Their Will be Done - Logan Fox Page 0,69

he pulls back and glances down the hallway like a double-agent sure he’s been caught in the act.

“In here,” he whispers, and drags me into the small prayer room where I first met Reuben.

I’m sure Reuben told them what had happened—they tell each other everything, after all—and my suspicion is confirmed when Apollo stops in his tracks and glances back at me with a sheepish grin on his face. “Is this cool?”

I don’t know what comes over me. Maybe it’s the fact that these four boys have been toying with me since the day I arrived. Maybe it’s all the fucked up shit that’s been circulating through my head the past few days.

It makes no sense, but suddenly I want nothing more than for Apollo to descend on me like a bird of prey on an unsuspecting rabbit.

I surge forward, grab his face in my hands, and kiss him as hard as I can.

In response, he circles my waist with his arms and spins me around and around until we bump into the altar.

He lifts me. My ass thumps onto the hardwood a second later. I wince into our kiss and he must suspect that he hurt me, because he darts back almost a yard and holds out his hands, palms out, like he’s trying to fend off arrest.

“I’m so sorry. Shit. That was so stupid of me. Did I—?”

I’m almost fucking panting, and he has the nerve to run away? I shift closer to the edge of the altar and deliberately spread my legs.

He just stands there, looking like he’s trying really hard to remember if he left the stove on.

So I beckon him like he’s beckoned me so many times before.

That works.

He surges forward, smiling into our kiss. But then he deepens the kiss and urges me backward. I expect a hard wood floor beneath me, but he grabs one of the pillows reserved for pious knees and tucks it under me.

My heart wants to burst open at that simple gesture. When it seems everyone only ever wants to fuck you or spank you, someone giving you a pillow seems like the kindness of the century.

He lays on top of me, light and wiry compared with his brothers, but he more than makes up for it with passion. His lips scour mine, his tongue eager and demanding and gentle all at the same time.

When I start panting against his mouth, my body working overtime to try and process the delicious sensations he’s wringing through me, his lips skate over my cheek and brush my ear, the side of my neck, my collarbones.

“Fuck,” I murmur as my hands disappear into his hair.

I forgot how silky it was.

He grazes one of my nipples through my sweater, and I arch from the pillow. The fabric is already damp from his mouth, and when he moves to my other nipple, it grows cold in the tiny chapel’s brisk air.

So I slide my hands over his shoulders, trying to keep him close so I can absorb the heat cascading from his body.

Which is when I feel his hard-on pressing into my leg.

And for the first time, that feeling doesn’t freak me the fuck out. Instead, it flabbergasts me.

How can I do that to him? Does he really find me that sexy, that hot, that…fuckable?

I squirm under him, willing him to touch me somewhere other than my breasts. My nipples are already as tight as they can go—that pleasure turns into almost-pain.

When he doesn’t move, when he keeps nibbling at my nipples like we have all night and he’s existed without sleep for centuries…well, I guess I feel I just have to take charge for once.

I grab his hand and mesh our fingers together.

Somehow, he takes that as a signal to start kissing my mouth again. He presses our interlaced hands above my head, pinning me as he forces his tongue between my lips and steals my breath away.

Which is all fine and well, but his kisses are only aggravating the now heavy throb emanating between my legs. I clamp my thighs together, but that doesn’t help.

So I open my legs again and wrap them around his waist.

That, finally, gets his attention.

Apollo stops kissing me. He pops up onto his hands like he’s doing push-ups and stares down at me with a look akin to panic on his face.

“No, shit, Trinity…”

“What?” Wow, why is my voice so hoarse? “What is it?”

“We can’t do that, pretty thing.”

“W—what?” My head’s spinning from his kisses, and it