Maren’s POV
He f***s me over the altar like a man exorcising himself.
Every thrust is deep, punishing and deliberate, his hands gripping my hips hard enough that I can feel the bruises blooming in real time.
My wrists are still bound behind my back with his rosary, the wooden beads biting into my skin every time he slams forward.
My cheek is pressed against the cold stone and my mouth is open and the sounds coming out of me is the filthiest hymn ever sung.
“This is what you wanted,” he growls behind me, driving deep enough that I feel him in my stomach. “You wanted a priest to lose his mind over your pussy.”
“Yes,” I moan into the stone, pushing my hips back to meet him. “Yes, I wanted this. I wanted you to f**k me on your altar, Elijah. I wanted to ruin you.”
“You have,” he says, a
