

“No choking,” he repeats, kissing my neck gently. “I won’t force that on you.”

Taking a deep breath, I grab his hand and place it between my legs. He groans at the contact, his fingers immediately sliding between my folds to find wet heat. “But,” I say on a shuddering sigh, “everything else.”

“Can I chase you?” His finger slides along my core, grazing the bundle of nerves that sends a moan slipping from my lips.

“Yes.”

“Can I bite you?” He nibbles my throat.

I nod, giving him more access.

“Can I fuck you, whenever I want, however I want?” His fingers dip into me just the smallest amount, and it is like explosions behind my eyelids.

“God, yes, please—anything.”

“If you ever don’t want me to do something, just tell me. Otherwise…” His free hand comes up and grips my cheeks, forcing my eyes on his through the mirror. “You are mine to do with as I please. Got it?”

“Yes,” I whimper as his fingers slip out of me again.

“How’d you get so fucking wet? Was it from looking at yourself in the mirror? From my hands on you?” He easily finds my clit again and pinches it between his fingers.

“Marcelo,” I moan, grabbing his wrist.

The hand holding my cheeks lets go and completely covers my mouth, pressing tightly. “Or, is it that we can be caught right now? Does my little songbird like to be touched in public?”

I hesitate, wondering if that’s what it is—if knowing that the beautiful woman could come back at any second, knock on this door, and might hear me moaning on the other side.

“I wasn’t going to tell you this,” he says against me, pulling my chin down once more to meet his eyes, “but the first time we met, I knew your hands had just been used to get you off.”

I freeze.

“I was on the other side of the confessional, songbird. I heard you sing as you touched yourself, as you made yourself come. I nearly busted the wall down just to get a better view.”

His fingers on my clit don’t relent as he roughly rubs in small circles. I squeeze my thighs together, but it only makes the pressure more intense. But the embarrassment of having been caught, of that settling into his mind all this time, makes my knees weak, but the hand at my pussy keeps me upright.

“Tell me, has anything ever been inside of you?” Marcelo moves his hand to play with my nipple again, squeezing and pulling.

“N—No. Nothing.”

“Not even those delicate musician fingers?”

I shake my head. I’d always been too afraid to . . . break anything, I’d never done it.

“Then I cannot wait to stuff and claim every gorgeous hole—this beautiful mouth, your tight ass, and your perfect fucking pussy.”

I moan again, his words making my body shake as his fingers work me up and up and up.

But then he completely stops.

“Not right now, though, not here. I want you so hot and bothered during our shopping trip. I want you to be dripping wet by the time we get back to the car, barely able to stand, so that when I claim some part of you, you’ll be begging me for it.”

“Wait, I want it now—”

“I can’t wait to have this”—Marcelo takes a step back, his hand moving from between my thighs to gently rub my ass—“riding my cock, bouncing up and down for me.”

I’m just about ready to faint from everything he’s done and said, when he lifts his fingers and sucks on each one that’d been between my legs.

His eyes practically roll to the back of his head as he moans around each one. “So fucking delicious.” Marcelo grabs his cock, rubbing his palm roughly against it before he adjusts himself. “Take a bra to put on now and give me the tag. But—” he snatches up all the underwear I’d brought into the dressing room. “Keep the panties off .”

I do as I’m told, and getting dressed again as Marcelo goes to pay. Sliding his pants back on, I can’t help but notice how much of a mess I already am. He’s going to have so much of me on the crotch of his sweats, and knowing that makes me even more desperate for him. As we shop at the next few stores, I find myself still mad at him for stopping so suddenly—but, damn, he was right. It’s making me want so much more.

As we shop, I find that I am really , continuously, drawn to black—black dresses, black skirts, black shorts. I’ve seen the way the “goth girls” dress in horror movies, and that style has always been so cool to me and now that I can choose how I want to look, it’s what I’m finding the most appealing. Not to mention how short all the dresses and skirts I’m choosing are. Guess Mom was right, I am a slut.

Once I pick a few outfits, Marcelo makes me choose a few more, then grabs socks and pjs for me as well. At one point, while in one of the dressing rooms, Marcelo slips into the room behind the curtain. I’m trying on a pair of jeans—with underwear on—I decidedly hate, as he slips something into the butt pocket. His hand squeezes my ass around the object as he whispers in my ear, “So you can always reach me.”

I pull it out to see he’d gotten me a phone.

“My number is already saved.”

I stare at it blankly. “Why did you get this?”

“Every twenty-five year old needs a phone. But also, how am I supposed to call you if I’m, for some reason, not with you?”

I blink at him. How—how is this man . . .

“Why are you being so nice to me?” I mumble.

He shrugs. “I’m a priest. It’s in the job description.”

I squint my eyes at him. “But you’re a bad priest?”

His gorgeous lips lift, a sly smile making him look dangerously handsome. He rubs his thumb along my bottom lip. “The absolute worst.”