Author's Notes: This came from an LXG rp I was once a part of where I played little Mary herself. She was sent to the Vatican by her employer--one villian by the name of Moriarty. Father Marcus is an original character, not owned by me but so evily delicious!!! Thanks to those who are reading this fic. I never ask for reviews--since I write for my own pleasure--but as I recently checked my stats I've seen that others are enjoying these little stories just as much as I am, so thanks!
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She tried not to clench her eyes too tightly; she tried not to do anything at all. The constant hushing whisperings in her ear made that difficult, as did the muscled body lying alongside her own on the plain bed: a single. How it had come to this point and why she had ultimately agreed to meet in his chambers at this hour Mary couldn't recall right now, not with Father Marcus' fingers stroking over her flushed flesh.
He had smiled when she entered the room, taking her hand and ushering her first to the hearth. Soft touches followed, innocent touches, where he would smooth out the layers of her long red hair, following it's wave down to where it ended at the edge of her hip. Mary knew deep down that this night would not end as innocently and as she caught a glimpse of another smile playing upon Marcus' full mouth as they moved to the bed Mary realized that he knew this as well.
And so she tried to hold her breath when she rested her head against one pillow which smelled of his dark hair, but that lasted as long as the priest's self-control and at the first touch of his hand on her shoulder Mary's chest began to rapidly rise and fall. His deep voice urged for caution and yet the words spoke of her beauty and gentleness and—above all—that she had nothing to fear from his love nor her own desire. It would be a lie, after all, to say she was indifferent to the warm press against her throat or the way he moved his attentions to the neckline of her gown and the simple ribbon that held the material closed. Every nerve tingled at each caress but whether from fear of the unknown or her believed sinful lust Mary did not know.
She turned to him when he requested it, lips slightly parted and exhaling—unable to do much of anything when Marcus pushed her sleeve down, his hand quickly sliding to cover an exposed breast. Mouth fast upon hers to cover the gasps, Mary could offer no resistance as his weight rested over her unexpectedly: a broad frame pressing down against small angles.
His white collar was nowhere to be seen.