Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93482 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I liked the way he made me feel, even when he was punishing me, even when he hurt me. Although he never really hurt me. He was expanding the bounds of what my body could handle. What he called punishment was showing me everything that I was too afraid to admit I craved.
I shook the thoughts out of my head, reminding myself that he used me. That he didn’t love me. The acts that we did together were not expressions of love, they were of power. Not even a power struggle between me and him, but between him and my mother.
It took everything I felt for him and twisted it into something grotesque. I thought he was trying to break my will, to bend my body. Instead, he broke my heart.
I grabbed the box of candles and returned to the basement, ready with some excuse for Mrs. Donahue about why I had to go home. A migraine, perhaps? Being around everything my mother planned was just too difficult? It didn’t matter, I was going to make my excuses and leave.
When I got back to the basement, everyone had gone. All the volunteers, the other society women, they were all gone. The only person left was Father Manwarring.
“I said we need to talk.”
He took several steps toward me. I knew what he wanted, and worse, I wanted it too. But some things were more important than what I wanted. I needed him to leave me alone.
Dropping the box of candles at my feet, I turned and ran out of the room. If we were alone together, I knew exactly what was going to happen, and it couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t allow it. Not again. I couldn’t survive him wrecking me again.
Even the hallway had already been completely emptied as I ran, looking for a way out. Father Manwarring chased after me. His shoes slapping on the carpet as he called for me to stop.
His voice getting closer by the second.
CHAPTER 35
THOMAS
Why was she always trying to run from me?
How did she not understand that she was mine?
She needed to give in to the inevitable. Even her body knew it belonged to me. Why else would she have made that last left instead of a right? Had she just turned right, she would have been in the main chapel and there would have been nothing I could have done to her.
It would have been too public, too many people around. She would have been free. She had been down here enough to know that.
But she turned left. She turned left into the storage area under the church, a large section of the basement that was hardly ever used. It was barely lit by ambient light. I could just make out her form as she pushed herself further and further into the room. Making a mess the entire way. She even knocked over a candelabra that was, I think, from the 1400s, from Spain.
It was priceless, and she didn’t even look back as she knocked it over in her vain attempt to run. She was going to be punished for that, and I couldn’t wait.
“Rose, angel. All you’re doing is begging for the lick of my belt across your pert little ass. Get back over here and talk to me.”
“Fuck you,” she yelled, her voice a little further away than I had thought.
“You keep talking like that, I’m going to wash your mouth out with my cum.” I pushed myself further into the room, trying to follow the path of destruction without tripping over something. With the way my luck had been lately, I’d end up accidentally tripping over a long-forgotten glass case that held the foreskin of Jesus Christ himself.
Then my little angel took another left turn.
Proving yet again how much she wanted me.
Had she kept going straight, she would have run into a hallway that would have led her to the rectory and then to the exit to the back alley where I first found her. Instead, she turned left toward a back exit leading to a hidden memorial. A tiny little outdoor, open-air chapel that was rarely used. Still, one of the older priests went out there every single day to light candles in remembrance of those that were lost.
I caught her reflection in a mirror stored in the room we were in, her eyes wild, her lips parted as she took a deep breath and tried to figure out what she wanted to do. The way she was crouched down also gave me a delectable view down her dress. She could run all she wanted, but her nipples were taut, tight little peaks, pressing against her bra, begging for attention. I knew her pulse was racing, and it wasn’t from running. I could even just see the green of her eyes around her blown pupils.