Desires & Heresy

Inside the treasury chamber of the Cathedral, the ledger lay open, but Eleanor wasn't reading it.

Her fingers trembled around the quill, ink spilling uselessly onto the parchment. The golden glow of candlelight flickered over the towering shelves, illuminating stacks of wealth—coins, relics, sacred artifacts.

None of it mattered.

Because he was here.

The heat of Zane's presence burned at her back, his body close enough that she could feel him even without touching.

Then—a hand.

Large, firm, resting beside hers on the desk. Close enough that if she tilted her wrist, she'd brush his fingers.

"Working so hard, my devoted little priestess?"

His voice was low, indulgent, threaded with amusement.

Eleanor swallowed. "I—I have duties—"

Zane shifted, a slow, deliberate movement.

His fingers landed at the nape of her neck, just beneath the high collar of her robes, tracing down the length of her spine with a measured touch.

"You're tense."

His hands slid lower, smoothing over the tight curve of her waist, hips—not quite gripping, but measuring, claiming.

"You should rest," he murmured. "Your body needs it."

Then—he touched her.

A hand slid between her legs, fingers pressing firmly against her core.

Eleanor's breath hitched, thighs clamping shut, trapping his fingers between them. A useless defense.

"Zion, not now. Not here..." she whispered, her voice unsteady, betraying the very resistance she tried to summon.

Zane chuckled, his other hand gripping her thigh, spreading her effortlessly.

"Still resisting?"

Then—pressure.

Even through the fabric, he could feel the soft, damp heat of her core, the way her warm, tender flesh yielded beneath his touch.

His fingers moved, a slow, lazy rub over her clothed slit.

Eleanor sucked in a sharp breath, her body tensing, betraying her. The fabric did nothing to shield her from the sensation—from him. 

Each slow press of his fingers sent heat curling through her, her thighs quivering.

"You're already warm," he mused, mocking. His thumb pressed just right, tracing the shape of her hidden pearl. "Are you wet too, Eleanor?"

She shook her head. A pathetic, useless lie.

Zane only smirked.

His fingers worked in steady, unhurried circles, rubbing, teasing, pressing deeper, testing the way her body melted under him.

"You pretend to resist," he whispered, feeling her hips shift unconsciously, grinding against his hand. "But look at you."

Eleanor froze.

She hadn't realized it.

Hadn't realized that she was pushing into his touch, chasing the friction.

Zane groaned softly, his palm pressing firm against her lower belly.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, fingers dragging against the soaked fabric, never stopping.

Then—footsteps.

Eleanor stiffened, golden eyes widening.

Someone was outside.

Zane didn't stop.

His fingers pressed harder, rubbing deep, slow strokes, keeping her right at the edge.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her thighs twitching.

She should push him away.

But she didn't.

"You're trembling," Zane murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

His fingers twisted, pressing just right.

"Is it fear… or excitement?"

Eleanor bit back a cry, her body fighting itself—desperate to resist, desperate for more.

Zane laughed softly, his tongue flicking against her ear, feeling the way she shuddered beneath him.

Then—he pulled away.

The wet sound of slickness breaking apart, the unbearable loss of his touch—

Eleanor nearly whimpered.

Zane stood, licking his fingers, watching her tremble.

"You don't even know, do you?"

Her thighs were slick, open, her body aching from denied release.

The footsteps outside faded.

And she felt no relief.

Only disappointment.

Zane leaned down, lips hovering just over hers, his breath hot and teasing.

"Don't worry," he whispered.

"I'll finish what I started… in bed."

A shudder ran down her spine.

Moments later, under the cover of night, she found herself in his bedchamber.

The door had barely clicked shut before Zane was on her.

He pinned her against the cold stone wall, his body flush against hers.

Her breasts—full, soft, firm— were crushed against him, her nipples stiff, aching, pressing through the fabric.

"You didn't answer me earlier," he murmured, fingers sliding down her waist, her hips. "Was it fear… or excitement?"

Eleanor shuddered, her breath catching in her throat.

She still didn't know—or maybe she did, and she was too afraid to admit it.

Zane chuckled. "I'll make it clear for you."

Before she could react, her body left the floor.

A startled gasp tore from her lips as he lifted her effortlessly, the sudden shift making her grasp at his shoulders, her fingers digging into his robes.

Then—the bed met her back, soft and cool against her heated skin.

Eleanor gasped, barely having time to react before he was above her, his hands gripping her thighs, spreading her wide beneath him.

Her robes were loose, barely covering anything.

His amber eyes gleamed with wicked delight at the sight of her.

Her thighs were slick, her inner lips glistening, still throbbing from the torment he had given her in the treasury.

He didn't wait.

His fingers traced her swollen bud, pressing, stroking slow, devastating circles, dragging out the pleasure he had denied her earlier.

"So sensitive," he murmured, feeling the way her hips lifted, seeking more.

Eleanor let out a shaky whimper, hands gripping the sheets.

"Zion—"

He smirked, watching her body respond to him.

Then—his fingers pressed lower.

The slick heat of her folds parted easily beneath his touch.

"So wet," he murmured, dragging his fingers along her entrance, feeling her flutter around nothing.

Then—he pushed in.

A single finger stretched her open, slow, relentless, feeling her walls clench down, fighting the intrusion, tight and virgin-soft, unbearably snug around him.

Eleanor jerked, a gasp leaving her lips.

"Ah—!"

Zane exhaled, his lips curving into a slow smirk.

"You're so tight, Eleanor."

Her walls clenched, pulsing around him, her body fighting and yielding all at once.

"Relax," he murmured, rubbing her clit in slow circles, coaxing her body to open up for him.

Eleanor panted, fingers clutching the sheets, her inner muscles fluttering around him.

Zane pressed deeper, until he was knuckle-deep, feeling her struggle, tighten, then finally yield.

"Still resisting?" His voice was smooth, teasing. "Or do you simply not realize how much you need this?"

A second finger slid in, forcing her wider, her slick walls pulsing helplessly around him.

Eleanor gasped, a choked whimper slipping free, her thighs tensing before melting open.

Not to escape.

To sink down onto his touch.

Zane hummed approvingly, thumb circling her sensitive pearl, building her higher and higher.

"Let go for me."

A sharp cry tore from her lips, her walls seizing around him, her body arching wildly as pleasure crashed over her.

She shattered, her inner muscles gripping his fingers, her hips lifting, her breath breaking into desperate moans.

Zane groaned, watching her come undone.

He didn't stop.

His fingers stayed inside, feeling her flutter, squeeze, and quiver around him.

"Still pretending you don't want this?"

Eleanor couldn't answer. She lay breathless, thighs still trembling, slick, open—utterly ruined.

Zane withdrew his fingers, feeling her walls try to keep him inside.

Eleanor lay spent, trembling, her breath uneven, her body still reeling from the aftershocks. She felt like she could pass out any moment—but then she saw him.

Saw the way he lifted his fingers, wet and glistening, to his lips.

Her eyes widened, her last shred of energy pushing out a weak, breathless protest.

"Zion—don't… that's dirty…"

His amber gaze burned into hers, unwavering as his tongue dragged over his fingers, slow and deliberate.

"Sweet," he murmured.

Eleanor's face burned. She turned her head, pressing a shaky hand to her flushed skin.

"You're impossible…" she mumbled.

Zane only chuckled, leaning down to brush his lips over her ear.

"And yet, you taste divine."