"Are you alright, my child...?"
Child? She didn't feel like a child...not when she looked at him...his fine clear skin, his tousled hair...
A priest...for god's sake...he was a priest and she wanted to bury her hands in his black curls...burrow under his traditional cassock and taste his incense tainted sweat...
Get a hold of yourself, Marissa...this is bigger trouble than even you can handle...
He touched her shoulder...surely the
approved
priestly gesture to make when someone is on their knees in an empty church...tearstained and shaky.
She didn't have to see herself to know how she looked.
Mirrors were useless anyway...
Her skin prickled, hairs rising on the back of her neck...And not from revulsion.
How could this be? Obviously holy men were
supposed
to touch demons and make them weak and hungry with desire, because, right now, she was about as weak as one might imagine a 200 year old creature to be...
"Can I help you?"
He knelt beside her, voice deep and resonant...like church bells...and spoke again…
"I'm Father Nicholas...what's your name?"
Marissa.
Her voice would not come. His heat was overwhelming...settling in her stomach...calling out. Her teeth ached.
Not now...you've resisted for so long...you can't give up now...
"You don't have to tell me your name," he whispered, hand still heavy on her bare shoulder.
Did he feel the icy coldness, was he reviled by her and too well trained to show it?
His fingers stroked her back slightly. Her spine melted.
"Do you want to be alone?"
Alone...too much alone
...the
Others
had abandoned her long ago, contemptuous of her need for absolution.
"Do you want me to stay?"
She found the strength to whisper
yes
...a raspy sound almost painfully loud to her ears...he leaned closer, unsure perhaps that he had heard right. She dropped her head back into her hands.
His arms came around her, he shifted, somehow he was behind her, holding her. Was this still a Vatican approved gesture? Had he crossed a line, driven by pity…or more?
"You are in God's arms now, child, you are safe...you are loved...everything is alright now..." His whispers were choral notes...angels chanting. Shivers went through her cold skin...caught fire...heated to a wild flame in her belly.
She had not felt the urge to feel a man inside her since the Turning. All desire was blood-based situated deeply in her fangs, in a heart – if you could call it that – that beat in rhythm with mortals when she was near them.
These familiar urges were present...but more...there was more...wildfire in her groin...tingling notes of pleasure that traveled through her torso and made her breasts heavy, her nipples hard.
He pulsed with a hymnal rhythm that pulled her.
She could smell him, all his mortal fluids...blood, sweat and semen. She could feel her nostrils flare as she breathed him in. Could taste his salt. Wanted to swallow him whole.
He kissed the top of her head.
"God is with you," he promised.
She swallowed a bitter laugh...
She felt his crucifix brush her back as he leaned in...it left an imprint in her skin...invisible but as permanent as a tattoo. She wanted him to press the metal against her belly, her breasts, her thighs...to lay the heavy chain against her hairless groin.
Further damned...was it even possible?
A sob escaped her without knowing. She pressed closer, turning her face to his shoulder.
He gathered her in his arms...This had to be an action not recommended at the seminary, too physical...to earthly for such a holy office. She was in danger of pulling him too close to condemnation in his god's eyes...but she was too overwhelmed by this fire to care. Her fists lay against his chest, his heartbeat like a purring kitten beneath her touch.
His robe was satin against her but much too rough somehow...all she craved was his skin, his heat, his blood...his cock sliding into her.
