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safarigirlsp · 3 years ago

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Sinners Welcome

Sinners Welcome

Exorcist Jacques Le Gris x Lawyer Reader

Word Count: 25.9k

Warnings: NSFW. Romance. Smut. Graphic Violence. Gore. Murder. Chasing. Nuns. Demonic Themes. Possession. Heresy. Horror. Priests Behaving Badly.

Summary: Sent to Rome to find an Exorcist on behalf of a client, you are introduced to the most notorious man in the business. Little does he know, his toughest case is just beginning.

Author’s Note: Let’s kickstart October right with some demonic fun and a hot ass exorcist! There are very little actual religious themes in this but plenty of horror, sexiness, suspense, and good times! Sinners are always welcome here!

AO3 Link

Serial killer americano si dichiara non colpevole a causa di possesso. Shaking your head, you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration at the sight of the headline printed across the Italian newspaper. It was too early to feel a migraine coming on as you sat in the quaint little cafe, trying to enjoy your morning expresso. You watched as an elderly man flipped through the pages of the newspaper, whose headline you could read clearly from your adjacent table.

You didn’t need to speak or read Italian to know what it said. American serial killer pleads not guilty by reason of possession. You knew all too well how the most notorious serial killer to hit the scene since the seventies had pled and the absurd defense he claimed. After all, he had paid you a handsome bonus to argue it in court on his behalf.

Being a defense attorney, you were no stranger to representing violent, guilty criminals. However, they usually had the decency to be honest with you. You could handle clients telling you how and why they killed someone, and you could usually even pull a win out of your hat for them.

What you weren’t used to was a client assuring you that he had no memory of any of his actions. That he wasn’t guilty because he didn’t lift a finger during any of his heinous crimes. That he was possessed by a demon or some other malignant entity. Frankly, all of it sounded a lot more like unmedicated schizophrenia to you or some other kind of delusional psychosis.

However, it wasn’t your job to diagnose your client, or even to care about the reasons or lack thereof behind his actions. It was your job to win, plain and simple. Morality didn’t enter into it for you. And you couldn’t argue that absent some kind of divine or unholy intervention, your case was a loser. The prosecution had your client dead to rights. You needed some kind of creative angle to have even a specter of a chance. And you were getting paid a spectacularly large fee to make the argument your client wanted, unorthodox though it may be.

Plus, you had gotten a free trip to Rome with an open-ended return ticket. Sipping on your genuine Italian expresso with your view of an elegant marble fountain lessened your embarrassment at being an international spectacle for your creative defense strategy.

Your client had paid for you to travel to Rome, to the Vatican itself, in search of an exorcist who could serve as an expert witness in your case. A credentialed professional with experience in this highly specialized field to testify in front of a jury that your client was indeed possessed at the time he committed his murders.

To date, this was the most extravagant foray into the ridiculous that you had ever undertaken.

Vatican officials had already informed you of the futility of your request to procure an expert from within their cloistered walls. You had learned that exorcists as species were in short supply these days, the majority of cases of alleged possession boiling down to mental illness that should be treated by a psychiatrist as opposed to a priest.

A single priest had taken pity on you, a tall, blonde man you guessed to be around sixty. Or perhaps it was humor that compelled him to help you. Pondering his motives, you turned the card he had given you over in your hands, appraising the quickly scrawled name and number. The priest had assured you that if anyone could help you, it was this man.

Jacques Le Gris. One of the very few exorcists who was still active and doing things the ‘old fashioned way.’ A frightening man with a reputation for getting results. Or so you had been told by the priest, who had also been kind enough to arrange a meeting between you and the infamous exorcist.

A meeting for which Father Le Gris was now ten minutes late.

Across the cafe, you saw a large man enter. His presence alone drew your attention, seeming to waft over to you like the smell of fresh coffee. However, it was the man’s striking appearance that held your gaze, your eyes drinking him in. The man was facing away from you while he spoke to the hostess, the muscles in his broad back showing through his black suit jacket and his long glossy black hair falling in waves around his shoulders.

As you watched him, the man turned suddenly to face you, meeting your eyes as if you had summoned him with your thoughts. Your breath caught in your throat before you noticed the hostess’s outstretched arm pointing at you, directing the man to your table. He smiled warmly as he began making his way through the cafe to your small table, having to turn his broad body sideways to edge between the other tables and patrons. He wore a fitted black suit with a crisp charcoal shirt, complete with a white priest’s collar.

“Father Le Gris, I take it?” You asked. Standing from the small two-person table as the man approached, you extended your hand to him and offered your name in greeting.

“Jacques Le Gris, yes,” he told you with a gallant smile. Taking your hand in his huge encompassing grip, he lifted it slightly in lieu of shaking it, as though he intended to kiss your hand but thought better of it.

Watching the looming man lower himself down onto a chair two sizes too small for him at an equally diminutive table brought a smile to your lips. He returned your smile with a self-deprecating one of his own when his knees knocked against the underside of the table as he scooted his chair closer.

Adjusting himself in his seat, his honey-toned eyes met yours with a disarming sharpness. Framed by a curtain of ebony hair, his eyes had a weariness about them, but their fiery depths held a passion that you sensed simmered just below the surface. His features were angular but sharply handsome, and his shapely aquiline nose sat above a black goatee and plush lips.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” you told him with a broad smile.

“How could I refuse?” He returned in a rich resonant timbre, still trying to make himself comfortable in the small accommodations. “Yours is a unique request. Very few things are novel for me these days but using possession as a defense for murder in a criminal case is admittedly a new one.”

“In my line of work it pays to be creative, Father,” you said jovially, trying to establish a rapport with the handsome man.

“Call me Jacques, please. Not Father. I’ve never cared for the title,” he corrected you, taking a sip from a small cup of coffee. “I allow it from my patients because it makes them feel more at ease to see me as a Father, given my role, but it is not a title I prefer.”

“Aren’t you a priest? An exorcist?” You asked, confused by his comments.

“I am, technically. An ordained demonologist, to be precise. I’m also a board-certified psychiatrist with an M.D. from Oxford,” he told you with a cocky grin. “So, if you prefer to use titles, you may call me Dr. Le Gris. Or simply Jacques.”

“I’m impressed,” you told him genuinely, eyebrows raised, taken aback by his credentials.

“They didn’t tell you about me at the Vatican?” He asked after another sip of coffee.

“No. Almost nothing. Only that some people found you frightening and that you were the best exorcist in the business,” you said, meeting his eyes. “You seemed like something of a dirty secret to them.”

“I am,” he agreed with a grin, smoothing his large fingers over his goatee as his eyes briefly caressed your figure in a decidedly un-priestly manner before returning to yours. “Both the best and a tightly kept dirty secret among the Vatican elite.”

“Glad to hear it,” you said, slipping unconsciously into lawyer mode. “As I’m sure you know, my client will pay you well for you to evaluate him and determine that he is possessed. And he will pay you even more to testify to that in court.”

“You think my diagnosis can be bought?” He interrupted, mildly offended. “I make no pretenses of being a celibate priest, mademoiselle, but I am far from a whore in the way you are wanting.”

“I meant no offense. But you’re right. The experts I’m used to hiring are tantamount to whores who sell their opinions to the highest bidder,” you said, leaning forward to reengage the man. “I’m just looking for your honest diagnosis as to what I’m dealing with. Then I can go from there. I’m out of my depth here, Jacques.”

You hoped there was some chivalry to the man. Surely, someone in his line of work had to have the constitution to tilt windmills and help damsels in distress. The slight smile that graced his lips at your words confirmed your assessment.

“Since you’re also a psychiatrist, perhaps you can tell me if he has another mental affliction? If he is not simply possessed?” You asked with a quiet laugh. “My laymen diagnosis is that he’s completely full of shit and guilty as hell, but he pays well. But you’re the expert.”

“And you want to win?” Jacques asked rhetorically, his amber eyes boring into yours.

“My client is making headlines here halfway around the world,” you said with a nod to the paper still held by the man at the adjacent table. “You’re damn right I want to win.”

“Fair enough,” Jacques said, admiring your candor. “When can I speak to him?”

“He’s in solitary back in the States. Speaking to him from here will be difficult. But I have hours of video and interviews.” You indicated your purse that contained several flash drives of footage.

“I may be able to offer a cursory opinion from that but there is no substitute for a one-on-one assessment,” Jacques mused. “But I’m happy to take a look.”

Smile widening, you reached for your purse to begin showing him footage.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm,” he told you with a laugh, holding his enormous hands up in front of him. “But this will have to be done at another time.”

Pausing in your motion, you raised an eyebrow at him in question.

“I’m running late for an appointment,” Jacques said, raising his left hand to look at the watch on his wrist. “I’ll invite you to join me. If you follow my instructions and do not voice your skepticism in front of my patient. You might learn something.”

“Learn something? You’re confident, aren’t you?” You asked with a smile, enjoying the man’s bravado.

“Just experienced,” he told you with a grin. “Or I can set another time to review your ‘case.’”

“How can I refuse a front row seat to an exorcism?” You asked, genuinely curious and excited by the prospect.

Grin widening, Jacques rose from the table, placing a bill down for your coffees. Waving the waitress down, he asked her to bring him an empty bag. She returned with an empty brown paper bag of the sort that one would take a pastry to go. Accepting the bag with a smile, he folded it and pushed it into his jacket pocket.

Standing tall beside the small coffee table, Jacques waited for you to stand and collect your things before setting out down the cobblestone street, mindful of keeping his long strides at a pace you could follow easily enough.

Walking through the ancient streets in the late morning sunlight, you admired the centuries-old architecture that surrounded you. You also slyly admired the large, devastatingly handsome man who walked at your side.

Jacques took the opportunity to give you a casual history lesson as you walked, telling you stories and histories behind sculptures and buildings you passed. You found yourself more enwrapped by the richness of his voice and the way his full lips formed his words than by the content of his verbiage.

A half-hour of walking at a leisurely pace brought you both to the gates of a large estate. Seated in the central part of Rome, its owners must have been exceptionally wealthy. Not the sort of people you would assume who would be prone to superstitious beliefs.

Approaching the large iron gate, Jacques pushed it open, waiting for you to enter ahead of him. Beyond it was a path cutting through a beautiful lawn that led to a stone mansion.

“Aren’t you supposed to bless me or absolve me of all my sins first?” You asked, pausing before the open gate to look up at him.

“I’m not sure that even I have the power to absolve a lawyer of all her sins.” He grinned at you before continuing. “You watch too much TV. I’m not Father Merrin.”

Raising his large right hand, Jacques made a vague halfhearted motion of a cross in front of your body. Ending the gesture with a sarcastic flourish, he finished by extending his hand out to the gateway, waving you inside ahead of him like a gentleman.

“Not to worry, mademoiselle. Sinners are welcome in my company,” he told you in a conspiratorial tone.

As he walked beside you toward the house, he reached into his jacket pocket, retrieving the brown paper bag from the coffee shop.

“Put something in this. It doesn’t matter what,” he said, handing the bag to you. “But nothing you can rationalize as being easy to guess, like American currency or the perfume that I can smell you applied this morning.”

“Why?” You raised an eyebrow at him, accepting the bag.

“Knowledge of the unknowable is one of the early signs of possession and one of the easiest to diagnose. Possession has many symptoms that mimic psychosis and only a few that don’t,” he explained, watching the way your eyebrow rose even higher with your skepticism. “But I’ll bet that not many psychotics can tell you about your deepest secrets and darkest fantasies or fears.”

Walking up a set of stone steps to a tall wooden door complete with an antique knocker, Jacques paused at the door, turning to you.

“Don’t address the demon directly if it presents itself. Even if it speaks to you. If you have a question, you ask me and I’ll ask it,” he told you in a sterner tone than his previous conversation.

“How will I know if I’m talking to a demon?” You asked, amused. “Will I see horns?”

“Trust me. You’ll know,” he assured you, reaching a hand out to knock on the door.

Rolling your eyes subtly, you reached into your purse, searching for a suitable object. You settled on a brand new lipstick that you had yet to wear outside of testing it at the makeup counter. Pulling it from your purse, you put it inside the paper bag and folded the top down, concealing it completely.

The door was opened by a chic woman, dressed to the nines in a form-fitting pencil dress befitting of a date night as opposed to a late-morning house call by a priest. You saw the way her eyes openly raked over Jacques’s body and the eager sheen to her gaze. Now, it made sense to you why she had retained his services. You wondered for a moment if she was the allegedly possessed victim until Jacques addressed her.

The woman eyed you scornfully when Jacques introduced you as his assistant, but admitted you into her home, nonetheless.

“How has he been doing since my last visit?” He asked, following the woman through an ornate foyer.

“Better, father,” the woman said, trying to project a sultry edge to her voice. “But he still has such terrible nightmares. He wakes up screaming. Sometimes he even wakes up with marks that look like bites.”

“Has he told you about the dreams? Or what leaves the marks?” Jacques continued, reaching the door to a sitting room and pushing it open for you to pass through.

“He says it’s an animal. He doesn’t know what kind but it’s black with red eyes,” she replied, stopping at the doorway. “You require privacy as usual, father?”

“Indeed.” Jacques smiled before following you inside and closing the door behind him, leaving the woman on the other side of the door.

Inside the room was a TV playing cartoons and a young boy who looked to be around five years of age wearing dinosaur pajamas. He was kneeling beside a coffee table, watching the colorful TV screen.

“Lorenzo!” Jacques’s voice boomed warmly across the room.

“Father Jacques!” The boy exclaimed, rushing forward with open arms to hug Jacques around the waist.

“How are you feeling?” Jacques asked, patting the boy on the back affectionately.

“A little better. I think it helps when I do the things you taught me,” the boy replied, letting go of Jacques’s thick body.

Lorenzo returned to the coffee table, kneeling back down beside it to play with some toys and blocks on its surface.

“I want to start by playing a game today,” Jacques told the boy. “A guessing game.”

Lorenzo perked up at the prospect of a game, smiling broadly.

“My beautiful assistant has a paper bag,” Jacques said, gesturing toward you, unaware of the effect his causal compliment had on you. “I would like you to guess what’s inside. Just tell me the first thought that comes into your mind.”

Looking from you to the bag you held out for his inspection, Lorenzo crinkled his nose in thought. He crinkled it even further in disgust upon arriving at his conclusion.

“It’s lipstick,” he said with a face no doubt reserved for describing girly things. “Lipstick called Burberry English Rose.”

Jacques looked at you inquisitively. You couldn’t keep your jaw from falling open enough to reveal your shock at the boy’s answer. Reaching into the bag, you withdrew the exact shade of Burberry lipstick that Lorenzo had described, turning it over in your hands in awe before returning it to your purse. Jacques held your gaze long enough to silently enjoy your reaction before returning his attention to the boy.

“I’d like to talk about some nightmares that your mother told me you’ve been having,” Jacques said softly, walking to the coffee table and squatting down beside it across from Lorenzo. Even sitting back on his haunches, Jacques still looked huge and imposing.

Lorenzo, however, ignored Jacques, his interest fixed intently upon you.

“Your necklace is very pretty, signora,” Lorenzo commented with youthful openness as he stacked blocks one on top of the other. “Very pretty for a gift that holds so much darkness.”

Jacques’s eyes darted from the boy to you, watching as your fingers absently traced the diamond encrusted platinum pendant in the shape of an elegant key, resting on your chest.

“Who gave it to me?” You asked the boy, feeling pinpricks of adrenaline sparking through your veins.

At your question, Jacques stood and took a step toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. Warning you not to address the boy, or whatever Jacques believed was possessing the boy, directly.

“Your boss. Your boss gave it to you at dinner. He said it was a gift to celebrate your first big win for convincing people that a man who had killed seven women was innocent, even though you knew he wasn’t,” the boy said nonchalantly, still playing with his blocks on the coffee table as if he was talking about his favorite cartoon. “But that wasn’t the real reason he gave it to you.”

“Why did he give it to me?” You pressed, feeling your pulse quicken at hearing the story you had never told another soul. A chill washed over your body, your senses responding to something deeply unnatural in your presence. Some rarely used, primal sense alighting inside of you.

“Enough, Lorenzo,” Jacques commanded, his deep voice booming through the large living room.

The boy ignored him, even though Jacques’s voice was loud enough to shake the walls, and continued speaking to you while playing with his toys.

“Your boss gave it to you for the same reason he hired you. Because he wanted to fuck you in his office and keep you his dirty little secret away from his wife,” Lorenzo said casually. “You didn’t fuck him, though. You wear the key every day to remind yourself that evil comes in many forms. Not just your clients that sit before you in handcuffs, but in the people who wear fancy suits and dresses. And to remind yourself that you can defeat it.”

Jacques looked over to you, watching you for a moment to make sure that you would remain composed. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you nodded to Jacques, answering his silent question.

“You should not believe that, signora,” Lorenzo spoke again, finally raising his soft brown eyes up from his toys to you, his demeanor more innocuous than his words. “That you can defeat any��evil. There are some evils that no human can defeat.”

“Lorenzo, it’s time to resume our session,” Jacques said, clapping his huge hands together loudly, the sound snapping both you and the boy back into focus.

Jacques spent the better part of three hours with Lorenzo, unhurried and patient. Taking a seat on the living room couch, you observed quietly. What you saw was unlike anything you would have envisioned as being part of an exorcism.

The remainder of the session consisted largely of Jacques talking to the boy like a father or a therapist. You noted a distinct lack of religious dialogue, prayers, or bible phrases. Instead, he primarily counseled the boy on strengthening his resolve, listening to his instincts above his impulses, and being mindful of the things and people he loved in his life as opposed to things he hated or feared. He also coached the boy in methods of developing mental toughness and fortitude.

The session finished as it began, with the child hugging the large man happily. Exiting the house, Jacques’s hand lightly skimmed the small of your back unconsciously as he guided you back outside through the door of the mansion.

“Perceptive for a young boy, is he not?” Jacques commented as you both exited the manor. “Did you tell young Lorenzo that your boss wanted to get in your pants before we met today?”

“Let’s just say you’ve piqued my interest,” you assented, the hairs on the back of your neck still raised from your encounter. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s conclusive.”

“In my line of work, conclusive usually means dangerous,” he replied, offering you his hand as you descended the stairs back down from the home. “Lorenzo’s case is minor, a weak entity. It’s relatively harmless. He’ll force it out on his own as he grows older and stronger, and all this will have been nothing more than a bout of nightmares and imaginary friends. He’ll be just fine.”

“So, there are degrees of possession?” You asked with a smile. “In your professional opinion, Doctor?”

“Of course, Counselor,” he agreed with a nod. “Just like any illness.”

Walking beside you, Jacques reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes. Shaking one free, he took it between his lips to pull it from the pack. Holding the pack out to you, he offered you one. After you politely declined, scrunching your nose in distaste, he returned the pack to his pocket before lighting his own and inhaling a lungful of nicotine.

“So, how do I persuade you to show me a more serious case?” You asked, stopping at the front gate and placing your hands on your hips in a lighthearted challenge.

“You would do well to simply remain a skeptic,” Jacques assured you, smoke billowing from his shapely nose as he held the gate open for you. “I would strongly advise it, in fact. You don’t want to see what I’ve seen, know what I know.”

“I’m being paid a king’s ransom to fight my skepticism,” you argued pleasantly. “I need to know how someone you would diagnose as possessed behaves if I’m going to form a viable defense.”

Chewing his lip in thought as he walked beside you, Jacques considered you with a sideways glance.

“If you are confident that you wish to see another patient of mine, you can accompany me tomorrow,” he told you hesitantly. “I can show you someone with a case that is a bit more pronounced.”

“What does ‘pronounced’ mean? Will I get to see some spinning heads?” you teased.

“Only if you’re lucky,” he replied playfully in return. “Afterwards, I can take a look at your client’s interviews and statements and give you my read on him.”

“I’ll look forward to it, Jacques,” you agreed with a smile. “I appreciate your time on this.”

“Don’t you know?” He asked, his voice still holding a teasing edge. “Dealing with skeptics is half the fun.”

Jacques walked blocks out of his way to walk you back to your hotel, ensuring your safe arrival before taking his leave. He left with a promise of picking you up himself the following afternoon at your hotel.

*******************************************************************************************

The following day, Jacques insisted on taking you to lunch before he introduced you to another one of his patients.

“One cannot battle the forces of evil on an empty stomach,” he assured you.

The small, family-owned restaurant to which he took you had by far the best Italian food you had ever tasted.

Wearing a pleased smile as he led you out of the restaurant after lunch, he knew he had done well. He paused at his sleek, black Jaguar coupe, bending to place a chaste kiss to your cheek, before opening the door for you.

After seating himself behind the wheel, he reached behind your seat, twisting his large body close to you in the confined space. You wondered if it was tantamount to a yawn-and-stretch move until he returned to his seat holding a file.

“Take a look,” he said, placing the file on your lap and driving away from the restaurant.

Inside the thick file, you saw the name and birthdate of a nineteen-year-old girl. Pages and pages of medical notes from different hospitals and doctors going back years contained a plethora of confusion and hopelessness. Each chart held a different diagnosis ranging from schizophrenia to epilepsy, from unspecified psychosis to dissociative identity disorder. Also listed were pages of different medications that had been unsuccessfully tried on the girl with no effect. The notes indicated that she had been institutionalized for years.

“I got to her late,” Jacques told you, seeing you linger on her intake date of years prior. “Her family called me as a last resort a few months ago. But she’s been succumbing for years now. I’m not sure how much I can do.”

“Succumbing?” You looked over at him as he drove through the frantic Roman traffic.

“Being possessed is very much a game of psychological warfare. Remaining mentally strong and resolved is how someone drives a demon away,” he said, hazarding a glance over at you. “If a person breaks mentally or even simply gives up, there’s no more to be done. The demon wins.”

Speeding through the narrow streets much faster than the posted limit brought you to a private mental hospital after only a few harrowing traffic encounters.

Walking inside, you noticed that just as with Lorenzo, Jacques carried nothing with him.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a bible or a crucifix or something?” You asked, mostly teasing.

“Would that make you feel better?” He returned lightly. “If curing possession was as simple as flashing a cross or reading the right bible verse, I’d be out of a job.”

“Then how do you do it?” You continued, mildly let down at how badly you had been misled by cinema.

“I have what Vatican officials call a ‘gift,’” he said, reaching to open the door to the asylum for you. “Which is a polite term for a curse.”

Inside, several nurses smiled coyly at the large man before looking at you with a note of disapproval. Jacques was quick to introduce you again as his assistant.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with the staff, two large male orderlies materialized from down a hallway. Both were almost as large as Jacques and wore stern expressions that would look more at home in a military regiment than a hospital.

The two men led Jacques and yourself down a corridor and through several locked doors, each secured by a keypad.

“Remember what I told you yesterday,” Jacques leaned toward you as you walked, speaking low near your ear. “Do not make eye contact or address the demon directly. Do not play games with this one like you did with the boy yesterday.”

“You’re not going to ask this one about my lipstick or my necklace?” You asked lightly, grinning at Jacques, as you walked past room after locked and padded room.

“This demon would expose things from the darkest places of yourself that you never wish to have revealed,” he told you sternly, not returning your smile. “Take it seriously. Do you understand?”

“Alright. I’ll be serious,” you said, raising your hands in supplication.

Near the end of the hallway stretching out in front of you, the fluorescent lights began to flicker. The unsteady lights were shorting so intensely that you could hear the electric snaps and sizzles from the circuits themselves.

“She knows I’m coming,” Jacques said to you. He did grin this time, but it held no mirth.

Drawing closer to the last locked room in the hall, a foul smell met your nose. Something in your body revolted at the odor, raising an impulse inside of you to turn and run back the way you’d come. It wasn’t the worst odor, something like rotting flowers mingled with the musky scent that one only encounters in deep underground caves. But the scent of it sparked your subconscious, causing every latent instinct inside of you to electrify your system.

“What are the orderlies for?” You asked, baffled that a man as large and powerful as Jacques would need assistance.

“They’re not present per my request. I work alone. They’re a mandatory precaution for this patient.” Jacques paused to look at you pointedly. “After she quite literally clawed the eyes out of the former resident psychiatrist.”

At his words, your eyebrows crept high up your forehead.

“If things go badly, stay behind me. Or them,” he instructed.

At the last room in the hallway, the hulking orderlies exchanged a nervous look between themselves. One man lifted a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

“Pronto?” The man asked Jacques, his features imploring the exorcist to change his mind.

“Pronto,” Jacques confirmed, gesturing toward the door.

“I can smell the unholy stink of you through these walls, priest,” a voice hissed from inside the room as one orderly unlocked it.

“Good afternoon, Elena,” Jacques greeted pleasantly in contrast as he entered the room.

Following him inside, the smell grew overpowering, seeping into your pores. The room was filled with static electricity, raising all the hairs along your arms and neck, and even coiling some strands of your hair and of Jacques’s into the air.

Jacques placed his hand at your back, directing you beside him so you could see, but keeping you close enough to protect you or quickly step in front of you if he needed.

The room was devoid of all furniture and was padded on every wall. There were no windows and no accoutrements. It was not hard for you to imagine how being shut in such a room could make anyone psychotic, without unholy assistance.

Standing in the center of the room was a painfully thin teenage girl. Her black eyes shone from inside darkened circles, stark against her pale skin that had not seen sunlight in years. Seeing you beside Jacques, her eyes darted to you, her head cocking sideways like an animal curiously eyeing a new toy.

“Have you brought her here to play with me?” She asked Jacques in an eerie lilt. “Or have you brought her here so you can play with her later, priest?”

“Let me talk to Elena and I’ll tell you after,” Jacques said sternly. Behind him, the two orderlies flanked the closed door. You could hear the nervousness in their unsteady breaths.

“You can’t talk to Elena, but you can smell her. Can’t you, priest?” The girl rasped. “You can smell her starting to rot. I’ve won and I’ll soon claim my prize.”

The temperature began to rise inside the small room, like a dial being turned on inside an oven. You started to sweat, your clothes feeling too tight and constricting. You wondered briefly if it was a mind trick or some kind of suggestion, until you saw the sheen of sweat on Jacques’s brow and the dark patch of moisture developing on his shirt along his spine.

Behind you, the orderlies began to cough, choking on unseen smoke. One of them turned to fumble with the door, panicking for fresh air.

Jacques turned to you briefly, concern written across his features when he told you, “Leave with them. Wait for me outside.”

Both orderlies now yanked on the door, trying to pull it open and unable to budge it.

“Have you told her that you don’t give a fuck about her case? Only about getting your cock wet inside her filthy cunt?” The demon snarled at Jacques. “Have you confessed your sins, priest?”

Her vulgar words drew your attention, your eyes darting naturally to the girl who spoke them.

Looking into the girl’s eyes, you felt as though you were falling into their abysmal black depths. You vaguely noticed the girl’s lips turning into a malicious smile as she stared you down. The smell that had raised bile in your throat moments before became pleasant, like roses and grass after rain. It smelled like home.

As the girl watched you, you felt a prickling sensation on your hand but you didn’t have the ability to tear your eyes from hers to look at it.

“Hellllllll-p,” she sneered, popping the ‘p,’ taunting Jacques while she looked at you. “Priest.”

The entire exchange lasted less than the span of a few heartbeats.

An enormous body stepping in front of you and massive hands gripping your shoulders roused you from your reverie.

“Look at me,” Jacques commanded you.

Reaching up his hand, he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face upwards to face him squarely. His eyes bore into yours fiercely and unblinking. You found their amber warmth the most comforting sight you had ever known.

When your eyes met his, the spell was broken, reality washing over you like ice water. The orderlies finally wrestled the door open behind you, allowing a rush of fresh, cool air into the room as they fled.

“Do you feel anything strange?” Jacques asked you softly, keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

“Nothing,” you assured him, assuming that he did not mean the rush of heat that shot through to your abdomen in response to his proximity and intense gaze. “I’m fine, Jacques.”

He looked into your eyes for several more heartbeats, watching you intently. Upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he sighed with relief, his huge chest heaving out a breath he’d been holding. His thumb caressed your skin, rubbing you softly, before releasing you.

“But I think something happened to my hand,” you said as the strange sensation in your hand returned, quickly turning to pain.

Jacques reached for your hand, taking it in both of his and turning it over. Between your thumb and forefinger was a burn, the skin raised and blistering, in the shape of a bite.

Appraising your injury, Jacques’s features darkened, his jaw clenched angrily.

“I’m fine, Jacques,” you assured him again. “It’s minor.”

Keeping one hand holding yours, he reached into his pocket to retrieve a handkerchief that he wrapped around your hand gently.

Jacques’s entire bearing changed with his anger, making him look even larger, as his ire filled the small room. Shoulders squared, he turned on the demon the way a boxer leans into an attack, his muscles tensed and ready for a fight.

“Now you look at me,” he all but yelled, teeth bared.

The girl’s face turned to him, wearing a satisfied grin.

“Look at me, Elena,” Jacques boomed at the girl, taking a step toward her.

Invading her space, he loomed tall above her, eyes boring into hers aggressively.

At his movement, the girl’s eyes jerked to meet Jacques’s. The intensity of her eyes softened and a hazel-green hue returned to them.

“Help. Help me, father,” a girl’s voice pleaded, distinct from her tone from moments before. Her eyes were wide and terrified, pleading as she looked into Jacques’s, and her frail body trembled.

“Focus on my voice, Elena,” Jacques instructed. “And keep your eyes on mine.”

The girl nodded, frightened tears streaming down her cheeks.

Moving swiftly, Jacques pulled something else from his pocket. A photograph of the girl and her mother. Taking the girl’s hand, he shoved it into her grip and closed her fingers around it.

“Tell me about this,” he said, watching her closely.

“My mother,” the girl stammered weakly.

“Good. Think of her and tell me how that makes you feel,” he told her, his voice growing more soothing.

“I love her,” the girl sobbed, her body shaking now.

“Focus on that, Elena.” Jacques spoke in a soft tone now. “The demon cannot possess you when you are consumed with love for another.”

“It can’t?” She asked, scared but hopeful.

“It can’t,” Jacques assured her. “I want you to think of your happiest memory with your mother. I want you to feel it and keep that feeling in your mind.”

Closing her eyes, Elena did as she was instructed, growing visibly calmer.

“Keep the image of her in your mind and the feeling of love in your heart,” Jacques continued, his voice almost hypotonic. “I also want you to think of a smell that reminds you of her. And a sound, and a sensation.”

The girl let out a sigh at his words, her eyes closed, picturing a happy memory.

“Flood each of your senses with a memory, and the demon will not be able to overtake you,” he said confidently.

You could feel the malice evaporate from the room, along with the heat and the electricity.

The remainder of the time Jacques spent with Elena was comprised of similar lessons and grounding techniques that bordered on hypnosis. The girl grew calmer and more at peace by the minute until she was on the verge of sleep. Jacques honored her request of staying near her until she was asleep and breathing deeply.

Exiting the room and closing the door as silently as possible behind you both, Jacques walked beside you back down the hallway. The orderlies were long gone.

After holding the door for you to exit the asylum, he took your injured hand as you walked back to his car. His features were pained when he evaluated it. The wound itself wasn’t bad. You had done far worse to yourself by removing things from your oven. Its inexplicable origins and its ominous shape that mirrored a bite, however, were different matters entirely.

“I am very sorry for putting you in danger,” he told you softly and sincerely. “I did not expect it to be this strong, but I should not have brought you here.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said, turning your hand to hold his in your grip, despite the sting in your burned skin. “I can’t explain this one. You’re making it hard for me to remain a skeptic.”

“Would you allow me to apologize properly?” Jacques asked, smiling fondly down at you. “Allow me to cook dinner for you this evening.”

“I’d enjoy that,” you agreed with a beaming smile, feeling a much more welcome wave of heat rush over you at the prospect.

*******************************************************************************************

Accompanying Jacques to his home, you were pleased to find an elegant gated estate in an upscale part of the city. While giving you a quick tour, he explained how, due to his humble upbringing, he had always been driven to success.

Dr. Le Gris was a man of many talents. The dinner he cooked for you both was one of the finest you had ever tasted, far superior to anything you could have prepared without substantial advance notice. He surprised you by cooking a luscious French meal to perfection, instead of something Italian as you expected.

By the time you both finished your dinners, your face was growing sore from so much smiling and laughing throughout the evening.

“This was wonderful, Jacques,” you said after taking the final sip of wine from your glass. “I’m impressed.”

“Then I’m happy. And relieved,” he replied with a grin, standing to retrieve a fresh bottle of wine, the second of the evening. He refilled both your glasses before returning to his seat across from you. “It has been quite some time since I’ve entertained a guest.”

“Is that so?” You asked, narrowing your eyes with playful suspicion. “You strike me as something of a ladies’ man.”

“Perhaps I am,” he agreed unabashedly with a nod, his luxurious hair falling around his shoulders. “But it is usually I who am the guest of honor. I prefer it that way. It makes it easier to take my leave when conversation runs dry and activities have run their course.”

While cooking, he had removed his collar, unbuttoned the top button on his charcoal shirt, and rolled his sleeves up to reveal his muscled forearms. Sitting beside you now in such a state of repose, wearing an easy smile from wine and good company, he was devastatingly handsome.

“How does that work being a priest?” You teased before taking a sip from your glass. “I’m pretty sure ‘entertaining guests’ is against the rules.”

“I told you that I was a damn good exorcist, gorgeous,” he replied with a wink. “I never said I was a good priest.”

“What kind of pickup lines does an exorcist use?” You laughed at the thought. “I’m guessing that ‘did it hurt when you fell from Heaven’ has to be a go to.”

“I don’t need a line. I just wear the collar. You’d be surprised how many women have a priest fetish,” he admitted, laughing heartily himself. “I let them think I’m off limits. Give them a bit of a challenge. Works every time.”

“To priest fetishes,” you said playfully, raising your glass to clink the rim of his. “But how does that work? Not with women, but with the Church?”

“They’ve adopted a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy with me,” he said as he dabbed some wine from his mustache with a napkin. “Would you want someone out there trying to battle the forces of evil who was afraid of taking a shot of whiskey or feeling the touch of a woman?”

“Oh, you’re definitely the man I’d want,” you paused coyly, taking a sip of wine. “For battling the forces of evil, I mean.”

Pushing away from the table, Jacques stood to his full towering height. He met your eyes as he downed the remainder of his glass in a single large swallow.

“Speaking of battle, let me take a look at your war wound from today,” he said, holding his hand out for your injured one.

Placing your hand in his, you followed his gentle encouragement to stand, allowing yourself to be pulled close to him so that only inches separated your bodies when he raised your hand to examine it.

“I was impressed that you didn’t panic. That is much rarer than you know,” he told you while his large calloused fingers delicately caressed your hand as he studied your injury.

“I knew you’d look out for me,” you said, stroking his ego just a bit with your genuine sentiment.

“I think you’ll pull through,” he teased after finishing his examination of your hand. “And you’re right. I’ll protect you from anything.”

Instead of releasing your hand, he placed it on his broad chest. Trailing his fingers lightly down your forearm, he looked into your eyes with his vibrant gaze. It was all too easy to allow yourself to be beckoned even closer to his large body.

Resting both your hands on his chest, your eyes travelled between his eyes and down to his plush lips, watching them turn upwards into a soft grin as he lowered his head toward you, closing the distance between your faces until the tip of his nose brushed against your cheek. Your eyes fell shut as you turned just enough for your lips to brush against his, your lips parted in anticipation.

When Jacques kissed you, a rash of goosebumps raised across your flesh, along with the hairs on the back of your neck. This time, the sensation was a welcome one, hot and electric. Your entire body heated under his touch in a way you had never felt from something as simple as a kiss.

His lips were soft and masterful, as he kissed you tenderly. Under the caress of his lips, you melted against him, sinking into the strength of his embrace, as his powerful arms encircled you.

Jacques kept his hold around you tight when he pulled back from your kiss. Chewing his lip, he looked down at you as reverently as any pious man would look upon a holy relic.

An unspoken question gleamed in his eyes. You knew that if you stayed in his arms another minute, you would never have the resolve to leave.

“I should be going,” you whispered reluctantly, your kiss-ripened lips trembling with your words. “I didn’t travel to Italy to have a one-night stand. Even with a man as handsome as you.”

“I would never be satisfied with only one night with you, cherie,” he replied, his voice rich with lust. “But even a kiss from an angel such as you is more than I deserve.”

“We still have my client’s footage to review,” you reminded him with a smirk.

“We do indeed,” he returned with a hopeful grin of his own before placing another brief kiss to your lips. “Allow me to walk you back to your hotel.”

“That’s too kind of you, Jacques, but I can manage,” you said, smiling so close to his lips that you could still feel the scratch of his goatee against your skin.

“I don’t doubt your capability, belle fille,” he said, smoothing his hands along your body, following your curves with his palms. “But it’s my job to be wary of things that go bump in the night.”

Your only response was the widening of your smile and the affection shining in your eyes as you looked up at him.

“Besides, it’s a great night for a walk,” he told you as he took one of your hands in his, raising it to his lips and kissing your knuckles gently. “Perhaps, along the way I can convince you to prolong your stay here in Rome.”

Lacing his thick fingers through yours, he led you through his home and back out into the cool night air. Looking up at the starry sky and feeling the crisp air on your skin, you had to agree with him that it was a lovely night for a walk through the ancient streets.

Jacques walked idly with you back to your hotel, savoring every moment in your company. He returned you to the steps leading up to the hotel’s entrance.

“I’ll tell you buona sera here, beautiful, so as not to tempt you unduly,” he told you with a playfully smug grin before kissing you deeply once more. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

His hands trailed slowly away from your body, reluctant to remove themselves from you, as he backed away. When he turned to walk back home, you watched his towering figure until he disappeared into the darkness, swallowed by the shadowy streets.

*******************************************************************************************

The following morning, Jacques called you with an entirely different proposition.

“Allow me to give you a tour of the Eternal City today,” his voice thrummed through your cell. “That was the moniker the poet Virgil bestowed upon the city. And I can assure you that I am full enough of similar trivia to promise you will never feel so much as a twinge of boredom.”

“Just tell me when to be ready,” you agreed, laughing.

Jacques met you at the entrance to your hotel, leaning against the stone wall, smoking a cigarette. He wore dark jeans and a rich blue button-down shirt that strained to contain the breadth of his chest. His ebony hair was freshly washed and shone in the morning sunlight, jostling softly around his shoulders from a light breeze.

Seeing you approach, he pushed himself away from the wall, a handsome smile on his lips as he met you. Reaching for your hand, he raised it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss to your skin by way of a greeting. He then gallantly offered you his left arm. You could feel the power in his large muscles when his arm flexed at your touch, bending to keep your hand held in the crook of his elbow.

“Before I commandeer you, I should ask if there are any sights you already have your heart set on seeing,” Jacques said as he began leading you down the street.

“What are the most beautiful things to see in Rome?” You asked, growing convinced that there was not a mundane sight in the entire city.

“Other than the beautiful sight I’m looking at right now?” He asked with a grin as he looked down at you.

“You remind me,” you replied, rolling your eyes playfully at his compliment but smiling regardless. “I think it would be fitting if you took me to that statue that Gregory Peck shoved his hand into to impress Audrey Hepburn.”

“Ah, La Bocca della Verita, The Mouth of Truth. What a good idea, cherie,” Jacques told you, watching the way you beamed back at him.

“You’d risk your hand for me?” You teased, bumping him with your shoulder.

“Willingly. Although, I’m not sure my hand will fit inside Truth’s mouth,” he mused, raising his enormous right hand in front of him, pretending to evaluate it. “We should stop to wish for luck at the Trevi first. In case Truth judges me harshly.”

“Lead the way, handsome,” you said, watching the way his massive chest filled with pride at your words.

You arrived first at the Trevi Fountain. Using his size, Jacques parted the customary crowd surrounding it, pulling you with him. Standing at the rim of the fountain, you took in the splendor of the scene preserved in marble of two hippocampus bucking in the holds of their triton handlers.

Jacques held you from behind, easily able to see the view of the fountain over your head. The feeling of his firm chest at your back was enough to make your pulse quicken.

“Make a wish, cherie.” He lowered his head to growl against your ear. “I’ll do my best to make it come true.”

He draped his powerful arms around you, as you closed your eyes to make a wish. Flipping your coin into the fountain, the focus of your wish was the man at your back.

“Aren’t you going to make a wish yourself?” You asked, leaning your head back onto his broad shoulder to gaze up at him.

“Perhaps my wish has already come true,” he told you with a dashing grin. “I’ve wished for you many times before I ever knew your name.”

You rolled your eyes again at his line but let him lean down to kiss you anyway in a display that put all the newlyweds honeymooning in Rome to shame.

Mindful of your request, he took you next to the Mouth of Truth. A large round sculpture with vacant eyes and a slotted open mouth greeted you, its judgmental countenance framed by curly hair and a matching beard.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get some use out of my hand before I risk having it bitten off?” Jacques teased, chewing his lip as he smirked at you lasciviously.

“Lucky for me, you have a spare,” you returned his humor, taking his left hand in yours.

Jacques made a show of raising his right hand, taking a deep breath to steel himself, his huge chest expanding impossibly larger. Meeting your eyes, he placed his hand inside Truth’s mouth.

“It appears you can trust me,” he said when nothing happened to his hand.

“I’m not such a poor judge of character that I need a statue to tell me that, handsome.” You smiled at him, again looping your arm through his, hugging his arm a little tighter for a moment.

“I’d like to show you the Vatican. No tour of Rome would be complete without it,” he told you, leading you back into the bustling streets. “And I have what you might call a backstage pass.”

“Who could turn down seeing the Vatican with an exorcist?” You asked, unduly excited by the thought.

Entering Saint Peter’s Square, you were scrutinized by the many sculptures of saints who stood as sentinels along the top of the colonnades.

“Bernini lent his mind to design this space, the Piazza San Pietro. He wanted to enhance the grandness of St. Peters, while also welcoming patrons,” Jacques informed you as he led you through the Square.

“He did a hell of a job,” you said, craning your neck to take in the sights around you.

“If only Bernini had a muse as captivating as you, there would be even more beautiful sculptures throughout the city.” Jacques allowed his eyes to caress your figure with his words.

“Do you use these lines on all your dates?” You accused teasingly.

“No,” he said simply before leaning down to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

Jacques practically beamed down at you when he pulled away from your lips, deep parenthetical dimples framing his smile. Taking your hand, he laced his thick fingers through yours and led you past the Egyptian obelisk and into the Basilica itself.

Guiding you through the public areas in the interior of the Basilica, he told you stories and anecdotes about the statues and works of art as you went, his enthusiasm a contrast to the hardened man you had accompanied to visit his patients. Your neck was growing sore from spending so much time looking up at the ceiling and at sculptures and art above you.

Lingering in the Sistine Chapel, he pointed out numerous hidden gems in Michelangelo’s seminal work. His favorite was an image of a man with donkey ears whose body was encircled by a snake that was biting the head of his penis. Revenge upon a critic of the painter’s work, immortalized in fresco, Jacques informed you.

“Now, for the private tour,” he told you in a conspiratorial tone, leaning down close to your ear.

He led you deep into the Basilica, down a corridor which ended with two Swiss Guards standing vigilantly at the top of a stairwell leading down into the bowls of the Vatican and its adjacent subterranean pathways.

The vibrantly dressed Swiss Guards nodded at Jacques, their eyes lingering disapprovingly on you, as they allowed you both to pass.

The stairs ended in a long hallway. A few church officials wearing black robes and white collars walked past you, going about their business. One man side-eyed Jacques in his casual attire and then you even more heatedly as he past.

After a few turns in the hallway, you saw a tall figure approaching you both, clad in the red robes of a cardinal. As he walked closer, you recognized him as the same blonde man who had surreptitiously recommended Jacques to you days before. However, he had not been wearing his red Cardinal attire at that time.

“Jacques!” The Cardinal all but gushed. “It’s been too long. I’ll have to send more lawyers after you if it will bring you here to see me.”

“I think that would depend on the lawyer herself, Pierre,” Jacques replied pleasantly before embracing his friend.

“Since it appears as though he failed to do so himself, I’ll introduce you to my oldest friend, Cardinal d’Alencon,” Jacques said to you.

Jacques barely allowed you both time for a polite exchange before clapping his hand on the Cardinal’s shoulder.

“I want to show my lovely lawyer the bathroom,” Jacques said jovially, his demeanor infectious.

“Of course you do!” Cardinal d’Alencon laughed as he turned to lead you both deeper into the secret areas of the Vatican.

“The bathroom?” You questioned quietly, raising your eyebrows at the man beside you.

Jacques’s only response was to wink at you suggestively.

Turning down a smaller hallway, the Cardinal led you to a more deserted area. He stopped before a nondescript door.

“I’ll stand guard for you two here,” he said to Jacques. “Although, I’ll remind you that even you should maintain a degree of decorum. You are still a priest after all, in the restricted halls of the Vatican.”

“Decorum? Me?” Jacques huffed a laugh.

“At the minimum, I had better not hear any noises,” the Cardinal warned lightly.

You were still confused as Jacques pushed you ahead of him into the bathroom.

Looking around once inside, the inner jokes between Jacques and the Cardinal became shockingly clear.

The walls of the bathroom were decorated with graphic and explicitly erotic frescos. They were amazingly well crafted with a discerning eye given to every lewd detail. Some were better preserved than others, but you could distinctly make out each scene. They ranged from couples engaged in aggressive lovemaking to satyrs masturbating. Even the customary cherubs sported miniature erections as they watched the amorous acts before them. The walls were painted an indulgent red between the frescos.

Your jaw must have been hanging slack from taking in the sight of an entire bathroom adorned in ancient pornography, because Jacques’s hearty laugher echoed off the walls as he looked at you fondly.

“Believe it or not, Raphael himself is responsible for these artistic expressions. He was commissioned to paint them in 1516,” Jacques informed you.

“Why on earth would the Vatican keep this a secret?” You laughed as well, still shocked. “It’s incredible.”

“It’s certainly my favorite room,” he said as he flashed you a wolfish grin, bearing his canines.

You observed two dozen frescos painted on fifteen-inch panels throughout the bathroom, all with different erotic scenes and positions.

“Have you worked through all of these positions yourself?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“If you point out a few of your favorites, I’m happy to give them a try with you,” he replied, his voice dropping to a lower octave.

Reaching for your hand once more, he pulled you into his arms. Dropping his head, he brought his lips to your neck. Your skin tingled, a pleasurable fire surging through your veins, at the feel of his searing lips on your neck. His goatee scratched along your skin while he kissed you softly. Sighing at the sensations, you melted against his body, letting his mouth and arms consume you.

Losing himself in you, Jacques groaned into your mouth as he deepened his kiss. His hands travelled the curves of your body, settling on your hips and pulling you flush against him.

A firm knock on the bathroom door resounded in the marble room.

“You’re breaking my one rule, Jacques,” the Cardinal’s voice sounded from outside.

You flinched at the intrusion and a wave of embarrassment. Jacques refused to release you, holding you tight in place. He growled loudly against your lips, ensuring the sound of it boomed throughout the small room.

Pulling away from your lips with a wet smack, he grinned handsomely down at you. His grin widened further when you leveled a playful slap to his chest.

When he led you out of the bathroom, Cardinal d’Alencon shook his head at Jacques, his gesture friendly and holding no malice.

The three of you walked abreast back down the hallway, the two large men flanking you on either side.

“Please tell me that Dr. Le Gris has shown you something that has made your travels worthwhile,” the Cardinal said to you. “Not just his talent for defiling holy places.”

“He certainly has. I’m not sure I can describe myself as a skeptic any longer,” you told the Cardinal truthfully.

“Proof that the Lord works in mysterious ways, using a man such as Jacques to enlighten you,” the Cardinal said, poking at his friend.

“I’d just call it good luck,” Jacques said, huffing at the thought of divine intervention.

“You have many reasons to doubt the divine,” the Cardinal spoke to Jacques but appraised you. “Yet, it seems to me that God has brought the divine to you.”

Jacques cleared his throat beside you, opening his mouth to respond but the Cardinal continued over him.

“Of course, Jacques already suspects that, or he wouldn’t have brought you here,” Cardinal d’Alencon said to you, ignoring the look Jacques shot him over the top of your head. “You are indeed the only woman to whom he has ever introduced me.”

Jacques blushed at the Cardinal’s words, the pink in his cheeks flanking an uncharacteristically shy smile. Even the top of his chest flushed where it peeked above the button of his shirt.

Jacques deflected his embarrassment by raising your hand to his lips for another sweet kiss to your knuckles before changing the subject entirely.

“I promised to review the information on your client this evening,” he said to you. “Perhaps over dinner?”

“Perhaps,” you said coyly, agreeing with your eyes and the way you squeezed his large hand in yours.

Cardinal d’Alencon looked between the two of you, amused.

“I wish you both a productive evening reviewing information,” the Cardinal told you both as he took his leave.

*******************************************************************************************

After another dinner that Jacques masterfully prepared for you both, you sat next to him, your chairs pulled close together at his dinner table. Swirling the wine in your glass, you felt the warmth radiate off his massive body. As he promised, he was diligently reviewing interviews and footage of your murderous client, looking for any evidence of possession. Your client had been quick to tell police that he was possessed during an interrogation without admitting to any other culpability.

Jacques had been dutifully studying your evidence for over an hour, taking notes on every pertinent detail. But you could read between the lines, having watched enough jurors pretend to be engrossed in a case after their mind was already made up. His furrowed brow, intermittently flexing jaw, and quick surreptitious sideways glances at you told you that he didn’t want to upset you with his opinion.

“You think my client’s full of it, don’t you?” You asked, devoid of any disappointment or bitterness. “Don’t worry, Jacques, I operate on the premise that all my clients are guilty. Most of them are. Which is why I’m here grasping at straws in the first place.”

“The first red flag is your client saying that he’s possessed,” Jacques said with a heavy sigh, leaning back in his seat, still visibly concerned about ruining the lovely day he had given you thus far. “If someone thinks they’re possessed, they’re usually not.”

“It certainly wouldn’t be my first diagnosis if I felt a little off,” you laughed, relieving some of his tension.

“It’s like having a parasite. You can’t tell right away. Usually, it’s the subconscious that knows first. Little things are off. Small tells,” he told you before taking a drink of wine. “And like a parasite, it grows stronger. Some are more malicious than others.”

“Have you ever run into anything strong enough to give you a run for your money?” You asked, genuinely curious what could phase the powerful, capable man.

“Not in many years,” he replied before quickly changing the subject. “I’ll go through everything you have on your client. Maybe I’ll find a straw strong enough for you to grasp onto.”

“Thank you, Jacques. I truly appreciate your help on this,” you said as you smiled warmly over your glass at him.

“I’ll try my best to convince myself,” he told you as a grin spread across his lips. “I’m aware it would mean many late nights for us together preparing your case.”

“I’ve never been so excited by the prospect of long nights of casework before,” you returned with a smile just as nefarious as his.

“Shall we practice staying awake for hours, working passionately together, tonight?” He asked you, leaning so close to you that the tip of his nose brushed against yours. “Or shall I walk you back to your hotel once more?”

“I’d like you to show me how diligently you can work through the night, Jacques,” you ordered him sweetly before capturing his delicious lips and tasting the wine on his tongue.

Jacques stood up from the table, pulling you up with him and into his arms. When his lips returned to yours, his kiss was more purposeful, drawing sighs from you in moments. Parting your lips, you invited him to consume you as you reached your hands around his neck, pulling him down, impossibly closer to you.

Wasting no time, Jacques reached to the hem of your top, pushing it up your body. Impatient to feel your skin against his, he quickly tugged it over your head, throwing it aside. You then reached to the buttons on his shirt, quickly undoing them before pushing the garment off his shoulders and down his powerful arms.

He looked even larger shirtless, he was much more heavily muscled than you had anticipated. Your hands followed the path your eyes traced over his rigid muscles, skimming over his powerful arms to rest on his massive chest.

Jacques popped the button on your jeans, sliding his hand inside and around to grab your ass, groaning into your mouth as he kissed you. Shoving your jeans the rest of the way down and stepping out of them, you pressed your tits against Jacques’s chest through the fabric of your bra as you kissed and kissed.

Left hand gripping your waist, the long fingers of his right dipped lower, skimming the damp lace of the panties covering your pussy.

“You should let me take care of that for you, cherie,” he told you thickly. “Before you start dripping all over.”

Your only response was to reach behind you to unhook your bra, throwing it aside before turning your attention to his belt.

Pausing in his ministrations, Jacques straightened to admire the sight of you, his hand moving up from your ass to smooth the length of your body. His eyes caressed your every curve as his lips turned in a smile.

“You’re the closest thing to an angel I’ve ever seen, cherie,” Jacques praised you softly as his hands reverently skimmed the curves of your body. “Or maybe, you’re the Devil herself.”

“You certainly have me feeling sinful, Jacques,” you replied, feeling your cheeks heat under his adoration.

“You look delicious,” Jacques’s voice rumbled low through his thick chest. “I want to taste you, consume you.”

Running his right hand down your front, he cupped your breast, rubbing his calloused thumb over your nipple.

“Now would be a good time for a tour of your bedroom, handsome,” you instructed.

Grinning down at you, he stooped to hook an arm behind your legs. Wrapping his other arm around your shoulders, he lifted you easily into a bridal carry, holding you firmly against his chest. You smiled broadly at him as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss while he held you in his arms.

Jacques kept kissing you as he effortlessly carried you up a flight of stairs and down a hallway to his bedroom.

His large bedroom was open and airy. Huge bay windows opened onto a balcony, letting in the soft moonlight and cool night air. The centerpiece was the enormous bed fit for an enormous man.

Kicking the door closed once inside, he twirled playfully as he walked to his bed. At the side of his bed, he broke your kiss, taking your bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled back from you.

As he released your lip, he also released your body, tossing you gently down onto his mattress.

Looking down at you with a grin, Jacques watched your perfect tits hungrily, bouncing when you fell into place on his bed. Bringing his right hand to his cock, he palmed it where it strained painfully hard beneath his jeans.

Leaning over you, he rested his weight on his palms on either side of your body as he bent to kiss your navel. His lips trailed lower until they kissed at the waistband of your panties. He teased your skin with the scratch of his goatee before taking the thin material between his teeth and pulling your panties down your legs with his mouth. A rich, pleasured growl purred from his lips.

With your panties still held in his bite, he met your eyes as he backed off the bed, grabbing your ankle to pull you to him with a grin. Kneeling beside the bed, he pulled your body to the edge of the mattress until your ass was nearly hanging off. Pushing your thighs wide, he took in the inviting sight of your glistening pussy.

“Look at your pussy, already so fucking wet for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet,” Jacques said huskily, lifting your legs to rest over his broad shoulders.

A deep satisfied groan accompanied the first lick of his tongue into you, thrumming through your flesh. His aquiline nose nudged purposely against your clit, rubbing you insistently as he lavished your pussy with his tongue and lips. Your thighs trembled on either side of his head with each sensation, your whole body asking him for more.

“You’re the sweetest delicacy I’ve ever tasted,” Jacques groaned, pulling away just enough to slide two of his huge fingers into you. Your pussy clenched around them instantly as they curled inside you, relishing the feeling of fullness just from his fingers alone.

“Fuck yes, cherie, tighten that pussy up around my fingers.” He smirked before returning his face back to your depths.

Jacques kissed and licked into you hungrily, tracing paths of ecstasy through you with his talented tongue. He held your gaze unblinkingly until he allowed his eyes to fall closed as he savored your taste and the feel of you surrounding him. Humming low in pleasure, his deep voice vibrated straight into your pussy.

Sloppy, wet noises filled the room, mingled with Jacques’s groans and your sighs. A lewd melody played by his tongue licking against you and his fingers plunging in and out of your dripping pussy.

Jacques had already rendered you almost incoherent, quivering and clenching around his fingers, your thighs tightening on either side of his head.

Then, he brought his lips to your clit.

You felt possessed yourself as your back arched off the mattress and your hands flew to fist into his hair when he began sucking on your clit, still fucking you with his fingers.

A rush of heat shot rampantly through you as your first wave of pleasure hit, sending warmth gushing onto his tongue. Jacques licked you through every aftershock as his fingers pumped you until your pussy stopped quivering from your orgasm.

Collapsing limp on the mattress, you felt as though you didn’t have a bone left in your sated body. Jacques rose from his kneeling position to shove his jeans and black boxer briefs down his muscled thighs, allowing his heavy cock to swing free. Your eyes widened at the sight of it, long, impossibly thick, handsomely veined, and eagerly curved upward. It matched the rest of his massive, gorgeous body.

Jacques wrapped his arm under your back to hoist you back into the center of the bed as he crawled over you. Your face was a portrait of sheer bliss as you gazed up at him. Looking down at you in return, his expression was just as full of adoration as yours, mingled with darkened lust.

Covering you completely, he settled his huge body between your enthusiastically open thighs. Reaching your hands up to tangle into the dense waves of his hair, you pulled him down to meet your lips again.

Jacques kissed you slow and deep as your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders. One of his hands rested by your head, his fingers softly caressing your cheek and hair, a sharp contrast to his cock, hard and insistently nudging between your folds. Raising your legs to rest on his hips, you encouraged him to push inside of you.

A heady moan escaped your lips as his massive cock sank into you, stretching you inch by inch, until his hips settled flush against you. He continued kissing you as he rocked his hips gently, allowing you both to enjoy the delicious feeling of being enwrapped in each other, while you adjusted to his incredible size.

“You feel wonderful, cherie,” Jacques rumbled against your lips. “You fit me just fucking perfectly. You were made for my cock.”

When he began thrusting into you, it was slow and steady, his cock drawing in and out of you sensually. One hand caressed your cheek while his other squeezed your thigh that rested over his hip.

Feeling his heavy body over you and powerful muscles tensing beneath your hands, you knew that he could easily be rough with you, fuck you into the mattress, using all of his strength for your pleasure. But you appreciated that for this first night together, he was measured and sensual, prolonging your pleasure indulgently.

Shifting his hips, he pulled your leg higher up his body, giving him the perfect angle to pull sighs from you with every unhurried thrust. You could feel every thick vein and ridge in his perfect cock rubbing firmly along the best spots inside of you.

Electric heat coursed through your body, shooting down your limbs and swirling in your core. Your nails dug into the dense muscle of his shoulders as your pleasure built again, trailing faint lines across his skin. Your hips moved in time with Jacques’s rhythm, meeting his deliberate thrusts.

Primal moans spilled from your lips as you felt the coil of your pleasure tightening with every plunge of his cock. Your pussy began clenching around him, trying to suck him in deeper with his every movement.

“That’s right, belle fille,” Jacques’s honeyed voice strained as he fucked into you. “I want to feel you cum all over my cock.”

Jacques read your body perfectly, knowing exactly what you needed. Picking up the pace of his thrusts, he slammed his cock into you with more force.

Each rough thrust pushed you closer to the edge until after only a few moments, you were falling over the precipice. Your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of euphoria, your pussy seized around his cock as your arousal washed over him.

Jacques gritted his teeth in pleasure at the sensation of your pussy growing impossibly tighter, wetter, and hotter, pulsing around his thick cock as you came.

Slamming his cock into you as deeply as he could, Jacques came hard, groaning low into the crook of your neck. You sighed at the feeling of his hot cum pumping into you, filling you to the brim. He kissed and licked along your neck as he emptied his throbbing cock inside of you.

You dragged your nails across his wide back and pulled him down closer against you as you felt his muscles begin to relax, hugging him to your body. With a pleasured groan, Jacques kissed up your neck, trailing his lips across your jaw and over your cheek as he raised his head to gaze down at you.

Caging you beneath him, his massive weight pressed down upon you enough to make you feel utterly engulfed by his strength and warmth as his cock softened inside of you.

Smiling down at you sweetly, moonlight glowing softly on his skin, Jacques was surely the most handsome man in the world in your eyes.

Lowering his head to you, he rubbed his large nose against yours affectionately before kissing you for another long moment.

With a huff, he rolled off you onto his back, pulling you with him to rest on his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close in his embrace, while his lips ghosted at your hairline.

“I rarely sleep long or well but if you stay with me, I would love to hold you all night.” Jacques’s words brushed your skin as his arms squeezed you to punctuate his sentiment.

“I guess insomnia is a work hazard for both of us,” you replied, placing a kiss to his chest. “I’m happy to spend our sleepless nights together.”

A pleased growl rumbled through his chest at your words. Shifting beneath you, he reached to his nightstand for his pack of cigarettes.

“I suppose we each work closely with the darkness in this world in our own ways. You with the corporal and I with the supernatural,” he pondered before continuing with genuine fondness in his tone. “It’s little wonder you’re such a firecracker.”

“That is a compliment coming from you. You lead an interesting life,” you mused as you lightly traced patterns on his chest with your fingernails.

“My life is boring, cherie.” He exhaled a smoky plume with his words, swirling upwards from his lips and nose.

“You’re an exorcist,” you laughed at his nonchalance. “How can you pretend your life is boring?”

“Perhaps it’s a form of repression,” he deadpanned, holding back a grin.

“If you’re too shy to talk about it, you can just say so,” you teased, coughing slightly from the smoke wafting in the air.

“Ask me anything,” he said after a moment. His tone held a resolve that implied he had rarely allowed another person the indulgence of inquiring about his life beyond superficial pleasantries.

“What made you want to become an exorcist?” You asked the question that had burned in your mind since you first laid eyes on the disarming man.

You felt his body go rigid beneath you briefly before he absolved his tension with another drag on his cigarette.

“My mother was what you’d call a clairvoyant. She had a way of knowing things and seeing things that couldn’t be known or seen. It seemed harmless and benevolent,” he began, his voice low as though he was sharing one of his deepest secrets with you. “From the earliest time I can remember, I’ve had it too. Or something similar, at least. But mine has always been darker. I could only sense tragedy before it occurred or know when something evil was proximate.”

Pausing to take another puff on his cigarette, his arm around you tightened.

“Still, she encouraged me to embrace it. Telling me that it was a family ‘gift’ and also that turning a blind eye to evil would not shield myself from it,” he continued, brow furrowing as he recalled his early memories. “My father was the opposite. A man of science. A doctor. He ran a private practice in Normandy.”

“A doctor? You must take after him too.” You smiled at him, engrossed in his story.

“I do. In some ways. He too was a large man with a bad temper,” he said, pursing his lips together in thought. “It worries me sometimes, how much of him I see in myself.”

Taking another drag on his cigarette, you saw his jaw clenching tight as he exhaled through his nose before continuing.

“From the earliest I can remember, my parents were very much in love. I think I was five before I learned that my mother had a name other than cherie or amour. It makes it stick in my memory when that changed.” His large hand rubbed your back absently, soothing you and grounding himself in the feel of your soft skin under his roughened palm.

“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to push you into talking about things like this,” you said softly.

“I remember waking in the night to something breaking. My mother was crying and my father was yelling louder than I had ever heard him. ‘Damn your dreams. I could never hurt you or our son and you fucking well know it!’” He continued despite your words, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Whatever she had seen in her dream haunted her for days. She didn’t eat, barely slept.”

Lifting a hand, you ran your fingers gently through the layers of his hair as he spoke, his voice growing deeper.

“It was only a few days after that when my father became ill. Mother told me it was something he had caught from a patient, but somehow I knew even then that she didn’t believe that herself.” He paused to snuff out the butt of his cigarette and light a fresh one. “I knew when I saw him that something was wrong. That something was off. It was his eyes. You can always see it in the eyes first. Then after a few days, the house began to smell like sweet decay. Like rotting flowers or rancid sugar.”

“Something possessed your father?” You asked, wanting to console him.

“The next time I was awakened in the middle of the night it was to my mother rushing into my room. She was terrified, crying from fear not from sorrow, wearing her nightgown. She yanked me out of bed and clasped her hand over my mouth. She raised a finger to her lips, telling me to be quiet even as she sobbed silently. I could hear growling and crashing from another room, like a bear had clawed its way into our house.” Taking a deep inhale of smoke, he held it in his lungs for several heartbeats before exhaling it slowly. “Keeping me behind her, she looked out of my door, looking down the hallway. Seeing it was clear, she tiptoed into it, pulling me with her, moving as fast as she could quietly toward the stairs. I remember the way she screamed when my father burst into the hallway behind her. I saw him too, but it wasn’t him anymore. He was hunched like an animal, snarling like one too. When he ran at us, to this day I can remember seeing the way his face was contorted into something bestial. Something evil. And the way his eyes reflected red in the dim light.”

“‘Give me the boy and I’ll let you live. Give me my son,’ my father shouted at her as she ran ahead with me. She reached the stairs and shoved me down them ahead of her, keeping her hand on my collar so I could keep my feet under me. He was closing in on us fast when he yelled to me, ‘You don’t want your whore mommy to die do you? Come with me and save her!’” Jacques paused again, squeezing his eyes shut while he took another smoke. “I tried to stop at the bottom of the stairs. I would have saved her, if I could. I wanted to. But she shoved me ahead. She was just fast enough to reach the front door before he caught us. She yanked it open and pushed me outside, slamming it behind me and locking herself inside with him, blocking the door with her body. ‘Run, Jacques!’ was the last thing I ever heard from her before the door splintered out toward me when my father’s weight crashed into it. But the door held. And I ran away down the street.”

You didn’t know what to say as he relived such horror, so you chose to kiss his cheek while he took a moment to smoke.

“The house burned to the ground that night. Both of my parents’ bodies were found entangled right at the eve of the front door. They didn’t move while they burned,” he said as he finished his cigarette and snubbed it out. “I was six.”

“My god, Jacques. I’m so sorry,” you told him quietly.

“I have no other family. My line is one of those ancient aristocratic dead ends,” he continued, forcing himself to lighten his tone. “So, I ended up in an orphanage run by the church. Cardinal d’Alencon, Father d’Alencon at the time, took me under his wing like a big brother.”

Finally pulling his eyes away from the ceiling, he returned them to yours, their amber depths swimming with restrained emotion.

“I’ve only ever spoken of these things to two people,” he told you in a voice barely above a gruff whisper. “Cardinal d’Alencon and now you.”

Cupping his cheek, you rewarded him by leaning in to kiss him deeply. His arm around you tightened, holding you close against him, returning your fervor.

“I’m sorry, Jacques. I guess I ruined the afterglow, didn’t I?” You offered an apologetic smile as you pulled back from his lips.

“Fortunately, there is a simple cure, ma belle cherie,” he assured you with a grin.

Jacques rolled you both back to reverse your positions, again covering you with his heavy body and pressing your back down into the mattress. Returning his kiss-swollen lips to yours, he kissed you greedily as his cock swelled, eager to be buried deep inside you once again.

*******************************************************************************************

The shrill intrusion of a ringtone woke you from one of the most pleasant nights of sleep you could recall. Jacques’s plump chest made the perfect pillow and his arms around you were far superior to any blanket. You frowned when he roused beneath you, wanting nothing more than to stay in your position forever.

Jacques’s brow knotted and lips pursed in frustration at the sound of his phone insistently ringing, demanding his attention.

Faint pastel light from the earliest rays of dawn streamed in through his window, glistening pink on his chest and casting blues through his wild mane of hair.

Grumbling expletives, he reached for his phone from the nightstand, still keeping you secured to his chest with one strong arm locked around you.

“Do you know what time it is?” He answered the call gruffly, his voice deep and gravelly from sleep.

A voice on the other end spoke in a rapid, frantic tone. Jacques grunted an acknowledgement every few moments, as the voice rattled on.

Pinning the phone between his ear and shoulder, he reached to grab the pack of cigarettes on his nightstand. He offered one to you first. After you declined, he pulled one free from the pack with his lips. Returning the pack to the nightstand, he grabbed the silver lighter beside it, thumbing it to life and bringing the flame to his cigarette.

Despite him blowing his first healthy exhale of smoke away from you, you still coughed lightly from the secondhand sting in your lungs. Squeezing your eyes shut against the burn it caused in your eyes, you nuzzled your face into Jacques’s neck under his chin, taking the opportunity to kiss him there tenderly.

“I see. An emergency,” Jacques huffed, sarcasm weighing heavily in his tone. “I’ll look into it. Tell them I’ll leave tomorrow morning and meet with them in the evening. The drive will take the better part of a day.”

Sighing against his chest, you nestled closer to him, savoring the brief time you had remaining in his arms. You had expected nothing more to come from this tryst than an evening of pleasure, which he had more than given you. Still, a sense of melancholy threatened to dampen your mood at the thought of business taking him away from you so soon.

You heard the caller say a thankful goodbye to which Jacques responded with an irritated grunt as he ended the call. He flung his phone and cigarettes back onto his nightstand before placing his free arm behind his head, staring up at the ceiling in thought as smoke issued from his lips.

“Duty calls?” You asked in a tone that you hoped did not betray your disappointment.

“A possessed nun in a rural convent,” he huffed sardonically. “Or so I’m told.”

“A nun?” You asked as you pressed a kiss to his collarbone. “That seems like a hard target for a demon.”

“It’s a new one for me,” he agreed, his mood lifting under your touch.

“Do exorcists have special protocol for nuns?” You teased, letting your lips follow a rigid muscle in his neck upward toward his jaw.

“It’s probably nothing more than the Mother Superior caught a nun with a vibrator and assumed she must be possessed.” Jacques grinned at the thought.

Reaching to your face, he used his thick index finger to prop your chin up so he could meet your eyes. His hazel gaze was soft and warm in the early morning light as he looked into your eyes reverently.

“I’ll be gone a few days. Maybe a week,” he said, watching your eyes drop down from his at his words. “Come with me, cherie.”

You nearly started at his question, certain you had misheard, your eyes blown wide and a smile blooming on your lips.

“The countryside is beautiful, but I would prefer to admire yours, belle fille,” Jacques continued, the corners of his lips pulling into a grin. “Your beauty is intoxicating and your company addicting. I have fallen victim to them. I want more of you.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow, then?” You asked by way of agreement.

“It will have to be tomorrow,” Jacques said before kissing you deeply, not pulling away until he needed a breath to continue. “Because today, neither of us are putting on clothes or leaving this bed.”

*******************************************************************************************

Jacques made a day of driving to the convent with you. The drive itself was nearly eight hours, traveling from Rome to a small village in the Dolomites. Between stopping for a romantic lunch, taking a few scenic detours and kissing until your thighs trembled, you did not arrive until the moon had risen high into the starry night sky.

Jacques removed his hand from its place on your thigh to light a cigarette, rolling down his window and conscientiously blowing his smoke outside. You had never complained, but he was observant enough to be aware of your distaste for his habit.

Cool night air streamed into the cab, carrying with it the fresh scent of lush grass after a rain. You were driving through a green valley toward a small town seated at the feet of the mountains.

The few lights remaining on in the village could be counted on a single hand when you arrived. Even the lone gas station was closed.

“Nightlife fit for a convent,” Jacques joked, speeding through the narrow streets.

Leaving the town behind, the road twisted into the mountains, gaining elevation with every sharp curve.

A veil of fog had settled in the valleys and crevasses of the mountains, hiding any secrets the silver moonlight might otherwise reveal.

Another sharp curve brought you abruptly to the end of the pavement. Jacques barked a string of decidedly unholy expletives when he stomped on the brakes to avoid scraping the undercarriage of his car where the road turned to mud and gravel.

Driving at a much slower speed, you crept deeper into the alpine forest. A half-hour of tedious fishtailing around muddy curves, brought your destination in sight.

Nestled in the head of a narrow valley, rising out from the mist that swirled along the forest floor, were the ancient stone walls and turrets of a medieval castle. Small by castle standards, it appeared to be only four stories high aside from its three towers that rose higher into the night sky.

“Did I not mention this convent was in a castle? This is where we’ll be staying for a few days as well,” Jacques told you with a self-impressed grin before adding a cherry on top. “Milady.”

Despite him being entirely too pleased with himself, you couldn’t keep the beaming smile from your lips. The mountain castle looked like something out of Grimm’s Fairytales. Not to mention your handsome knight in shining armor who had brought you here.

Jacques parked his car right at the steps leading up to a towering set of double wooden doors at the castle’s entrance. His was the only vehicle in sight. Grabbing your luggage and his own, he led you up the steps.

The heavy doors swung inward at your approach before you were within arm’s reach to knock.

A startlingly pretty young nun welcomed Jacques with a simpering smile, ignoring you entirely. In the eagerness of her greeting, the nun moved so close to him that she looked as though she was ready to jump into his arms.

“Is the Mother Superior available?” Jacques asked, taking a step backward, nearly hiding behind your body to shield himself from the girl’s advances.

“It’s late and she has been asleep for hours,” the nun replied, batting her eyelashes. “But that means that she is not watching us now.”

Behind her, several other young nuns appeared from the dimly lit hallways. They peered around corners and looked from dark alcoves at Jacques as though they had never seen a man before. Although, you thought, it was a rare woman who had seen a man as handsome as Jacques.

“Mother Superior told me that it would be improper for you to be taken to the sister who is ill during the night, and that she would take you to her tomorrow,” the nun continued, unfazed. “But that does not mean that you have to retire so early yourself.”

“I am a priest. I cannot be tempted by such things,” Jacques lied, trying ineffectively to deter the woman. “And I’ve had a long drive. It would be best for you to show me to my room, sister.”

“Lucia,” the nun gave her name and pressed further, her voice sultry. “Rumor has it that you don’t let your priest’s collar bind you when you’re surrounded by pretty women. Nuns included.”

“Rumors can be deceptive,” he said curtly.

“I’ve heard more than rumors. I’ve heard stories directly about a weekend you spent in a convent in Venice,” she tried again, wetting her lips. “Father.”

“My room, sister?” He asked, fixing her with a stern gaze only a shade away from a glare.

“And where will this person be staying?” Sister Lucia asked, squinting her eyes at you.

“With me. She’s my assistant, sister,” Jacques said, reaching his hand to the small of your back. “I like to keep her close.”

The sister cast an icy glare at you before turning on her heel and leading you and Jacques down a hallway, her nose held high in the air like a pointing hound.

Ascending a spiral staircase, you rose to the third floor of the castle. Its upper level was cooler and darker. Torches held in wall-mounted sconces glowed along the long hallways.

“We have running water, of course,” Sister Lucia commented over her shoulder. “But there is no phone or internet service, and electricity is not a luxury Mother Superior allows us. We have batteries, if you need them.”

“Batteries are a staple.” Jacques smirked knowingly at you with his joke.

The nun stopped at a door at the end of the hallway. Pulling a large ring of iron keys from beneath her robes, she unlocked the door and pushed it open for you.

“Do you require anything else this evening, Father?” She asked, still pointedly ignoring you.

“Not from you,” he said with polite dismissiveness.

Jacques followed you inside the huge medieval bedroom. A vaulted ceiling rose in high peaks above you, arched windows twice as tall as your man allowed beams of moonlight to shimmer throughout the chamber, mingling with the warm dancing light of numerous candles. A grand canopy bed was centered in the room, its curtains tied to the four posts of its frame. A monstrous fireplace was recessed into the wall opposite the foot of the bed. Its embers glowed orange, having burned down before your arrival.

“What do you think?” Jacques asked, dropping both of your bags onto the floor and approaching you from behind.

Wrapping his arms around you, he swayed with you gently to a silent tune as you took in the majesty of the room.

“I’ve never been anywhere this beautiful,” you said, placing your hands over his arms where they crossed your body. You sighed dreamily before joking, “But I’m not sure that nun is going to let me leave here alive.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from the nuns,” he teased. You could feel the rich depth of his voice vibrating through his chest against your back.

“It seems like I may need to protect you from them, actually,” you teased. “Speaking of, did you really have a weekend out of Girls Gone Wild in a fucking convent, Jacques?”

“I was younger then,” he said as he buried his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“How much younger?” You pressed, knowing he didn’t want to divulge.

“I can’t seem to recall,” he evaded. “I can hardly think straight around you, let alone remember other women.”

“Oh my god, it was last week or something, wasn’t it?” You accused.

“It was at least six months ago,” he huffed a laugh against your skin. “I was single, and they needed my services.”

“How in the hell have you not been excommunicated?” You laughed along at his exploits.

“If the hypocrisy of the church surprises you, cherie, I may have to reevaluate my high opinion of your cleverness.” He grinned before teasing your skin between his teeth.

As Jacques kissed along your neck, working his right hand down inside the front of your jeans, your eyes drifted around the room as your breath began coming short from the touch of his fingers.

Tapestries adorned the stone walls. Scenes of bodies writhing in fiery pits while terrifying creatures prodded them, battles between feather-winged angels and leather-winged demons, women entwined with serpents, un-ending battles between the divine and the infernal. Their many woven eyes watched you as yours fluttered closed under Jacques’s skillful touch.

*******************************************************************************************

Much later, as sweat cooled on both of your heated bodies, Jacques lay on his side next to you. His left hand propped his wildly disheveled head up as he gazed down adoringly upon your exhausted visage. His right hand lazily caressed your body. A soft, tired smile graced his lips as he traced his thick index finger over the swell of your breast to encircle your nipple. He then trailed his finger down into the valley between your breasts, lingering on the cool metal of your key pendant.

“Why don’t you wear a cross?” You asked, the attention to your jewelry making you cognizant of the absence of any on his body.

“Would you want me to?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I just assumed you’d want the extra protection in your line of work,” you told him, lifting a hand to stroke his hair.

“This key would offer the same protection as a cross, cherie,” he said, running his finger along the length of the pendant. “If you had been told since birth that this shape was holy and that it would protect you from evil, and you truly believed that, then wearing it would empower you.”

“Are you saying a cross is a placebo effect?” You smiled up at him, scooting your body a nudge closer to his.

“In a manner, yes,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss your ripened lips. “If you believe that a key or a horseshoe or a cross makes you stronger by wearing it, then you shall be. It has power because you believe it does.”

“So, wearing a key to an exorcism isn’t like bringing a knife to a gunfight, then?” You teased, relishing the toothy smile he flashed you in response.

“If someone, a priest for example, believes that being celibate and never saying ‘goddamn’ makes him purer and therefore stronger, he will be,” Jacques explained, his hand returning to your breast, smoothing his palm over your skin before squeezing your flesh. “On the other hand, if a man believes that the closest he’ll ever get to God is when he’s riding to Hell between your thighs, then I’ll be stronger for every minute spent worshiping you.”

“Ah, so that’s why you brought me along with you,” you said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“You beat the hell out of a crucifix, cherie,” he replied, looking down at you affectionately.

Pushing you to roll onto your side with your back facing him, Jacques wrapped his powerful arms around you, curling his massive body around yours. Kissing your neck lightly, he nuzzled into your skin, inhaling your scent deeply before relaxing fully against you.

*******************************************************************************************

The rosary felt out of place in your hands. Obscene. It’s smooth beads causing bile to rise in your throat as you rolled them between your fingers. But it had a purpose. Poetic justice, as they say.

The setting sun glinted off the string of auburn beads that swung in your grip, marking the time that the Mother Superior liked to say her evening prayers. Alone in her study.

It was all too easy to slip unnoticed into the small secluded space, given the old woman’s lack of hearing and her eyes shut tight in prayer.

She had brought this on herself by suspecting you, despite your seamless disguise.

Still, you had saved her for last. Blood dripped from the claws that had pushed through the skin of your fingertips. You had lost count of how many monotone-clad nuns you had dispatched during the day, but each one fueled your lust for more.

Kneeling in the middle of the airy room, Mother Superior was there, saying her prayers. Just like you knew she would be. Unaware of your silent approach.

Slick with blood, you had to wrap the rosary around your hands to keep it from sliding through your fists when you pulled it taught in front of you.

A snake couldn’t have struck faster than you when you wrapped the rosary around the Mother’s leathery neck, yanking it tight.

An inhuman cry filled the room as her body went slack. It came from your throat, a victory cry that turned into a cackling laugh. Releasing the rosary, both the obscene beads and the Mother’s body fell to the floor.

Finally, you could free yourself from the confines of your disguise.

Reaching to your high collar, you tore through the fabric with your sharpened claws, ripping yourself free of the habit until it lay in shreds at your feet.

An ancient mirror hung in the Mother’s study. You walked to stand before it.

Your features were not your own. Pointed and distorted, you were a fearsome illusion of something that had once been familiar. You smiled despite the horror, flashing jagged rows of sharpened teeth. Your eyes churned, the color of molten lava, black swirling like ink just above a gleaming red core. Behind you, a figure loomed over your shoulder, it’s bestial face was that of a goat with black fur, long arched horns, and black-red eyes to match your own.

The black goat jerked its head, meeting your eyes in the mirror, staring into your soul.

You woke in bed with a start, your rigid body shooting bolt upright with a gasp.

Breath coming short, your lungs tried to flood your body with enough oxygen to flush the lingering tendrils of your nightmare from your mind.

Jacques flinched beside you at your frightened movement. He had been awake already himself, his back leaned against the headboard as he reclined, smoking a cigarette.

Leaning forward, cigarette clenched between his teeth, Jacques rubbed a warm soothing hand along your back.

“It’s alright, cherie,” he said in a voice thick with sleep and smoke. “I’m here.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a fucking nightmare like that.” You exhaled heavily. “One that felt so vivid. So real.”

“I had one myself,” Jacques said as he moved his arm from your back to wrap around your stomach, pulling you back with him when he leaned back against the headboard.

“Does that mean we’re surrounded by demons?” You asked with a shaky laugh, only half joking.

“It means that we’re in a strange ancient castle, beautiful though it may be. And that we have been told that we’ll find evil here,” he replied, smirking around his cigarette. “It would be unusual not to be a little bit restless.”

Adjusting yourself, you got comfortable again where you lay in Jacques’s arms. Resting your head on his chest and hearing the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, you felt the tension leaving your body with every stroke of his huge hand across your skin.

“You’ve never told me what you believe yourself,” you said, more to fill the midnight silence.

“I believe that I’m far stronger than anything else I’ve ever encountered,” he said with conviction. “That I can defeat any evil that confronts me.”

“I guess I have nothing to worry about, then. Since I have you here to protect me,” you sighed, holding him tight.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, my belle fille,” he told you in a deep, reassuring tone. “I’ll always protect you.”

*******************************************************************************************

Jacques was slow to rise the next morning. Slow to leave the delights of your body in favor of his priest’s collar. Your shared tardiness would leave no doubt in the minds of the nuns as to what the two of you enjoyed behind the bedchamber door of their convent.

Standing to button his shirt in front of a tall ornate mirror in the bedroom, you admired how handsome he was in the golden mid-morning light. Moving in front of him, you helped him affix his white collar over the top button of his fitted charcoal shirt. The irony of assisting him dress in his holy uniform, as his cum moistened your clean panties where it leaked from you, was not lost on either of you. You shared a smirk at the thought.

Unabashedly walking hand in hand with you, Jacques led you through the meandering stone halls of the convent. You had expected a veritable harem of nuns to occupy such a large and enviable castle-turned-convent, but you saw only the same few women you had seen last night. Most of whom still lurked shyly just out of full view, watching the large exorcist traverse the halls with interest.

The exception was Sister Lucia, the beautiful young nun who vied for Jacques’s attention even as she led you both to a large dining hall that had been converted into the convent’s chapel.

Joining you both inside, she closed the heavy wooden double doors behind you.

So, this was where all the nuns were hiding, you thought as you counted the hooded figures of ten nuns scattered throughout the chapel. All were kneeling and either silently or quietly murmuring prayers.

At the front of the chapel was an enormous marble cross buttressed by two stained glass windows containing panels of saints and angels.

Seated before them were two other members of the convent.

The Mother Superior sat in a chair near the base of the cross at the end of the chapel. Backlit by the window, had she been holding a cat, she would have made an imposing Bond Villain. Her features could not be discerned through the glare of the morning sun, but her gnarled hands and aged voice betrayed her seniority.

“Father Le Gris,” she rasped curtly, apparently feeling no need to indulge in pleasantries. Holding aloft her bony finger, she indicated the final woman in the chapel.

A small nun knelt in the middle of the chapel floor, doubled over as if in pain, her head nearly touching the stone floor in front of her. Her back arched and spasmed, like a cat fighting a hairball. Similar guttural noises wretched from her throat, speaking a language you didn’t understand in a ragged graveyard voice, far too deep for such a petite woman. The smell of rotting flowers wafted heavily in the air, surrounding her with its macabre bouquet.

As you moved forward to join Jacques at his side, she lurched on the floor. Dropping to her hands and knees, she raised her nose into the air, inhaling deeply in a canine display.

“This is the priest you summoned from afar?” She cackled at the Mother, her voice the tenor of gravel. “I can smell the lecherous filth of his cum where he painted his whore with it this morning.”

Snapping her head first to you and then to Jacques, she gnashed her teeth at him in a depraved smile as she continued, “The stench of your mingled perversion fills the room, Father.”

The nun’s eyes reflected black as obsidian, framed by dark circles and hollowed cheeks. Her skin was devoid of pigment, not fair but ashen as the remnants of Jacques’s cigarettes. You didn’t need instruction from an exorcist to know that you were in the presence of something inhuman, something deeply and innately evil. The feeling of it crept into the very lining of your skin, chilling you to the bone and prickling your every nerve ending.

Jacques reached a hand to your shoulder, rousing you from the grip of the horror before you, bodily turning you to face him instead.

“This one could be dangerous,” Jacques told you with an edge to his voice that you hadn’t heard before. “I don’t want you in here with me for this, cherie.”

“I’m not afraid. I can help you, Jacques,” you assured him resolutely.

“And so you shall. You shall keep the real danger in this convent away from me. The one who may pounce on me when my back is turned,” he told you with a smirk, despite the severity of his demeanor. “Sister Lucia, please show my assistant the castle grounds today. Outside of this room.”

Reluctantly, you followed the nun out of the chapel. Seconds after the doors were closed behind you, you could hear Jacques’s deep booming voice echoing dangerously from inside the cavernous room. After a few growled commands, his timbre was met with a painful howled cry.

Sister Lucia had to hook her arm through yours, forcibly dragging you further down the hallway away from Jacques.

Worry followed you like a cloud throughout the day, despite the beauty of the castle and the forested mountains surrounding it. You knew that Jacques was a professional, the best of the best in his unique field, and that he was more than capable of handling himself. Still, fear ate at you like acid burning a hole through your heart.

Sister Lucia did an admirable job of distracting you during the day. She was shockingly well read and conversant for such a young and secluded woman. You found her company uncommonly engaging, alluring even. Perhaps it was not such a bad thing that you were indeed keeping her completely away from Jacques for the day.

As the day drew to a close and the sun dropped below the peaks of the mountains, you made your way back to your bedroom to freshen up before Jacques returned to you.

Standing before the same mirror in front of which you had helped Jacques with his white collar earlier, you appraised your reflection.

Looking into the mirror, a feeling gnawed at your subconscious. That eldritch, primal sensation of being watched. Or of being hunted.

Spinning around, you scanned the room behind you and around you.

You were alone.

Only the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears filled the bedroom.

Turning back to face the mirror, you jumped with a start as your blood turned to ice in your veins.

Sister Lucia looked out at you from the mirror, standing demurely before you behind the glass. Her beautiful face was split unnaturally wide by a savage, shark-toothed smile. Her eyes gleaming the colors of smoldering coals.

Faster than you could jump away, her arms shot out of the mirror. Her clawed fingers latched around your throat, yanking you toward her leering smile.

The dark abyss of her eyes consumed you entirely, your own world going as black as her irises.

*******************************************************************************************

You awoke to the sound of the door to your bedchamber closing. Raising your head from where you lay in the bed, Jacques met your gaze with tired eyes and a soft smile.

“This place is really doing a number on me with nightmares,” you laughed sleepily, reaching your hands out to greet Jacques as he lowered himself to sit on the bed beside you.

“I should be the only thing that keeps you awake at night,” he said huskily before leaning down to kiss you sweetly.

Darkness had fully descended, the only light in the room came from candles that you didn’t remember lighting.

“Join me for dinner. Then after, I’ll ensure that you don’t have the strength left for nightmares by the time I’m done with you,” Jacques promised you.

“I like the sound of that, handsome,” you agreed, letting him take your hands, pulling you up to your feet as he stood himself.

Dinner was already set for you both in a dining room shared only by the two of you. You hadn’t realized how famished you were until you saw the array of food laid out before you.

While you ate, Jacques told you that the exorcism appeared to have been a success. Which surprised him. It seemed far too easy for a case that severe.

“Something about it all just feels off somehow,” he told you as you walked back to your room. “I’ve never had a case that felt like this before.”

“Well, after today, I can confidently say that I’d rather deal with my serial killers than your nuns,” you teased, bumping him with your shoulder as you walked beside him.

Once back inside your bedroom, Jacques took your hand. He spun you playfully, twirling you into his arms in a silent dance, and pulling you to his chest.

Lowering his head, he kissed your cheek softly. Affectionately nudging his large nose against you, you felt him smile against your skin before he brought his lips to yours.

At the feel of his kiss, something inside of you ignited. Unlike his sweet affection, you felt the sear of lascivious desire. You kissed him back brutally, your lips violent where his had been soft.

Lust consumed you, commandeering your senses and taking command of your body.

In your fervor, your nails dug into Jacques’s chest where your hands rested. Your teeth nipped at his plush lower lip in between rough kisses.

Using your hands on his chest, you shoved him backwards harshly, knocking his back against the stone wall. Jacques groaned in pleasured surprise at your aggression, throwing his head back like a beast howling at the moon. You used the opportunity to bring your mouth to his neck, sucking several dark marks into his skin. Trailing your mouth lower, you took his priest’s collar between your teeth, ripping it away.

Jacques reached to your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh and pulling you against him as he roughly ground his cock into you.

Following his collar, you reached to the spot where his chest strained the buttons of his shirt. Licking your lips at the thought of his gorgeous chest, you violently ripped his shirt open, sending buttons flying across the room.

Your hands immediately found his bare skin, clawing your nails into his chest. You watched hungrily as you raised pink lines across his skin, the sight sending a rush of heat between your legs.

Taking your chin between his fingers, Jacques raised your face to his, attacking your lips. He easily matched your roughness and carnality bite for bite.

Reaching down to his belt, you quickly unbuckled it and forcefully yanked it free. Feeling the leather in your hands, you swung it down harshly in a stinging smack against his thick thigh, biting down on his lower lip as you did.

“Quit wasting my time, priest,” you hissed into his mouth. “Rip my fucking clothes off and make me cum with that big whore cock that you’re so proud of.”

Jacques growled at your command, pushing himself away from the wall and using his body to shove you back toward the bed.

Hooking his thick fingers in the hem of your top, he yanked it away over your head before roughly shoving your jeans down over your ass and thighs.

As you stepped free from your jeans, Jacques ran his hand inside your panties. He stroked his fingers through your arousal quickly before turning his hand to grab the delicate fabric of your panties and rip them completely away from your body with a snarl.

Your hands flew to his neck, raking his skin as you pulled his head down to crash your lips against his. Ripping his slacks open, you didn’t bother removing them fully, only pushing them down enough to free his cock. Advancing on you, his cock was already hard and impatiently arching upward for you.

Jacques aggressively backed you toward the bed, bearing down upon you as your nails pierced his skin, drawing crimson to the surface of his skin in long winding trails. His hands gripped your hips, digging bruises into you to match the marks you littered across his body.

Before your legs touched the edge of the bed, you turned quickly, pulling Jacques around with you, so his back was facing the bed instead of yours. With a wicked grin, you roughly shoved the huge man backward onto the mattress, following him down to straddle his hips amid creaking protests from the bed.

Without preamble, you raised your hips, bracing a hand on his chest to get your ass high enough to sink down onto him.

A mix of agony and rapture slackened your jaw, your mouth falling open with a heady moan as he stretched you fully.

Growling in pleasure beneath you, Jacques threw his head back against the mattress. Black mane splayed out wildly beneath his handsome face, he bucked his hips up into you, splitting you open with his cock.

Jacques reached a hand behind your neck, pulling you down into a biting kiss. His lips were even plusher than usual, swollen from being teased between your teeth and nearly bruised from the force of your kisses. Leaving them to catch your breath, you turned your attention to his neck. Rolling your hips, you sank your teeth into his skin, sucking dark marks that were framed by the indentations of your teeth down the side of his neck.

Pushing you back with a groan, he lifted his head to bury his face in your tits. Nuzzling into you, feeling your soft flesh pillow around his face, he sucked your nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue expertly around its peak. Your hands fisted into the forest of his hair, tugging him impossibly closer.

Jacques’s huge hands moved to squeeze your ass, grinding his length deep into you in response to you yanking his hair and scratching deep lines into his scalp.

Grinding turned quickly to bouncing as your pace quickened until your head was thrown back, riding him with everything you had.

Jacques sat upright, one hand propped behind him to support his weight as he bucked his hips beneath you, supporting your back with his free hand while you wantonly rode him into delirium.

Sparks of pleasure began to dash through your limbs on an electric current with every slam of his cock into you.

Leaning forward, you straightened in his lap until your chests pressed together. Reaching your hand to his throat, you squeezed the meat of his thick neck harshly. Your hand was too small to effectively choke him, only succeeding in leaving crescent shaped marks on his skin from your nails, but he bared his teeth in a lusting snarl at your attempt.

“Do you like this, Father?” You moaned ravenously, your words coming almost unconsciously. “Being used like the filthy, debauched whore you are? Feeling me drip sin all over your cock?”

“You want me to show you debauched?” Jacques challenged, biting into your shoulder, stinging you for your words before bringing his palm down in a forceful smack to your ass.

Throwing your head back in a wicked laugh, you only rode him harder, vehemently chasing your pleasure.

The feel of his thick cock sliding in and out of you was all you needed to come undone around him. But the sight of Jacques, of the massive, powerful, menacing man beneath you was intoxicating. Muscles taught, glistening with sweat and blood in the candlelight; long hair rustling around his shoulders; a raptured grimace on his lips, baring his teeth; and fiery eyes burning with passion as they held yours.

“That’s right. Cum for me, cherie,” he gritted his command when he felt your pussy fluttering around him and your thighs trembling as the strength began to leave your muscles.

Bucking his hips harder, he thrust up into you with as much force as he could, pushing you over the edge into a blinding orgasm. Your vision blurred and your back arched when you seized around him, every muscle in your body tightening at once. Each thrust into you gave you another pulse of ecstasy until your body was spent and quivering.

Smoothing a hand up your body, Jacques reached to the back of your neck, pulling you down again into a biting kiss to the sensitive spot below your left ear like a creature of the night.

“My turn, ma belle fille,” he growled before sucking a mark into your skin that would be impossible to hide.

Keeping his hand at your neck and his mouth on your skin, Jacques rolled with you, pulling you beneath him. His cock still held tightly inside of you, he drove into you further when he took his position above you.

Caged below him with his immense weight pressing down onto you, being full of him in every way, was such a delicious feeling. Matched only by the way his muscles felt as they tensed and flexed under your hands with his movements.

“Ton minou est si serré,” he panted hoarsely, losing himself in the feel of you.

Jacques fucked you roughly now, giving it to you just as feverishly as you had taken from him. Your very own beast, barely contained in the skin of a man. Your nails clawed angry streaks across his back and flanks as every hard thrust rocked your body. Raising your head, you licked a line of blood that trickled down from his neck, savoring the copper tang on your tongue.

It took only minutes before you were cumming again, his brutal pace pounding you into seizing around his cock a second time. This time, his own jaw clenched tight in a tooth-baring snarl. Slamming into you deeply, he came in time with you, your name rumbling from his throat.

Chest heaving, Jacques lowered his head to kiss you while his warmth spread through you. His long ebony hair fell in a curtain, surrounding both of your faces.

His lips were languorous and measured now, drawing as much lingering pleasure from you as he could. You pulled him closer to you, letting him settle more of his weight over you, wanting to feel the power in his body. Jacques kissed you deeply for several long minutes before the feeling of drying sweat and blood on both of your bodies became noticeable.

Rolling off of you, he pulled you with him so that you sprawled across his broad chest. Laying on his back, his thick chest heaved from exertion. Glistening with sweat, decorated with the scratches and bruises you had bestowed upon him, Jacques admired you with half-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. You laid across his chest, propped up on your forearm to take in the sight of him below you.

Moonlight from the open window shimmered on his damp skin, accentuating the rigid planes of his body. His slacks were still slung haphazardly around his hips, neither of you having taken the time to remove them. You both shared a smirk at the sight.

Tracing your fingers across his heated chest, circling and following the marks you had left on his freckled skin, you marveled at how hot your own body felt in comparison to his; yet somehow, your heartbeat was calm and relaxed despite your rising fever. It certainly shouldn’t be after the rigorous pleasure you had just enjoyed.

Pinpricks of heat danced across your skin and down your spine. You felt as though Jacques had ignited you from the inside, stoking a fire within you that you had never felt before. It was a foreign sensation, making you too hot in your own skin.

“That was something else, cherie,” Jacques praised huskily, smoothing his huge hand along your back.

“It sure fucking was, handsome,” you sighed, pressing your body impossibly closer against his.

“You should get some rest,” he told you softly, his own voice heavy with fatigue. “I know you didn’t sleep well last night because of your nightmare, and it has to be well past midnight by now.”

“I’m not tired at all. I feel like I’m on fire. Energized,” you said as you brought your lips to his chest, placing a kiss on an angry red line you had scratched into him minutes before. “I want more of you. I want more of everything.”

Gazing up at you, Jacques’s grin turned more serious and his hazy eyes sharpened, focusing intently upon you.

Without taking his eyes from you, he reached to retrieve his pack of cigarettes from the nightstand. Bringing it to his mouth, he pulled a cigarette free with his lips before tossing the pack aside and reaching next for his lighter. Raising the flame to his cigarette, he inhaled deeply, turning his head to the side to exhale a plume of smoke away from you.

On impulse, you plucked the cigarette from his lips, placing it between your own. Taking an equally deep inhale, you felt a rush as the smoke and nicotine filled your lungs. The acrid vapor felt like going home to you. Your eyes fluttered closed as the smoke slowly issued from your nose with your savoy exhale.

“I thought you didn’t smoke?” Jacques asked, eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at you.

“I don’t,” you confirmed airily. “But I may have to start.”

“You had a nightmare last night,” he said, his rich voice dropping an octave. “Tell me about it.”

“It wasn’t like a regular nightmare. It was strange,” you told him around another drag.

“Tell me,” he pressed, his tone growing more commanding. Watching you closely, he brought his free arm that was not caressing your back behind his head.

You informed him about your dream from the previous night, feeling him grow more tense with each passing minute. When you finished with the details of the black goat-like figure, he was no longer caressing you, but digging his fingers into your skin with the force of his grip.

“It must be something about this exorcism business.” You shrugged with another laugh. “I think it was the same goat you dreamt about yourself the first night we were here. Strange, isn’t it?”

“Strange,” Jacques agreed, his body now rigid beneath you, watching as you took another drag on his cigarette.

In one swift, powerful movement, Jacques rolled over you, pushing your back down into the bed and caging you beneath his heavy body where he propped himself above you. His eyes when they met yours were no longer lusting, but focused and fearsome.

He pushed your arms above your head, stretching you below him. Grabbing both of your wrists easily in his enormous left hand, he held you pinned in his iron grip.

Leaning down over you, he met your lips in a tender kiss, the softness of his lips a stark contrast to the hardness of his grip on your wrists and his heavy body pressing you down into the mattress.

“I need you to trust me, amour,” he purred against your lips before pulling away and looking down at you sternly. “And I need you to do exactly as I say.”

“Of course I trust you, Jacques.” Your confusion was apparent in your tone. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me that you’ll do as I say. Even if you don’t want to,” he said severely, commanding you. “Promise me.”

“Alright, I promise, handsome,” you assured him with a smile. “What’s this all about?”

“I never told you about my dream,” he said calmly, his jaw set. “And I’ve watched you try to keep yourself from coughing when I smoke near you.”

At his words, you felt something inside of you stir. A fluttering behind your eyes like a bird in a cage. A tingling ran the length of your body, not a pleasurable one, but reminiscent of the feeling of your limbs falling asleep and falling away from your control.

“I’m not talking to you now, cherie,” he said menacingly, his grip tightening around your wrists. “I’m talking to you, demon.”

The world around you blurred, everything growing hazy around the edges except for Jacques’s grave expression above you. As if flipping a switch inside of your consciousness, you became shut out of your own body. You were no longer in control of anything except your thoughts, trapped in the depths of your own mind. You were helpless, seeing your actions as though it was playing on a movie screen as you watched from outside through a window. You felt powerless and terrified, yet every command you issued to your body went unanswered.

Instead, a voice that wasn’t yours used your mouth to speak.

“I have her, priest,” a rasping snarl issued from your throat, as your body writhed in Jacques’s grip. “And I’ll be the one who takes her home with me. Not you.”

“You’re not taking her any-fucking-where, couillon,” Jacques growled menacingly.

“You can’t stop me, priest,” the voice inside you sneered. “How does it feel knowing you can’t save the woman you love? The woman you’ve spent your whole life searching for? Knowing that she’ll belong to me instead of you? That I’ll take her away with me?”

“No, you fucking won’t. Take me instead,” Jacques commanded, his voice a low rumble.

“I’ll have you too,” the demon spat vilely. “How many of your loved ones will die because you failed to save them before you send yourself to the gates of Hell by your own hand?”

“You’ve wanted me for decades,” Jacques snarled. “I’ll make it easy for you. You can have me. Right now.”

“What if I’d rather take your whore back to Hell with me?” The acrid words stung your throat and eyes as they forced themselves over your tongue. “Take her away after you’ve gotten a taste of the only one you want to keep forever?”

“There are plenty of lawyers in Hell,” Jacques gritted darkly. “A fallen priest is the finest trophy you can claim.”

The demon inside your body writhed in anticipation, licking your tongue across its teeth at the thought.

“You lie, priest,” the demon hissed from your lips.

“Here I am. You can fucking have me,” Jacques growled, immobilizing your body’s struggles with his heavy weight. “Leave her alone and take me.”

At his words, Jacques crashed his lips against yours. He kissed you roughly, harsh enough to bruise the inner flesh of your lips against your teeth. His eyes remained open, staring fiercely down into yours as a challenge.

You watched as his vibrant amber eyes flooded with jet black, as if a bottle of ink had been poured into their shining depths. You felt the entity inside of you slipping away, its hold on your mind and body loosening as its tentacles unraveled inside you.

When it had purged itself from you through your lips, you felt yourself plunged back into reality. The pain in your lips from Jacques’s violent kiss and wrists from his bruising grip hit you like a baseball bat, accompanied by a weariness that you felt through to your bones.

Tearing his lips from yours, Jacques squeezed his eyes shut tight to match his clenching jaw, his handsome features contorted into a mask of pain. Pulling you roughly from beneath him, he shoved you aside, burying his face in his hands against the mattress.

“Get out, cherie,” he ordered you in a strained growl. “Take the car keys and leave me.”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not leaving you, Jacques,” you said, reaching a hand to his shoulder.

“Get out. Now!” He snarled, his deep voice more feral than you had ever heard it. Jerking his head to face you, he glared at you ferociously. With his tangled mane falling around his fearsome features and eyes that now gleamed unnaturally yellow, he looked like a wild beast instead of the handsome man you knew. “Don’t let me hurt you. Run.”

Scrambling off the bed, you backed slowly away, unable to fully believe what you were seeing. Grabbing his discarded charcoal shirt, you pulled the voluminous garment on over your naked figure, wrapping it around yourself, as its owner growled into the mattress where he had returned his face.

“Leave now while I can still hold it back,” he commanded painfully, all the thick muscles in his massive body flexing with the effort of restraining himself. “Run. Please run, amour.”

Groaning into his hands once more, his voice grew more pained and anguished before turning into something closer to a low moan of ecstasy. Jacques’s body relaxed with a final shudder raking his heavy muscles, similar to the way he would relax above you after he was fatigued from pleasure.

His groan turned into a wicked rumbling laugh as he raised his head to look at you once more. Gone was the affection his eyes always held when they looked at you. Gone was the handsome smile. Replaced by sharp, gleaming evil, reflected in yellow eyes and a malicious snarl.

“Is the priest’s cock so good that you’d follow him to Hell for it?” He said with a malignant prurience. “Maybe I’ll shove it down your throat until you choke to death on it. Fitting for a whore, don’t you think?”

Just as you turned to run, he lunged from the bed, clawing a long arm at you. You were just fast enough to evade it as you rushed for the door, swiping his car keys from the dresser as you ran.

Reaching the door, you yanked it open, flinging your body through it and slamming it shut in Jacques’s face. His heavy body crashed against it with an angry snarl, the door frame splintering from his impact.

Sprinting down the hallway as fast as you could push yourself, you rounded a close corner as you heard the bedroom door slam against the wall as Jacques kicked it open. His heavy footfalls echoed down the hallway behind you. He would overtake you easily in seconds.

You didn’t know where to run or what to do. Clutching his keys in your hand, you didn’t think you could outrun him long enough to get through the castle and outside to his car. Even if you wanted to leave him behind, which you didn’t.

The nuns were your only hope. Maybe the Mother Superior could help you and the part of Jacques that had to still be inside him.

Turning another corner brought you to a fork where the hallway bifurcated in two separate directions. It was decorated with sculptures of saints, recessed into alcoves that were black with shadows in the darkness.

Ducking into one of the alcoves, you squeezed yourself behind the sculpture of a Saint, hoping the midnight darkness would conceal you enough.

You could hear Jacques running hard toward you, his breath huffing like an animal on your scent.

Jacques exploded into view around the corner where he skidded to a stop, his body only feet from where you hid. Moonlight shone on the heaving planes of his bare chest, glistening with sweat and blood that gleamed almost black. He wore only his fitted black slacks, sitting low around his hips.

His fists clenched at his sides and his teeth ground together as he appraised the fork in the hallway. His head cocked from side to side like an animal and his lips were curled into a snarl. He looked particularly ferocious hunting you.

Deciding on the left-hand path, he charged down the hallway away from you. You waited until the sound of him faded from your hearing to leave your hiding spot and run as silently as you could down the hallway leading away to your right.

This hallway led to the Mother Superior’s chambers. One stroke of good luck.

Your lungs burned for air and your thighs ached when you reached her door. You frantically barged into her chambers.

You were met with nothing more than an empty room. A layer of dust blew up from the floor from the door being swung open, swirling around your feet, as though the room hadn’t been entered in weeks. The only detail that stood starkly out of place were the crucifixes turned upside down where they hung on the walls.

Backing out of the room, you pressed your back against the wall, taking a breath to compose yourself.

Silently as possible, you crept further down the hallway in the direction of the wing of the castle that served as the nuns’ dormitories. The convent was silent but for the small sounds of your footsteps. No sign of Jacques or of anyone else.

The moon had risen in the star bespeckled sky, its silvery light the only illumination inside the castle. Eerie shadows and unearthly glows were cast throughout its long halls and expansive rooms, streaming in through its many windows. No torches lined the walls and no candles flickered tonight.

Approaching the corridor that led to the nuns’ quarters, you had to pass by the chapel in which Jacques had spent the day performing his exorcism.

As you walked closer to the chapel, the smell of rotting death filled your nose, growing stronger with your every step. This was not the smell you had learned to associate with the demonic, possessing of a sweet tinge. This was sheer, vile rot and decay.

The smell grew so overwhelming that you were forced to clamp the long sleeve of Jacques’s shirt that you wore over your nose and mouth to keep from gagging.

It wafted through the air from inside the chapel, through the wooden double doors that sat slightly ajar.

Passing by the chapel doors, you hazarded a glance inside. Your pulse jumped with hope when you saw the black habit of the Mother Superior sitting in the same chair she had occupied earlier in the day. Her dark figure was now backlit by moonlight, imbued with a prism of color by the tall stained-glass windows it filtered through.

A choked sigh of relief hiccupped from your lips as you rushed through the doors into the chapel.

Inside, the smell of putrefaction hung in the air like a heavy fog, stinging your eyes and coating the roof of your mouth through the fabric of Jacques’s sleeve.

It was difficult for you to immediately take in all the horrors the chapel contained. As you had seen earlier, the chapel was filled with the nuns of the convent. However, they were not kneeling in prayer as you had seen earlier. Their dismembered bodies lay strewn across the chapel floor, limbs rendered and bodies torn open on a floor painted crimson with layers of dried and clotted blood.

The chapel was transformed into an abattoir of horrors. Cast in the cheery colorful moonlight from the stained-glass windows.

Looking more closely after the initial terrifying shock abated, you could see that the bodies were long dead. Long enough to fester and decay. They had easily been dead for two weeks if not longer.

None of them had been alive since you and Jacques arrived.

Walking ahead, spurred on by a morbid curiosity, you approached the body of the Mother Superior at the front of the chapel. You passed by the body of the allegedly possessed nun, still in the middle of the floor where Jacques had performed her posthumous exorcism earlier.

The Mother’s head was thrown back in her chair, her mouth agape in a silent scream. A string of rosary beads encircled her throat. The same string of beads from your dream.

Like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, you knew with a frightening epiphany what had transpired here. You could see it as though it was your own memory that a powerful demon had possessed one nun, using her to kill all the others.

Then, using its nefarious powers, the demon summoned Jacques here to have the exorcist all to itself. It was all a depraved ruse to lure Jacques into an isolated trap. Lulling you both into complacency with its illusions, the demon had waited until you were both vulnerable to strike. Of course, you were the easier target that allowed it to get to Jacques, using his feelings for you like a ladder.

Anger rose within you, heating your cheeks and tightening your fists.

You wouldn’t let the demon win. You couldn’t. And there was no one here to help Jacques but you. You had seen a window into how Jacques worked during an exorcism. You knew you could help him. You had to. You were his only hope.

“Speak of the Devil and he appears,” Jacques’s rich, sinister voice resounded through the chapel.

Spinning back to face the entrance, you saw him push the doors open with his foot to lean casually against the doorframe, his looming figure taking up the doorway.

His eyes glimmered a malevolent yellow inside a pool of black, and he grinned wickedly and lopsided, baring his teeth.

“I did not expect to collect the souls of both the exorcist and his whore,” he said ominously, licking his tongue over one canine. “I’ve had good fortune as of late.”

Taking a pointed look around the chapel, the demon surveyed his gruesome conquests with pride.

“How impressive,” you said venomously. “Killing a room full of unarmed women. Where I come from, I’d call that being a pussy.”

“The room is not full yet. It still has space for one more,” the demon inside Jacques snarled at you.

Your thoughts flitted briefly to Sister Lucia, wondering if she still lived and could help you.

Reading your thoughts again as though they had been spoken aloud, Jacques’s grin widened. Pushing away from the doorframe, he advanced upon you slowly in a predatory gate, his head lowered and eyes fixed on you.

Pausing in his approach, he bent down to reach one of the bodies of the nuns who lay face down on the floor. She had a noose around her neck that you hadn’t noticed before. Grabbing the rope, Jacques slung her body toward you across the blood-stained floor. Sister Lucia.

“She killed herself in a fleeting moment of what she believed was clarity.” The demon spoke casually in a harsh, deep tone. “Her body was becoming challenging for me to control from all the rot.”

The demon made a show of straightening tall and large, flexing Jacques’s powerful chest and arms as he looked down to admire them.

“I enjoy this body more. So much more robust,” he said, letting the word linger on his tongue as he returned his gaze to you.

Your fear began to mount afresh, palpable in the cool air, despite your best efforts to remain composed.

At the sight of your terror, something shifted in Jacques. You saw the amber in his eyes return and for a moment, you saw fear reflected in their depths. Forcing his body to take a shaking step back away from you, his every heavy muscle trembled with the effort.

“I told you to fucking leave me,” he growled, this time from the effort of keeping control instead of malice.

Jacques doubled over, groaning painfully, the muscles in his back rippling with his internal strain. When he straightened, it was once again the demon eyeing you ravenously with yellow eyes. Lifting his large right hand, the creature smoothed his hand through Jacques’s luscious hair.

“Come. Let me hold you, dearest,” he teased cruelly, holding his arms out wide. “I’ll thank you before I rip you apart. I could have captured the exorcist when he fucked his sin into the pretty little nun. But you made it so much easier. His feelings for you have been his only weakness I could exploit. And I’ve hunted him for decades.”

“Your mistake is thinking that’s his weakness,” you said defiantly. “Or mine.”

The demon only smirked at you, grinding his teeth as he flashed them dangerously between his plush lips. He took an ominous step toward you. You both knew that you couldn’t outrun him or evade him in this space.

Remembering the way you had seen Jacques take control of the admittedly more innocuous demons during your time with him, you did your best to subdue your fear and steel yourself.

“Jacques, I know you’re still in there. I know you can hear me,” you said evenly, holding your ground as he stalked toward you slowly.

“Your debauched priest isn’t here now, little whore,” he scowled, narrowing his unnaturally glowing eyes at you. “Only me.”

“I’ve heard you tell your patients to think about what they love. That this is a game of mental warfare,” you continued, trying to stay calm despite the tremor in your voice. “Think of what you love, Jacques.”

“The priest loves nothing,” the demon sneered, shaking his head slightly as if to clear away an unpleasant thought. “Least of all you and your filthy cunt.”

Jacques’s fists clenched at his sides, blanching his knuckles white, the muscles in his arms quivering with effort. You knew that wasn’t caused by the demon puppeteer. It had no reason to restrain itself.

“Look at me, Jacques. Look into my eyes,” you commanded, growing bolder. “Think of what you have loved. Do love. Will love.”

“I’ll show you how the priest treats those he loves. How he fails them,” he hissed viciously.

Jacques drew back, preparing to lunge at you, but stopped with a jolt, a violent shudder raking his huge body. Grimacing, he bowed his head, hair falling in front of his face, hiding the pain on his features.

“Run, cherie. Please,” he pleaded in a painful, strained voice, falling down heavily to a knee. “Run now while I can hold it back.”

“I’m not going to run. I’m not going to leave you,” you assured him, taking a confident step closer. “You’re strong enough to defeat this. And you’re fucking going to.”

Raising his head slightly, he looked at you through the black curtain of his hair with frightened eyes before squeezing them tightly closed and again curling in on himself in agony, groaning low.

“Think about what you love,” you confidently repeated again. “Picture it in your mind. Hear it in your ears. Smell its perfume. Taste it on your tongue. Feel it in your hands and on your skin.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, amour,” he huffed, struggling internally, every muscle in his body tensed with exertion. “Don’t let me hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you commanded. Closing the final distance between you and where he knelt on the stone floor, you ran your fingers into his hair lovingly. “Let love consume you until there’s no room for anything else. Feel how it makes you stronger.”

Leaning into your touch, he buried his face against your belly, heaving an aching sigh. Bringing your other hand to his shoulders, you smoothed across their breadth gently, feeling him relax into you further.

“You’re stronger than a demon, or anything else for that matter,” you said, softening your tone and assuring him. “I know you are.”

Several long minutes passed as Jacques’s breathing grew steadily calmer and less pained, the tension leaving his muscles.

Lifting his head, he raised his chin to meet your gaze squarely. His eyes found yours, holding them resolutely with familiar amber clarity.

Reaching for your hands, he plucked them off his body, bringing them to his lips. He kissed your skin with all the gratitude and adoration you could see reflected in his eyes.

You squeezed his hands reassuringly, using your grip to pull him up shakily to his feet. He was weak, swaying against you drunkenly, the strength spent from his powerful muscles. You wrapped an arm around his waist and he draped his arm across your shoulders, leaning heavily against you as you led him out of the chapel.

Clinging onto Jacques with one arm and clutching his keys in your free hand, you made your way with him through the castle. The further you walked away from the stench of the chapel, the more strength Jacques regained.

When you reached the front entry doors of the castle, Jacques pushed them open roughly. His hand returned to the small of your back to guide you through and hold you close once outside.

The crisp night air invigorated you both, filling your lungs with its freshness and forcing out any lingering malaise.

Fully recovered, Jacques walked tall and strong beside you to the car, only some shades of fatigue lingering under his eyes.

Before you could open the car door, Jacques pulled you into his arms, embracing you tightly with all his strength. You flung your arms around his neck, pulling him close with equal ardor. He held you against his chest for minutes before pulling back just enough to kiss you. He kissed you more softly and lovingly than he had before, thanking you for giving him a reason to save himself.

“I might need to keep you around. We make a hell of a team,” he told you huskily when he broke your kiss, his eyes swimming with warm affection as he looked down at you.

“I’d like that,” you agreed, stroking your hands across his bare chest and over the scratches you had clawed into him earlier.

“The good Cardinal may offer to canonize you for dealing with me under normal circumstances, let alone while possessed,” Jacques huffed.

“Does it come with benefits?” You laughed.

“How long is the criminal trial for your client?” Jacques asked, swaying with you slightly.

“Two weeks,” you replied, your smile waning at the thought of returning home. “At least two weeks.”

“You’ve got yourself an expert.” He beamed down at you, knowing he had pleased you.

“I thought you said my client was full of it?” You teased, fully aware his opinion hadn’t changed.

“He is. But it’ll buy me more time to see if I want to spend my time where you’re from or if I need to convince you to stay in Rome with me,” he said genuinely, squeezing you again to punctuate his words. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

Finally releasing one arm from you, Jacques patted the pockets of his slacks, locating his cigarettes. Shaking one loose from the pack, he offered it to you with a smirk.

You declined by rolling your eyes and slapping his chest lightly at his humor.

“Good girl,” he said with a grin, taking the cigarette between his own lips and lighting it.

Shoving him back from you playfully when he exhaled smoke above your head, you opened the passenger door for him, ushering him inside before sliding into the driver’s seat yourself. You sighed with relief when the engine roared to life.

Jacques placed his hand on your bare thigh, holding you possessively and silently promising always to protect you.

Miles passed in silence as Jacques finished his cigarette. Staring out of the window at the moonlit landscape, he chewed his lip, lost in thought.

Turning back to face you, he took your hand, raising it to his lips before lacing his fingers through yours. He rested your joined hands back on your thigh.

“You must know that I thought of you. That you saved me,” Jacques told you, his confidence unwavering. “My amour.”

“I know,” you said simply, stroking your thumb over his skin and meeting his handsome smile with your own.

*******************************************************************************************

The solitary confinement cell in the maximum-security prison was almost pitch black during the night. The only light came from a few weak beams that seeped in around the double-bolted door.

Guards in the solitary unit were used to inmates making strange sounds during the night. Cries. Screams. Pleas. The sounds of desperation. The sounds of a person going slowly insane under the pressure of their own macabre thoughts. This was not cause for alarm or even inspection by the guards.

As such, the guards couldn’t see when your client’s eyes flooded with a malignant inky black. They didn’t watch when his body contorted on the floor, writhing and twisting in ways that no human body could force itself. They didn’t care when the inhuman screeching began to claw its way out of his throat, echoing off the metal walls of his cell.

The guards wouldn’t know anything was amiss with the infamous serial killer until the next morning. Not until a pair of unsuspecting guards opened his cell door to perform their morning inmate count.

Perhaps they never even realized that anything was awry at all. Their deaths came so quickly. Their throats were sawn through with vicious swipes of razored claws faster than their eyes could blink at the oncoming attack.

Authorities couldn’t discern how the killer had made his escape from prison. They could only follow the trail of bodies he left in his bloody wake. They could only initiate a nation-wide manhunt, following the sparse and incongruous clues, watching helplessly as the body count grew.

Like any responsible client, one of the first things the killer intended to do now that he was free from jail was pay a visit to his lawyer. And the exorcist serving as the expert witness on his case.

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