The Prophet (The Cloister Trilogy 2)

I moan, and he yanks my hips up. He keeps rubbing my slick hole, then squeezes his finger deeper. This is nothing like the violation of the butt plugs. His touch sends heat racing through me and pooling in my stomach. My aching muscles begin to tense again, everything drawing tighter and tighter. When I hear his zipper, I turn and look at him. He’s shirtless, every muscle in his body drawn taut.

His eyes are shadowy pools of need. “I hope you’re ready, little lamb.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t know.”

“I do.” He pushes his cock head against me, and I lean forward. Grabbing a handful of my hair, he pulls me back. “Don’t move.”

The pressure grows, and I bite my lip as his head slips inside.

“Ah fuck.” He pushes harder, and I yelp from the pain.

“You have to take it, little lamb. I want you to feel all of me.” He leans over me and presses his forehead to my back. “I own every fucking piece of you, little lamb. Your ass is mine.” He pushes farther in, and I clutch the bedspread.

He reaches around, his fingers brushing my stomach, and starts stroking my clit. I curl my toes as he draws my focus to the swipes and dips of his fingertips. When he’s pushed fully inside me, pain wars with arousal.

“So tight. Fuck.” He bites my back, an animal keeping its mate in place. My body quivers under his possession, each of us slick with sweat.

His fingers don’t stop their dizzying tease of my clit, and he doesn’t let up as he pulls out and sits back on his knees. He spits, and I look back at him, his gaze on my ass as he pushes inside again. “Look at you.” He groans. “Just fucking look at you, taking every inch in your sweet virgin ass.”

I let my head drop onto my pillow, my ass in the air as he starts a slow fuck, each plunge inside verging on pain but hovering on pleasure. He slips his fingers inside me again. “Goddamn.” Pulsing forward, he fills every bit of me with him. His cock, his fingers, his voice in my ear, his dark heart beating with mine.

I push back against him, and he grabs my ass. “That’s it.” With a slap that resounds through the room, he pushes inside me faster. I want the punishment, need to feel him deep. He grips my shoulder and pulls me up to him, his chest to my back.

He tugs my hair until I crane my neck around and he kisses me hard while thrusting inside me. Everything is rough—our kiss, his fucking, and his hands roving my body. He slaps my breast, then grips it hard. I moan into his mouth, my legs still wide as he brings his fingers back to my clit. Tiny explosions burst through my body as he pinches my nipple and strokes me, his cock embedded deep inside me, and touching secret places with each hard thrust.

We are joined, my hands up behind his neck, our bodies moving and grinding as arousal blots out everything except our animal need for each other.

His fingers move faster, pushing me to the brink. I open my mouth as my body seizes again. I moan low and long into his mouth as my orgasm crashes down like a deluge. He shoves me down onto the bed, and with a hard grunt, pulls out. I’m lost in my pleasure as hot jets of come lash across my ass, and his groan rattles to the very core of my soul.

My legs give out, and I ease down to the bed, lying flat on my stomach and trying to catch my breath. He lands on his side next to me, his breath ragged as he brushes the hair away from my face, the strands wet with sweat.

I can’t speak, only meet his gaze. Something passes between us. A silent communion of our souls. I can’t say it’s forgiveness, because I’m not ready for that yet, not so soon after the Rectory. But it’s the acknowledgement of our bond—the one that began the night of the bonfire, and the one that was cast in iron the night he took my virginity.

He strokes my cheek softly with his thumb. The fire is momentarily doused. I smile at his gentle touch. His eyes widen a little. Is he surprised?

“I know I hurt you.” His voice is like shards of stone, and I don’t know if he’s talking about turning me in to the Rectory or what just happened between us.

Either way, the answer is the same. “Yes.”

He strokes a hand down my back. “I like hurting you, little lamb.”

I should be repulsed. Instead, a flicker of heat fires inside me. “I know.”

“I have to go.” He pulls back and, for the first time since he barreled into my room, casts a glance at the camera.