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 pump and thrust, her rear growing messier until I finally slip out. I watch as my cum drips out of her hole, running down over my cock, my balls, dripping onto the pew.
I don’t think I’ve ever made such a mess before.
Without thinking, I swipe my fingers over my spent cum and shove it inside her cunt, pushing it inside with my fingers until she squirms, her body too sensitive. But I’m not trying to get her ready again. It’s the sight of the gleaming white pearls on her pink flesh that does something to me, satisfies me like nothing else.
“Well,” I say, taking a step back, my eyes coasting over the sight of her beautiful body.
She’s going to need another bath.
Chapter Fifteen
LARIMAR
Inever gave much thought to what mankind’s version of heaven is like, but I’m fairly certain theirs doesn’t involve a rusted chain in one’s mouth. However, as I lie on top of the church pew, I feel as close to heaven as I’m going to get.
“Stay right there,” Priest says to me in a low, rich voice, briefly placing his warm hand on the small of my back. The gesture is soft, but it sends a wash of shivers over my skin. Funny how he can defile me so thoroughly—bound, chained, with both a cock and a candle of all things—and yet a simple touch feels just as good.
Perhaps even more so.
I’m not going anywhere, I want to tell him, but of course, I can’t speak clearly with the chain in my mouth.
I feel his presence move away from me, the sound of his trousers being pulled on, the sound of the lock being undone and the door opening. I turn my head to see him leave.
He doesn’t lock the door behind him.
This is your chance, I tell myself. Escape.
But the relentless orgasms must have done something to my head.
They’ve made me weak.
Damn it. I’m supposed to be the one seducing him and rendering him helpless through sex, not the other way around.
How did he manage to turn the tables?
I exhale against the chain, my eyes on the door. I don’t know where Priest has gone, but I can’t imagine he will be gone for long. Does he know he didn’t lock it?
I try to push past the postcoital haze and formulate a plan. I could get up and run. My legs work, and they aren’t bound. I could run, albeit naked, outside and keep running until I find help. The villagers would help me, I’m certain of it.
But Priest would probably hunt me down as he did before, and frankly, I wouldn’t mind if he subjected me to more angry sex.
Still, I have to remember why I gave up my fins to begin with.
I have to think about Maren.
I twist around and sit up carefully, trying to gather the courage.
It had been so easy to run the other day.
What happened to me?
Why do I feel compelled to stay this man’s hostage?
Because you like it, a tiny voice inside me says. Because you like being his captive. You like that he feeds on you and fucks you and makes you feel things you’ve never felt before.
Because you are like him.
And you like him.
I swallow uneasily. No. I can’t like him. I can’t like any of this.
I’ve been driven by the obsession of finding my sister for the last eleven years, my one singular purpose. I’ve survived the loss of my father, the loss of my kingdom, the loss of my other sister. I’ve survived abuse at the hands of rogue Syrens, survived years of loneliness and despair as I’ve searched the oceans looking for Maren.
I can’t give up now, even if I feel something for this man.
This monster.
This Vampyre.
But what if I’m never meant to find Maren?
What if I’m only meant to find him?
I hear footsteps outside the door, and I snap out of my thoughts, my heart racing.
Priest steps back into the room, shirtless but wearing his black trousers, carrying a bucket of water and a cloth.
He pauses for a moment, and hurt flits across his face as he looks me over before he continues walking.
“Were you planning on going somewhere?” he asks tepidly as he sets the bucket beside me.
I stare at him in response. I can’t answer anyway.
He just nods. “Lie back down. Spread your legs.”
My eyes widen. Again? We’re doing this already?
“I’m cleaning you up,” he adds quietly and gestures with a raise of his chin to do as he asks.
“You just bathed me.”
“And I just made you filthy again,” he says and motions again. “I wanted clean water for this.”
I lie back on the pew, my hands bound beneath me, and stare up at the ceiling.
I hear the washcloth going in the water. It’s deliciously cold and wet as he presses it against my inner knee and gently glides it up my thighs. He cleans me much like he did earlier, with delicate, methodical strokes.