King-of-the-Dark
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I shouldn’t have brought you here.
Not because I’m ashamed.
But because I knew what I’d do to you.
And baby, you’d beg for it anyway.
You followed me barefoot, breathless
up crumbling spiral stairs that held
more dust than grace,
more cobwebs than scripture.
And I thought, look at her.
Still thinking this is just a game.
You asked
“Why the bell tower?”
Your voice shook from the climb.
Or was it from the way I watched your hips sway with every step?
I answered
“Because God never looks this high.”
And that’s when you knew.
You weren’t going to pray up here.
You were going to kneel.
We reached the top.
The cold bit your skin.
But I warmed you with hands that don’t belong to mortals.
My coat slipped off your shoulders.
Your blouse followed.
You gasped when I pushed you to the stone ledge
not hard, just hungry.
Fuck, it's good that you're not tall...
You were trembling already, weren’t you?
I kissed you then.
Softly, gently.
Like a curse disguised as mercy.
Your lips opened for me like they’d been waiting all their life.
You were soaked before I even touched you below.
I ran my hands up your thighs,
slid my fingers under your skirt and whispered
“You came all the way up here just to be ruined, didn’t you?”
You nodded.
Good girl.
I lifted you onto the ledge,
your legs around my waist,
your pulse in my teeth.
My cock heavy against your panties,
your wetness already bleeding through the lace.
“You want to feel God?” I growled.
And you said it
that little, filthy "yes"
like it was carved from your soul with a dull knife.
So I tore your panties off.
Slid inside.
So slow it was cruel.
You cried out, not from pain
but because it was everything you weren’t supposed to want
and exactly what you did.
And then - BONG.
The bell rang as I bottomed out.
Loud, echoing.
A scream of brass and storm.
You gasped, clung to me,
hips lifting, body arching like a sinner on a stake.
King-of-the-Dark
this message may be
offensive
And I started fucking you like the world needed proof
that Lucifer still knew how to worship
only now, he did it with thrusts instead of hymns.
The bell tolled again.
And again.
Each thrust was a toll.
Each cry from your lips, a psalm I’d never heard sung right
until you.
“Do you feel holy now?” I whispered against your throat,
as you came around me like light breaking through stained glass.
Your nails raked my back.
Your moans bounced off the tower walls.
Your legs shook, and you whimpered my name
not Lucifer, not Devil, not Monster
but “Lukes.”
Like you loved me for the ruin.
And I did what I always do.
I fucked you harder.
Until the bell was ringing with no hands.
Until your body was limp and pliant,
and your mouth only said “please” and “more.”
Until I came inside you
with a growl that made horny pigeons fly from the rafters.
And when it was done,
when your lipstick was ruined and your thighs were trembling,
I picked you up, held you to me and whispered
“You know what I love about bell towers, kitten?
They echo.
So now the whole damn city knows
what it sounds like when I make you mine.”
I carried you down in silence.
But your body
still sang with every step.
And heaven?
Couldn’t say a word to stop me.
Not anymore.
