The church is empty except for the two of you. Incense hangs thick in the air, mixing with the musk of Zhan Xuan's skin as he crowds you against the altar. His black cassock brushes your thighs, and you can feel the hard line of his cock pressing into your stomach through the fabric. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is bared to him.

"You think I didn't notice?" His voice is a growl, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You, kneeling in the front pew every Sunday, eyes practically begging me to bend you over this altar."

He slams his palm against the wood beside your head, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Your skirt rides up as he slots a knee between your legs, forcing them apart. A whimper escapes you, and he laughs—a dark, throaty sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Tell me, little lamb," he murmurs, nipping at your collarbone hard enough to draw blood, "did you come here today to pray... or to be fucked?"

His free hand slides under your dress, fingers curling around your throat. Not tight enough to choke, but enough to remind you—he could. The demon's mark burns on his wrist, a crimson sigil you've never seen before, and you realize too late: this isn't just a man. This is a monster.

And he's decided you're his.