Declan's Demand

“Now, what were you going to say, Sydney?” I murmur in a low voice. “And remember that lying is a sin.”

“Mr. Natas.” Maybe it’s the sting of my touch that makes her shiver, but I love the fact that she’s in my arms at my mercy. Whether I grant her any is another question.

“Wrong, angel. I’m the devil.” I haul her up into my arms and crush my lips against hers, kissing her for the first time. I’m right. Those damn lips taste of sweet honey—almost too sweet as they part under my mouth. I taste her in long strokes and grind my pelvis against her, letting her feel the steel rod that would give anything to rock her foundation right this minute.

Her moans are noisy and fun. I pull her mouth off mine, letting the juice of our kiss string between us in a chain of longing. I want to pull her in close and taste her salty tears, but instead I push her down, down, down to her knees cramped in the corner.

“Declan,” she whispers, and my hands squeeze her shoulders as I hover over her, crowding her space and stealing her oxygen. She responds nicely to my wordless command.

One hand moves to the front of her, clasping her delicate throat and feeling her soft submission. My thumb strokes the soft, pale skin and I feel the heady flutter of her heartbeat at her pulse point. She’s flawless, and I can’t decide if I want to mark her or toss her out of the box running scared.

“Do you know what being mine entails? Mine in every way?” I clarify. Of course she doesn’t know. This is nothing compared to what I could—no, would—do if she were

mine. If an innocent young woman like her knew what I liked, what I wanted, what I would do to her if she gave me her submission, she’d be screaming for Jesus to save her.

Good thing Jesus isn’t here.

I look down and her face is bright and open. Maybe it’s the Holy Spirit, maybe it’s the sanctity of where we are, but I have a hard time giving a fuck anymore. She does nothing except meet my eyes in a guileless expression of acceptance. Sydney is so sweet that looking at her should give me cavities—when all I want to do is drill her.

She whimpers

“Do you, Sydney?” I ask again.

She shakes her head no, and I realize I’ll show her. I’ll corrupt her just enough to give her a taste, a literal taste of what being mine would entail, because I’m a selfish son of a bitch with a heart more shriveled than the Grinch.

My hand wraps tighter around her neck until I feel the chain and clasp of a necklace. I stop and pull it out of her top, slowly letting each round bead pop out of her neckline. “What’s this, pretty girl?” I roll my fingers over the hard, polished stones.

Her hand closes tightly over mine, clasping the cross. “It’s my rosary.” Humming for a second, I pull the rest of the semi-precious rose quartz stones out from her shirt. If she were mine, I’d bathe her in expensive gems. But she isn’t.

My hand wraps the beads around my fist and I pull the strand tight, putting pressure against her neck. “Remember when I said I would defile you?”

She nods and my dick protests behind my zipper.

“P-please.” Her eyes bulge in surprise.

“Please what?”

“Mmm.” Her words muffle.

“How about ‘may I please suck your cock, Declan?’ Hmm?” I jerk her forward on her knees, growling my demand.

“W-we’re in c-church…”

I lean down, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort because I’m that kind of bastard. “I know. Now be a good girl and ask nicely.” I’m prepared to let her go and never see her face again. As much as I would miss her beautiful blue eyes, I know it’s the right thing to do.

She looks like she might hesitate, push me back, and flee. I wait for her to turn me down and reject me in kind, but it doesn’t happen. Instead her eyes go wide, shocking me, and she moans long and loud. I don’t think she realizes how loud she’ll sound from inside the confessional. Part of me wants the whole congregation to hear her submit to me.

“Declan…”

I cup her cheek in my hand, giving her a placating smile as I rub my thumb over her trembling mouth, effectively shutting her up. “Be quiet, Sydney. People may hear you.”

My other hand massages her neck, eliciting a surprising little moan. I watch her war within herself when she whispers the words that threaten to make me spunk like a teenage idiot in my thousand-dollar dress pants.

“D-Declan, may I please s-suck your c-cock?” Her lips purse and the temptress licks them, making me jerk my hips with my rock-hard arousal. The minx has got to know what she’s doing to me. I can’t explain it, but I’m going to make my dick erase all other dicks for her in this singular act, this one moment of uninhibited mouth-fucking.

My free hand jerks my buckle open and pulls the zipper of my dress slacks down in a rushed, sloppy movement lacking my usual finesse. Her small hands reach up and part the superfine wool, barely grazing me. I hiss with the heat and excitement of anticipation. The confessional feels burning hot and I close my eyes, savoring it. If this is hell, then may the Lord take me now.

“Yes,” I encourage, yanking her forward and looking back down at her.