[Erotica] The Nameless Kiss

This is Part 4 of an ongoing series. Part 1 – In His House, Part 2 – The Cleansing and Part 3 – Home. They also come with a Content Warning: Religious themes are present throughout.

I hadn’t realised I was crying until he reached across the table and wiped a tear from my face with his thumb while cradling my cheek in his hand.

‘Sorry. This is a bit silly. I don’t know why I’m crying.’

‘Well it has been a rather strange day, you woke up this morning in one life and now here I am leading you into another. We’ve exchanged minimal information, yet somehow, I suspect, you, as I do, feel like everything is happening as it should.’

‘Pretty much, I don’t understand so much, yet I understand I want to be here and should be here. I don’t know your name, or what you want from me. But I feel like you’re mine and I am it yours. It’s all very peculiar.’

‘Names are a funny thing. To engage with someone without knowing theirs is somehow improper, yet I could give a false name and you would never know, would that alter our experiences together though? I doubt it very much.’

His words meant more than I could understand, I wondered who he’d been to different people and something about the tone of his voice made me wonder which of those guises had hurt him most, or perhaps they had all played their part. Instinctively I curled my fingers around his hand as it lay upon my cheek, as I did so, my eyes met his and I for the briefest of moments I was so lost in his gaze that I couldn’t have told you my own name, let alone remember the fact I still didn’t know his.

‘Anyway, we mustn’t dwell on such things, our names will be known to us when the time is right. Now though I think we should rest.’

No for a moment did I consider telling him that I had a name, I simply followed where he led as if it were the most natural thing in the world for me to do. I paid very little attention to my surroundings as we wandered through the small house, it was only when he opened the door to the bedroom did I realise that things were a little less Catholic than one might expect from the abode of a priest.

The religious symbols were there, they were all there, but they were off somehow. My brain was foggy with the unexpected nature of my day, I nearly had it though, if I could just form one more thought … all thoughts were gone; he had kissed me. His lips, hot and assertive fixed upon me and pulled him into the very depth of my being. We were only kissing, of this I was certain but I could feel him moving within me, taking me, claiming me, possessing me.

He was stripping me bare in a way that had nothing to do with clothing. I could feel a lifetime’s worth of barriers and masks falling to my feet. He was setting fire to everything I thought I was and turning it to ashes and something new was emerging from the flames he had created. I wanted to thank him, to acknowledge him because the sensation taking hold of me felt more liberating than anything that had ever gone before it.

My eyes fluttered open for the briefest of moments and I finally understood. I knew exactly what kind of priest he was; not a priest and exactly what kind of man he was; not a man. I also knew I had promised myself to him and though I suspect I should have felt regret and fear, I did not. I felt devotion and arousal and I wanted nothing more than to lay with him beneath the myriad of upturned crosses as he left his mark upon my flesh.

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