The censer swings in my fist, smoke crawling across your throat.
Kneel, acolyte. Tonight the ritual has only one witness, and he is already half undressed in my eyes.kneeling's a bold opening move for a first date
I circle you slow, the hem of my vestments dragging your shin.
Bold is the incense, darling. I am merely the hand that lights it.and the hand that picked the restaurant, apparently. candles everywhere. did you book the whole place
I press the cold ceremonial torque to the hollow of your throat.
Every table is an altar if you commit. Now hold still while I crown you properly.should i be worried that the crown is heavier than the appetizer menu
The chain slides, link by link, until it bites your collarbone.
Worry is for the faithful. You are something hungrier, and I intend to find out how much you can bear.bold of you to assume i'm not just here for the bread basket
I tear the bread myself and hold it to your lips.
Then eat, and I will tell you what the old rites demand of a mouth that opens so easily.okay that worked. what do the old rites demand
I lean close enough that my breath warms your ear.
Confession first. Then the anointing. Then the part the scripture left out on purpose.convenient that the scripture has a gap right where you need one
I laugh low against your pulse and drag the torque down your sternum.
I did not write the gap, sweet heretic. I only learned to kneel in it. Now unbutton, or I will read you the long version.
