Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

I come with those words, sucking his cock with eagerness as every part of me constricts with pleasure. My climax triggers his, and as pleasure rolls through me, his seed begins to flow over my tongue and down my throat. I am being flooded with his need, and I am drinking it down.

“Yes, good girl,” he praises between gritted teeth. “One day I am going to fuck you,” he says, lifting me up so we are eye to eye. “One day you will spread your thighs and beg to have me inside you, my bare cock in your tight, wet hole, my seed splashing against your womb. I will fuck you long and I will fuck you hard and afterward you will never be the same.”

His promise is intense and passionate and almost sweet. His gaze is all-encompassing, hypnotic. Still panting from the force of my need, I fall into his eyes, and after that I know nothing more.

Chapter Seven

Nina

When I open my eyes again, it is 8:30 am on Sunday morning and I am in my bed. I am not entirely certain that any of the events of the previous evening happened at all. The taste in my mouth could simply be morning breath, I rationalize. The odds that Father Bryn fucked my mouth last night are low. And yet, it felt real. I can still conjure the mental sensation of his thick cock thrusting over my tongue time and time again.

There is something very strange going on in this house. Too strange for me to write it all off as a hyper-realistic fuck dream. I’ll know when I next see Bryn if it happened. He won’t be able to hide the truth. I’ll see the intensity in his gaze and know if he truly intends to take me.

I am supposed to be attending church with Jonah. I doubt Jonah will attend, though maybe the rough treatment at Bryn’s hands will make him more compliant. I haven’t seen him since the break-in downstairs, and I feel guilty about that. But I also have bigger problems right now.

“God help me,” I mutter to myself. I am looking for something to wear, and I am coming up absolutely blank. Mostly because I left jail with the clothes on my back. I can wash my underwear in a sink, but I can’t magic up a church worthy outfit out of clothing that has seen a transatlantic flight and two days of wearing already.

“What seems to be the trouble, miss?” Crichton appears just as I begin to truly despair.

“I don’t have anything to wear to church. Actually, I don’t have anything to wear, period. They let us out of prison with what we went in with. I don't know where our luggage is.”

“Your brother’s things have already been retrieved. Yours appear to have been lost.”

“Figures,” I sigh.

“I may have a solution.”

I wonder if Crichton has gone to inform Bryn of my fashion emergency. I can’t see Bryn caring about fashion. He’ll probably lend me one of those bright cardigans that will sit like a dress on me. Might actually be cute with a belt and some sneakers, now that I think about it. Probably too short for church, though.

Crichton is back more quickly than I expected. He has a dress in his hands.

“This belonged to your mother. I believe you are of similar proportions.”

It is beautiful, a silky green that highlights my eyes. I know before I put it on that I am going to look amazing in it. My mother had the most exquisite taste, and she and I do have very similar body types.

“My mom still has clothes here? How long was she here for? Did she live here? How did she and Bryn know each other? What…”

“I am afraid many, if not all of those questions are not mine to answer,” Crichton replies. “I can provide the garment, but not the solutions.”

“The dress will do, thank you, Crichton.”

“If you would like to get dressed, I will conduct you and the young sir to the chapel shortly. We are already running somewhat late.”

Well, great. He’s going to be mad as hell.

Way too many minutes later…

The church is cute, even though it is situated on a miserable windswept moor. It has a dark romantic feel about it, very Gothic. Very English. Jonah is wearing a bright yellow hoodie and green pants. I don’t even know where he got them from. I think he intended to stand out in some kind of color rebellion. But he doesn’t stand out at all, because the chapel door stands ajar, revealing a whole host of parishioners wearing the most incredibly bold and vibrant knits.

“You okay?”

“Broken rib,” Jonah says. “Fine as long as I don’t move too fast, or laugh, and there’s nothing fucking funny here. We need to get away from this priest freak.”