I was shaking.
Bent over the small altar, my cheek pressed to cold stone, robes shoved up around my waist like a w***e in a confessional. My thighs trembled with every breath. His fingers were gone, but I still felt them. Still ached where they’d been. Open, wet, wanting.
God, forgive me.
No.
God wasn’t here.
“Look at you,” the demon murmured from behind me. “Dripping on His altar. What would your brothers say?”
I couldn’t speak.
He was stroking himself now. I heard it—slow, thick slaps of skin in the silence, oil-slick and heavy. I didn’t want to look. Didn’t want to see how big he was.
But I did.
I turned my head just enough, eyes catching candlelight and movement.
And f**k me, he was huge.
Not monstrous. Not grotesque. Human—but too much of it. Thick. Veined. Red at the tip.
