The sacristy door stayed shut for the rest of Lauds, but I couldn’t leave.
I stayed bent over the vestment chest long after Lilith withdrew, legs trembling, breath ragged, her heat still leaking warm and thick down the insides of my thighs. The chalices on the shelf above me gleamed like silent witnesses, gold and silver catching the candle flicker, reflecting my flushed face, my swollen mouth, my veil half-torn and crooked.
I should have run.
I should have fallen to my knees and begged God for forgiveness.
Instead I stayed there, palms pressed to oak, ass still lifted, hole twitching with aftershocks, already aching to be filled again.
The door never opened. No footsteps in the corridor. No horrified gasp from Mother Superior or from any of my sisters. Somehow, impossibly, no one
