All Chapters of DARK OBSESSIONS : Chapter 1 - Chapter 7

The Altar of Broken Vows The following night the church was colder, has the silence became heavier. Father Elias had spent the day in a haze of guilt and hunger. He heard every confession through a fog, gave absolution in a voice that cracked, and twice dropped the Host while his mind replayed the slick heat of Delphine’s cunt clenching around his fingers. At 11:30 p.m. he locked the main doors, turned the key with shaking hands, and left the side entrance to the sacristy unlocked. He had obeyed her. Beneath the black cassock he was naked, cock already half-hard from the mere brush of wool against his skin. He had not cum since the previous night, had not dared touch himself, so the head of his dick was swollen, slick with hours of denied pre-cum. He waited in the sanctuary, candlelight flickering across the marble altar. The crucifix above looked down in silent judgment. Footsteps. Soft and deliberate. The click of a woman’s heels on a stone. Delphine appeared at the top of

The Child of Eternal Desire.Nine months later. Easter Sunday eve, midnight.The old manor house on the outskirts of the village stood wrapped in moonlight, windows shuttered against the world. Inside the master bedroom, a single beeswax candle flickered on the nightstand, its golden flame dancing across tangled silk sheets soaked in sweat and desire. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine, rosewater, and raw, unending sex.Father Elias Moreau—no longer bound by any title but forever transformed by his surrender—knelt naked at the foot of the massive four-poster bed, wrists bound behind him with the soft silk sash from Delphine’s robe. His body had changed in these months of constant, consuming passion: leaner, harder, every muscle sculpted from nights spent buried inside her, days spent aching for her touch. His cock stood rigid against his belly, flushed dark and leaking steadily, untouched for weeks by her teasing command. The denial only made him hungrier.Delphine lay proppe

Saturday night. The Winter Gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.The Temple of Dendur glowed under amber spotlights, ancient stone bathed in golden light while champagne flutes clinked and society whispers drifted like smoke. Saint Valenti moved through the crowd like he owned the room, because he did. Charcoal Tom Ford tuxedo tailored to perfection, black silk shirt open at the collar, platinum cufflinks glinting like tiny blades.His hand never left the small of Raven’s back, thumb tracing slow, possessive circles over the bare skin where the dress dipped dangerously low.The dress he’d chosen was pure weapon: black silk so thin it clung like liquid shadow, backless to the dimples above her ass, slit to the hip so every step flashed the lace tops of her thigh-high stockings. No bra. No panties. Just the platinum choker locked around her throat—wide enough to be a collar, with a discreet O-ring at the front. The key dangled between his shirt buttons, warm against his chest.“Behave