Something is going to give soon, and I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
I don’t know how much longer I can resist breaking.
As if he can sense my strength slipping, he drops his head and drives into me so furiously I fear my bones might snap.
But there’s no pain.
There should be pain… I know, logically, there should be pain, but there’s only more pleasure.
More sensation.
So much sensation I’m freaking choking and drowning in it.
“Tell me where you are, Chloe,” he grunts, each word strained with exertion.
I thrash my head some more in a last-ditch effort to fight off what is coming.
It works for a few seconds, but then he grabs my chin and forces me to look up at him.
At first, all I see is shadow.
Dark mist in the shape of what should be the face of a man.
But then the shadow begins to melt away, dripping into nothingness.
Green eyes meet mine, and the shock of it shatters the last of my resistance.
Almost at once, everything that’s been building up inside me explodes.
“Tell me, Chloe. Goddammit, tell me!” he roars.
But it’s too late.
Just as my body shatters into a million pieces so does the dream.
His face—a face that has no right to be so beautiful or breathtaking—fades away, replaced by the flat white of my bedroom ceiling.
Reality comes crashing back in, and the weight of his will instantly disappears, no longer pressing down on me with suffocating heaviness.
There’s no immediate relief, however.
The dream may be gone, but I’m still caught in the grip of a powerful orgasm.
Writhing and jerking helplessly against my bed, I have no choice but to ride out the waves of sensation. My core, stretched and full just a heartbeat ago, desperately squeezing and pulsing around cold emptiness.
Trapped in unwanted throes, it feels like an eternity passes before the heat in my veins finally cools enough for me to think clearly and get a grip.
Panting against my bed, soaking wet from sweat and… other things… things I’d rather not admit, an icy cold fist wraps around my heart when I realize what just happened.
He came for me again.
And I almost told him where I am.
A sudden burst of adrenaline surges through me and I sit upright in fear. My eyes immediately search my room, sliding over everything. The foot of my bed. The soft yellow of my walls. The pile of dirty clothes I left on the floor. My overflowing hamper, and the small altar in the corner dedicated to Saint Benedict.
I even bend over the side of my bed and check underneath it. Making sure he’s not here right now, hiding like the bogeyman.
There’s nothing there though. Only some dust bunnies big enough to gnaw on my toes.
Thankfully, I’m alone and everything is as it should be.
Collapsing back against the bed, I give myself a moment to finally catch my breath, and stare up at the ceiling. Trying to get my racing heart under control, I watch the first rays of the sun peek over the tops of my curtains, slowly brightening the room.
It must be dawn, or close to it. If it was any earlier…
Shoving that thought away, I sit up again and grab the small bottle of holy water I keep on my nightstand. Popping the stopper, I start to splash the holy water all over my body, like Father McCall taught me, while the prayer of protection pours from my lips.
“Saint Benedict, I implore thy loving heart to pray for me before the throne of God. Protect me from the dangers that which daily surround me. Shield me from the evil connected to my unclean body…”
I nearly choke on the last two words.
Unclean body.
I’ve never felt more unclean in my life.
Despite my earlier terror, the last twinges of the orgasm still tingle through me. From my head, to my core, down to my toes, I’m still slightly buzzing and tingling.
And there’s a warmth.
A soft, fuzzy warmth washing over me like a reward for my release.
Maybe I’m already damned, I fear for a breathless few seconds.
But no… I can’t be.
I did not give in. I didn’t. I fought it with everything I had.
I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t go seeking it. I didn’t want it.
It was forced upon me.
Still… Even knowing he forced me, I feel guilty and afraid.
I didn’t fight hard enough. I felt things I knew I shouldn’t be feeling.
I was too weak.
For women like me, lust is the greatest sin. The sin that will ultimately be my ruin if I give into it. Others in the world may commit lustful acts and revel in all kinds of wickedness and debauchery.
But never me.
No, thanks to the mark upon my thigh—the little red mark in the unnatural shape of a figure eight—I can never allow myself to feel any desire or hunger for another’s body.