Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“I am a man of the cloth,” I say, lowering my voice now that my face is so close to hers. “I know I’m not a particularly good one, but I am trying my best. I might do things that seem blasphemous, and maybe they are, but I’m not about to throw away my vows for you. Your body, this beautiful, perfect body, is a distraction. It’s a road to Hell, straighter than any other I’ve been on.”
“But you…” She trails off.
“Yes. I am a blood-drinker. I do bad things, things that would make your skin crawl. I am a man, and I’ll never be rid of my monster. But I’m trying to leave my past behind me, and I still need to drink blood to survive. I do what I can to make peace with that. But this…you…”
“Touch me again,” she whispers, batting her long lashes. “If I am beautiful, then touch me again.”
I shake my head. If I touch her again where she wants to be touched, I’m going to end up fucking her on this cross, plain and simple.
“I’m taking you down, and then I’m getting you dressed,” I tell her, reaching for the ropes. “That’s the most I can do.”
“But you’ve already broken your vows by making me orgasm, haven’t you?” she asks.
I give her a wry smile. “Not quite. The devil is in the details.”
I suddenly pull the rope loose from around the wood, and she cries out, half of her slumping forward. I quickly reach under her free arm to prop her up before I undo the other rope until both arms are free.
She lets out a deep moan, and I know that if I hadn’t taken away her voice, she would be screaming.
She collapses right into my arms, and I wrap them around her, holding her firmly but not tight enough to cause her more pain. I can smell her hair, that sugared lemon and saltwater scent doing something foolish to my heart, and the fact that I’m actually holding her—naked—is dizzying.
“Your shoulders are dislocated,” I tell her. “They will take time to heal.”
I attempt to pull her forward away from the cross, but she stumbles to her knees, whimpering in agony. “It will take you time to learn how to walk too,” I say, bending down to scoop her up in my arms. I’m reminded of a few weeks ago, when I first brought her out of the ocean and carried her into the church. It feels like so much has changed since then, and yet I can’t forget why she’s here in the first place.
She’s my sustenance.
She’s my meal.
And if I was back in that ocean with her, I have no doubt I would be hers.
I place her in the chair by the desk, positioning her so she’s upright. Her arms hang helplessly at her sides; she won’t be able to use them for some time.
“Normally, I would suggest bathing before getting dressed,” I tell her. “Cleanliness is godliness, after all. But I’ve given you so many baths already, I think you’ll be fine.”
She doesn’t say anything to that, just sits there looking miserable.
I grab one of the linen shifts. “One of these is to wear at night when you go to sleep, the other underneath your gown.” I lift her limp arms and manage to get the shift on her, pulling it down over her breasts. The fabric is thin enough that I can still see the faint outline of her nipples as they poke through.
I grunt at the sight and then quickly grab her stays to cover her up further.
“Why are you giving me more clothes?” she asks, a pitiful sound to her voice as she tries to twist away from me. “Isn’t this enough? It’s not as if I’m ever leaving this room.”
I pause, considering that. I’m so used to never sleeping that it didn’t cross my mind that she might be tired, so getting all these layers on her might not be necessary.
I put the stays back with the rest of the garments and lean against the desk, studying her. “Perhaps one day, you’ll be allowed to go out into the world with me at your side. Perhaps one day, you won’t want to leave here.”
Her gaze hardens. “I would die before I would ever want that.”
My smile is bitter in return. “I know you would.” I straighten up. “I should make you a bed. I think if I pull out two of the back pews and—”
“The floor is fine,” she says sharply. “Just go. I’d like to be alone.”
I consider that for a moment. “Alright,” I say, grabbing the gowns and petticoats and tossing them onto the floor beside her. “That can be your bed, then, since you don’t wish to wear them.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re acting like a child, upset that I’m not appreciating your gesture.”