The Bound Angel (Sacrilege Rising: Book 1)

Chapter Two

The afternoon sun sank beneath Baltimore’s jagged skyline. Long shadows fell over the city, reaching across residential and commercial buildings alike, a gloved hand choking the last remnants of daylight.

The sun struggled like a fighter after eleven grueling rounds. It peeked between the haloed silhouettes of Harbor East, sliding between towering buildings and warming the city with its last shreds of life. Eventually, light faded to memory.

When it finally set, a chill settled over the city. The cool air was welcome at first, providing relief from the recent heatwave and drying sweat-drenched skin. But the temperature continued to plunge until it bit with the promise of early autumn.

In the heart of Baltimore, sitting at a little desk, nestled inside a little office, one among many little storefronts, Meredith rubbed her arms. It had gotten chilly all of the sudden. She’d been at it for hours and still had hours to go, and it was her own fault.

“Don’t beat yourself up too much,” Tom had said in an attempt at comfort before leaving for the night. But it was hard not to. She wasn’t wired that way.

The day before, one of their painting crews had arrived at a job site on the wrong day. The library was friendly enough about it, which was something at least. They’d offered to have the place ready for the evening if they wanted to come back later.

But later wouldn’t do. The schedule was a finely tuned machine, as anyone who coordinated part-time work knew. It was constantly evolving as customer needs and workforce capabilities changed, the push and pull creating friction that needed constant attention. When one piece, no matter how small, was thrown off, the whole thing had to adapt. It was a machine Meredith oversaw.

When someone called out, it was her job to find a replacement. When a client needed a job expedited, she pushed lower priority work back with an apology and a small discount. And Tom left her to it. After a few short weeks on the job, she was better at it than him, anyway. So, when Tiff’s crew arrived early and Meredith scrambled to rearrange everything, she thought she’d fixed it.

Then the Baltimore Museum of Industry called. They’d missed their appointment window because she’d accidentally pulled the crew from that job to go to the library. They called Tom directly, and Meredith spent a very uncomfortable twenty minutes in his office. He never raised his voice or threatened to fire her, he just looked so… disappointed. The lines in his face sunk a little deeper. The gray at his temples looked a little lighter. Yelling would have been easier to handle.

Meredith went to sip her coffee, only to find the cup empty. Annoyed, she threw it in the trash bin with a little too much force. It ricocheted off the rim and skipped across the floor, leaving brown droplets in its wake. It deserved her withering glare for its betrayal in her time of need.

Grumbling, she refocused on the spreadsheets.

Eventually, finally, after too many phone calls and apologies and emails, and as much charm as she could muster, it was all straightened out. With the two biggest issues solved, her attention turned to the ripple effects, and a few hours later a dozen other jobs had been shifted to make it all work. Barely. There just weren’t enough hands. In the morning she’d tell Tom they needed more help.

When Mike came back, they wouldn’t be stretched so thin. If he ever did come back. It was funny, she actually saw him more now than she ever had, it just wasn’t at work anymore. Meredith glanced at the clock, and her foot started tapping on its own. It wasn’t too late, if she texted him now.

There wasn’t a curfew for their evenings, exactly. But usually after, well, after they’d enjoyed each other and were basking in the afterglow, Mike would pull his clothes back on and go to the kitchen for something. Or he’d hop on his laptop to do schoolwork. He never said she had to leave, but Meredith got the impression he had other things to do. It didn’t make her mad, exactly. She was the one who wanted to keep things casual after all, and spending the night too often was the opposite of casual. But still, it was starting to get a little awkward.

Not that she was complaining. When they were together, Mike took his time, and she never felt rushed or anything less than the sole focus of his attention. And he certainly never left her disappointed. After each round he was ready to go again within minutes. It was flattering. She blinked. What was she supposed to be doing again?

Meredith leaned back in her chair and stretched. Hunching over the desk was killing her back. Maybe Tom would agree to one of those standing desks. The coffee cup lying on the floor caught her eye, and she sighed. There were only a few women in the company, and even now there was an unspoken expectation that it was her job to keep the office clean. Stupid patriarchy. Plus, it was her own trash.

The storage closet door creaked when she opened it, and a few moments later her wadded-up paper towel swished in the trash can. Nothing but net. Or, trash bag. Whatever. She glanced at the clock again. Still plenty of time. Message written, her finger was hovering over the ‘Send’ button on her phone when movement caught her eye.

She looked up, but the place was empty. When had it gotten so late? The reading lamp on her desk provided a little patch of light, but the office was otherwise dark and creepy. She’d never been there alone at night before.

Meredith tapped the button. Message sent. She set the phone on the desk and stretched her legs out to wait. He usually answered right away, and the thought made her smile. Should she change? Probably a waste of time since they would be…

Movement again. It must have been the shadow of someone outside passing by the window. She’d been in every room of the small office and knew it was empty, and Tom had locked the door when he left.

Her little lamp flickered. That was weird. Normally when light bulbs died, they just… died. Another movement, this time from the other corner. She snapped her head around. That time it was definitely inside the office. The hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Meredith stared at the shadows lurking in the corners. The lamp flickered again, casting the room in stuttering blackness. She stood and slowly backed up, making her way to the door as quietly as she could, palms sweaty and heart racing.

On the other side of the room, in the darkness just outside her little lamp’s reach, something crossed from one side of the hall to the other.

“Hello?” Her voice cracked when it echoed back to her. The lamp wasn’t enough. She needed to light up the whole room. She reached along the smooth wall, searching by feel without taking her eyes off the dark hallway. Her fingers found a bit of plastic, and she flipped the switch, expecting the light to catch the intruder off-guard. She prepared to run.

But nothing happened. She flipped it again. Down then up. Still nothing. She kept flipping, each one faster and more urgent than the last, desperately hoping one of these tries would do the trick.

A rustling sound from her left made her jump. She strained to hear over her own breathing. A shadow moved to her right. Panic was setting in. The reading lamp flickered again, but this time it didn’t stop, casting her little oasis in quivering light.

A high-pitched whine filled her ears, like a jet engine warming up. Then the light burst, shattering right there in its socket with a piercing squeal and little shards of glass tinkling on the tile where they fell.

The room was pitch black and silent now, except for the sound of her own breathing. It was so dark that blinking made no difference. Meredith stood for a dozen racing heartbeats, completely still, waiting, watching, listening. Her wide eyes flicked from one corner of the office to the other. Another dozen heartbeats came and went while she strained to pick up a sound, a motion, anything at all. Maybe it was just her imagination. Maybe…

The storage room door creaked in the dark, loud and long and piercing, like a screeching cat. Her head snapped around. Every instinct told her to run, but her feet refused to move, caught between fight and flight. Her heart thundered in her chest. Somewhere close by, the sound of footsteps sent her heart into her throat. Her palms were sweaty. The footsteps were getting closer.

In the blackness, on the desk just a few feet away, her phone vibrated, and the screen glowed.

A perfectly manicured hand picked it up.

***

“Halt! Who goes there?” The voice was gruff and distinctly British. Two men appeared out of the fog. They seemed to be hopping, or maybe galloping, as they approached a castle.

One of the men was clad in chainmail, a white tunic decorated by a yellow sunburst, and a golden crown. The other appeared to be his servant in brown and gray drabs, but the sunburst on his chest matched his lord’s, even if it was faded. This man was shorter, though it was hard to say whether that was due to his true height, or the result of being hunched over from the pair of oversized travel packs strapped to his back. In his hands were two halves of the same coconut. They made a clapping sound, like a trotting horse, as they approached. When the pair pulled up in front of the high stone walls, the clapping sped up as if it was startled, then came to an abrupt halt.

Emma hadn’t planned on watching the movie. It just sort of happened. She needed something to distract her besides the ice cream. So, she flipped through channels, not really paying attention, until a familiar voice said those familiar words. The man spoke the Queen’s English, which reminded her of home. And, if she was honest, it was quite cheeky, if not nearly as cheeky as her guy friends thought. Nothing was that funny. More importantly, she was familiar with the jokes and could just let them happen without having to pay too much attention.

What was she thinking? Well, she knew what she was thinking, but not why she was thinking it. Mike was attractive, of course. Any woman could see that. But they were friends. He wasn’t one of a hundred college acquaintances that disappeared between semesters. Nor was he one of those people that existed on the fringes of your life, like childhood companions you still cherished but only spoke to on birthdays anymore. He was a real, true friend, someone she could rely on if she needed help and trust without thinking twice. And she had ruined it.

Emma sniffled, wiped fresh tears from her cheeks, took another bite of butter brickle, and tried to focus on the movie. When they got to the bit about the difference between African and European swallows and whether two could carry a coconut between them, a snort forced its way out. Quite cheeky indeed.

On the next scoop, her spoon scraped along the bottom of the bowl. Sighing, Emma carried it to the sink, then stopped at the sight of her discarded shirt on the floor. It was at least a size too small, and her cheeks grew hot just looking at it.

What was she thinking?

When he saw her in that shirt, his breath catching and cutting off whatever he was about to say, it made her stomach flutter. Just as she’d predicted, that boy couldn’t handle a little skin and a push-up.

She’d had to turn around, or else her satisfied smile would have given the game away. That must’ve brought his attention to her scandalous shorts, because she could almost feel his eyes drilling holes into her ass as she fiddled with the air conditioner. The memory of that feeling made her tingle again, and the smile threatened to return.

Emma put the ice cream tub back in the freezer with a sigh. If she kept eating, she wouldn’t fit into the cute maxi dress she just bought. Therapy shopping was a real thing. She leaned against the air conditioner, the cold air nice on her bare skin. She’d purposely turned the unit off before leaving for her date with Mike, and it really had been unbearably hot when they’d returned.

Not a date, in hindsight.

She returned to the couch just as the king and his squire were sharing a look of disgust as they left the castle walls, the servant clapping the coconuts at a quick trot.

Emma’s mind drifted from how everything was ruined to how could he turn her down? She saw the way he looked at her. How could she not? He’d always been terrible at hiding it. Though flattered, she cherished their friendship too much and politely ignored the sidelong glances. But then something changed.

She didn’t know what it was, but a few weeks ago, out of nowhere, he began appearing in her thoughts. Private thoughts. Thoughts he normally wasn’t a part of. Lately, she’d been lying awake at night thinking about his broad chest, thick arms, and callused hands. Imagining him picking her up and tossing her about was… interesting.

He was just confused.

Maybe that was it. She’d caught him off guard, after all. Emma’s cheeks warmed again when she remembered the look on his face as he rounded the corner and saw her. She was practically half-naked, and his reaction made her thrum with anticipation.

It simply moved too fast. He didn’t have time to think.

That was certainly true. They’d both been carried away on the wings of alcohol and lust. That first drunk kiss had begun so gentle, so tentative. It smuggled in true desire.

He wanted you. He just didn’t know how to show it.

She didn’t know where that thought came from, but it didn’t sound right. Mike knew how to show it, alright. God, he looked good without a shirt. Had he always been so hot? The only thing better than how he looked was how he felt. The way he effortlessly picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. The way his big arms wrapped around her body. The way his bare, muscular chest pressed against hers. Emma closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip at the memory.

The next time you see him, he will still want you.

Was that true? He looked like he’d seen a ghost. It was crazy to think he could recover from that; to think they could recover from that. But… maybe she could talk him through it. Yes, that was it. They were friends, after all. She’d talked him off ledges before. What were friends good for if not convincing you what was in your best interest? She was starting to feel better about this whole thing.

Give him what you know he wants.

Now there was a thought. Did she know what he wanted? Of course she did. It wasn’t rocket science. Images and sensations drifted through her mind. Lying between his legs in bed, looking up into his face; holding his gaze as his eyes turned dark; a sharp inhale from his throat; a low, rumbling groan.

Emma didn’t notice the shadows pooling in the corners of the room, or the gentle padding of bare feet on the floor behind her. Her eyes were still closed, and she didn’t see the black-clad knight on the screen get cut down while prattling about a flesh wound. She wasn’t aware of the dark silhouette behind the couch, leaning over her, fingers resting gently on her temples, whispering in her ear.

***

It felt so good, so goddamn good, and she was so goddamn close. Allie humped her hand, ass rising and falling on the sheets. There was a wet, messy sound as her fingers plunged between drenched folds.

Her eyes were closed. Her chest heaved. Climax was right on the horizon. There, finally, that was it, a spark deep down that would light the fuse. She pinched her nipple and drove a finger in, her pussy clenching around the too-small digit. She was on the edge. She could sense it just on the periphery, an ocean wave she desperately needed to break.

But the wave stopped approaching. It didn’t leave, it just stayed out at sea, refusing to come any closer.

She huffed and switched to rubbing her clit. That was better. That would do it. The pressure, the friction, was exactly what she needed. A million nerve endings all stimulated at once.

A tingle started in her core and spread to the tips of her fingers and toes. The spark, the wave, approached again. But it still wouldn’t come.

A growl rumbled in Allie’s throat. She’d never been this frustrated in her life. It was maddening. It had to be more than physical. She imagined riding a hard cock, his hard cock, and the thought made her shiver.

Hands on his chest. Eyes closed. Head tilted back. Working his rigid length, buried so deep, rocking it forward and back. He was so thick. Grinding, rubbing, fucking. She was right on the edge, right on the brink, standing on the lip of a canyon, looking down and unable to take that last step.

She rubbed furiously, flinging her other hand out to the side, blindly searching for the drawer handle. Then digging, searching through objects she couldn’t identify just now. Her fingers bumped against something hard and smooth and shaped in a familiar way. With the flip of a switch, a buzz filled the air, and she pushed it between her legs.

Oooh yes, that would do it. That would definitely do it. The combination of hard pressure and unyielding vibration would push her over the edge. She gasped. Her toes curled. It was so close. So goddamn close.

But it wouldn’t come. Why the fuck wouldn’t it come? She forced images into her mind. Riding, kissing, grinding. Rubbing her clit, rolling her hips, that beautiful cock stretching her and filling her up and hitting all the right spots. A noise escaped her throat that she hoped was another growl but sounded more like a whimper.

She knew why it wouldn’t come. Deep down, she knew. Why did she do this to herself?

Slowly, tentatively, she reached for new images. Kneeling. Looking up. Meeting the darkness in his eyes. She began to tremble. His fist tangles in her hair as he guides her face forward. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

His cock touches her lips, then pushes into her mouth. The head bumps against the back of her throat and stops. Then it pushes harder. It’s so thick and it’s holding, holding, holding… until she can’t take anymore, and she tries to push him away, and she slaps his leg, but he’s still holding, still throbbing, and spots appear in her vision.

Allie continued stroking her poor pussy, but her focus was all in her mind now.

Finally,he pulls out and she sucks in sweet air. While she catches her breath, he rubs his slick cock all over her face, laughing, but she doesn’t care because every inch of her is on fire.

She really was on fire. Sweat mingled with other fluids and soaked the sheets beneath her ass.

She’s bending over.He’s standing behind her, tying her wrists behind her back with her own panties. He’s gentle, but firm. She fights but can’t get free, which is okay because she doesn’t really want to get free. He nudges her feet apart. When she refuses to take the hint, he spanks her. The sting rolls from her ass to her toes and back again, and she shudders.

Then he pushes into her aching pussy in one hard thrust, and she feels herself spreading around his length. It drives the air from her lungs until his hips snap against her ass. He pauses then. His cock is so thick, and she has to stretch to make him fit, and it’s just the right size and hard as steel and it twitches so deep inside her. Her legs would have given out if the bed wasn’t there to hold her up.

She’s so perfectly full, so wonderfully stuffed. She needs to grind, to hump, to feel friction against her clit while she’s so fucking full. But she can’t use her hands, and that makes it so much sweeter.

He’s giving it to her good now. Finally. Each thrust pushes her face into the sheets. She’s so wet she’s dripping down her thighs. Her tits are bouncing. Tremors begin in her groin then move throughout her body. It’s so overwhelming she wants to close her eyes just to feel it more vividly. Then it begins. That little spark in her core. The beginning of the wave that she knows will grow and swell until it finally, mercifully, breaks.

Allie was brought back to the present just as the wave was starting to crest. The tension was building and building and building, every muscle in her body clenched to the point of pain. Her back arched and her breath caught and her toes curled. Her eyes squeezed shut and her face twisted with pleasure.

Then it overflowed, all at once, pulsing along her limbs from her fingers to her toes. It felt like an electric current was running in different directions under her skin. She rode it for as long as it would last, holding that final image in her mind, bent over and helpless and getting properly fucked, until it began to diminish. And still she held on, pressing the vibrator to her clit as hard as she could, desperate for one more minute, one more moment, one more second, until she collapsed back into the bed. She was out of breath, muscles weak as jelly, her hand and wrist slack.

Still, she managed to jump when a sultry voice next to her purred, “I knew I liked you, Allie.”