I nod, even though my throat burns. A mess of emotions twists in my gut—regret, confusion, something black and bottomless.
I rise slowly, brushing dust from my knees. The burn between my thighs hasn’t gone away. Because the dream was better. Because he’s not enough. Because I’m becoming something I don’t understand.
“Why now?” I ask, my voice rough. “After ignoring me for days?”
Shawn leans against the door, eyes unfocused. “I don’t know. I just felt like… I had to.”
A chill races down my spine. Like if he didn’t—what?
He doesn’t finish the thought.
We step out of the closet like nothing happened, but I feel like something followed us out.
“There’s a bonfire this weekend,” he says suddenly. “Want to go with me?”
I cross my arms. “You actually want to go with me?”
He laughs, a little sheepish. “Yeah. And I’m sorry… for before. I just—I’m not used to having to work so hard.”
I scoff. He has no idea what it’s like to cage your hunger with guilt.
He reaches for me again, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I like you, Lillien. I don’t mind waiting.”
I nod, but my mind is already somewhere else.
Back in the confessional. On my knees.
Before a man who isn’t a man.
“I was going to go anyway,” I murmur. “But I have to go now.”
He kisses me before I leave. It’s soft. Sweet.
And utterly forgettable.
Because as I walk away, all I can think about is how none of it was enough.
And how I’m already planning to kneel again.
FIVE
The church is empty now. The last confession ended over an hour ago, and the flickering candlelight feels like a dare. I should have left. Should have gone out, fed on something desperate and willing—dragged some nameless sinner down into the dark and fucked the hunger out of myself.
But I didn’t.
Because I’m waiting. Not for salvation. Not for penance.
For her.
I tell myself it’s just need. That I want the taste of her sweetness, the scent that clings to her skin like silk soaked in honey. But even I know that’s a lie.
She’s under my skin. Rooted there. And she doesn’t even know it.
I sit in the booth, back against the worn wood, muscles taut, cock half-hard just from the memory of her. Her scent. Her voice. The nervous energy trembling beneath her polished surface. She’s a contradiction wrapped in innocence and tension, denial braided with desire—and it drives me fucking insane.
Then, the door creaks open.
The air shifts. Thickens.
