tops of white, pillar-shaped candles decorating the top shelf of the altar. I watched, hypnotized as I slowly came around to the front of the altar. There, framed by the candlesticks, ornate goblets, and the miniatures of saints set in their alcoves, she looked worthy of worship herself.
Deyva didn’t address me until she lit the final one, then blew it out with a purse of those lips.
“Just setting the mood.” She smiled, spinning on the altar top to face me with crossed, bare legs. “Honoring your sacrifice.”
The flickering candlelight illuminated her horns like some kind of twisted halo, an angelic creature who’d been rejected through no fault of her own.
I started to kneel in front of the altar, at first as a joke, but when my face came to the same level as her knees, and I had to look up at this otherworldly, beautiful creature that found us, I knew.
I was hers. And I was done for.
Her hands came down to the sides of my face, sweeping across my beard and neck with the tenderness and affection I’d craved for so long. And she gave it to me freely.
“Am I a worthy sacrifice?” I scooted closer, nudging my face between her knees to plant kisses on her thighs.
“Stavros.” I loved how she said my name. A moan, a plea, and a curse all rolled into one. Her knees parted for me—warm, smooth flesh gliding across my ears to grant me entry. “Am I worthy of your worship?”
“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation, emphasized with a sucking kiss just on the inside of her knee. I felt her shiver from the coarseness of my facial hair and turned my head to give the same treatment to her other leg. “Will you keep me?”
“Stavros…” Her fingers dragged over my scalp, forging pathways through my hair that sent tingling sensations all throughout my body. “I don’t think I could give you up.”
I ended the kiss I just planted inside her thigh, pausing to look up at her in my leisurely journey to her cunt. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes hooded and hungry, but a tiny wrinkle of apprehension between her brows stood out among her flawless features.
“Is that a confession?” I lifted my head to rest my cheek on top of her thighs, gazing up at the woman who had me since she first entered my dreams.
“What if it is, Father?” she whispered, a slight tremble in her voice.
I almost wanted to laugh at the notion that she was concerned about getting attached to me. I was already bound to her by something that felt unshakable. More than lust, more than her natural allure, or how taboo it appeared for a man of my station. I was only a priest in name, and even that was debatable.
No, she was candlelight shining through darkness and desolation. She was warmth and comfort, a beacon of hope where there was none left. It might’ve been fucked up and weak to seek this, but I was miles beyond the point of caring. We all needed something good to cling to in times like these. For some, it was their family. For others, it was God. For me, it just happened to be this woman sitting on an altar.
I rose to a standing position, wedging my hips between her legs to guide them open. Deyva’s thighs squeezed around my waist as she placed her hands behind her for support. Our chests mirrored each other’s movements and audible breaths.
“Then I hope to continue being a worthy sacrifice.”
My hands circled her waist, holding her firmly as I leaned down to take a kiss. She sank her teeth into my lip, holding me attached to her while the rest of our bodies molded together. Her hands went to my shoulders, immediately sliding down and curling into my shirt in search of buttons to do away with.
Her kisses were rougher tonight—biting, pulling, and taking with a desperation that I was all too happy to match. I helped peel my shirt off my arms and let it fall to the pulpit floor before attacking the buttons on the one she wore. She beat me to the punch, pulling the loose fabric over her head and tossing it to the side.
“Watch out for the candles,” I murmured, sucking at her earlobe while my palms memorized her lithe ribcage.
She let out a soft giggle, squirming slightly under my mouth. “If I didn’t, which would you save first—me or the church?”