A/N: I've appreciated the feedback on this greatly and the consensus seems to be the darker and dirtier, the better. So I am going full out on this one. Do not read further if you are uncomfortable with BDSM or kinky smutty filth in general. I would like to thank wordsmith-storyweaver who has generously shared her time and expertise with me. Her contributions have been invaluable, she is a fantastic writer.
Chapter 3: Every Breath You Take
Emma had a very hard time sleeping that night. She was keyed up and restless as she tried to process her surreal encounter with the priest. She'd been sexually assaulted and threatened in a dark alley. By the local vicar, no less. The devilishly handsome local vicar. Weren't they supposed to take a vow of celibacy? Though his behavior qualified as outrageous even for non-celibate clergy like Episcopalians or Presbyterians. Well, outrageous by any standard. Shocking, appalling, disgusting, illegal.
And incredibly hot. The fact that he was the village priest made it even hotter. So wicked, so forbidden. A dark, depraved fantasy come true.
She had never been so turned on in her life. She couldn't remember ever having an orgasm so intense. Even as she lay safely in the darkness, she blushed at the mere memory of his hands on her, his fingers roughly probing her and making her scream in ecstasy. And the feeling of him biting down hard and sucking on her neck at the moment of her climax had been indescribable in its pain and bliss. She felt a bit like the heroine in a vampire story. There was always something sexy about those scenes featuring darkly handsome vampires and the pure, innocent virgin swooning as he bites her creamy, white neck. Well, she was no virgin, and certainly far from pure and innocent, but whatever. Just thinking about it got her aroused all over again, and she reached down to touch the still tender flesh between her legs, trying to relive exactly the way his fingers felt on her. She tossed and turned until she finally gave up and popped a Xanax just as it was starting to get light outside.
Although she slept until almost noon the next day, zonked out on the pill, she felt tired and irritable nonetheless. Not surprisingly, he'd left an ugly purple bruise on her neck and covering it up would be challenging. She rummaged through her drawer and pulled out the highest turtleneck sweater she could find, then tied a scarf around it for good measure. Mary Margaret and David still gave her surprised looks when she emerged at nearly one in the afternoon to find them having their lunch.
"Late night, dear?" her mother asked, raising a forkful of salad to her mouth.
"Um, no, not really," Emma mumbled, reaching for the Nespresso machine and popping in a black Ristretto capsule. "Just had trouble sleeping, that's all. Work stuff, you know."
Her parents nodded sympathetically as she made herself a double expresso and felt marginally better after consuming it.
For the next week, the hot priest continued to torment her, driving out all rational thought and draining her focus as she found her mind trapped like a hamster on a wheel. Her tired brain tumble turned in a continuous loop, replaying their encounter over and over, dissecting it, analyzing it, wallowing in it.
And another thing. The constant craving for more. She wasn't done with him, not by a long shot. Her mental torture only intensified when she ran into him despite her nearly comical efforts to avoid his squirm-inducing presence.
The worst moment so far had been the lunch at Granny's. Her parents had insisted on taking her for lunch there one afternoon and she'd been too distracted by reliving her sex scene with the priest for the thousandth time to come up with an excuse. The next thing she knew, the man himself appeared at the table to say hello on his way out and ask her father how he was getting on.
The man had ice cold water in his veins, she was positive. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on her plate, mute unless forced by a direct question to mumble a reply, while he made mundane but very proper conversation with her parents about David's doctors, the weather, and Granny's meatloaf. No one could have guessed that he and Emma had ever exchanged anything other than a polite greeting on one or two occasions. Part of her wanted to bolt and run away from the excruciating situation as fast as she could. But another, debauched part of her desperately wished he would put his hands on her again and ravish her right then and there before she exploded. Was he just going to go on forever pretending nothing had happened? Was she going to let him?
"How are you enjoying your visit, Miss Swan?" he inquired blandly, turning to address her.
"Uh, fine, great," she forced herself to look him in the eye and schooled her face lest her parents suspect something was amiss. She shifted her eyes away from him.
"I'd imagine Storybrooke seems very quiet compared to New York," he continued pleasantly, "are you finding enough to stimulate you here?"
His tone was neutral and his face the picture of innocence but she knew that perverted son of a bitch was smirking at her inside.
"Plenty," she responded, more tartly than she'd intended, this time holding his gaze.
He took his leave then, saying he had an appointment to visit an ailing parishioner, and bidding them to "have a nice day." She wanted to smack him. And not in the good way.
After a week of obsessing unhealthily over the hot priest, Emma shook herself out of her daze and began to stalk her prey – online this time.
She tried googling "James Hook", only to get dozens of irrelevant hits for a lobster and seafood company, a rugby player, and the villain of Peter Pan, among countless others. She tried "Father James Hook" and "James Hook" + catholic priest. All she turned up was a Church of England cathedral dean in the 19th century. Various other permutations were equally useless.
Sighing, she tapped her pencil against the keyboard. Then she straightened up and began looking up some telephone contact numbers for the Archdiocese of Portland. Perhaps some old-fashioned sleuthing subterfuge was required.
She got through to the Human Resources department and soon had a helpful secretary on the line. "Oh, hello, this is Jane Wentworth from the law firm of Dewey, Cheatham & Howe. I'm a trust and estates attorney, and I'm representing the Executor of a rather large estate with a specific monetary bequest to a priest we're trying to locate who may be assigned to your diocese," Emma fibbed. "It's quite a large sum of money, and it's rather urgent we track him down."
"Oh, I see," said the helpful voice, "What's his name?"
"James Hook. Father James Hook," Emma answered. "Apparently he was terribly kind to my late client during her declining years." A little embellishment to bolster her credibility never hurt.
"Let me just check our records to see if I can find the name," the secretary said. There was silence, then Emma heard the tapping of a keyboard.
"Oh yes, here it is…." Another long silence ensured.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry to tell you this, but Father Hook is deceased. He passed away, tragically young from the look of things," the lady tut-tutted sympathetically.
Emma swallowed hard. "Are you sure? How did he pass away?"
"Well the information is brief but it appears he drowned swimming off the coast of Africa while he was on a church outreach mission," she said. "The Portland diocese was involved in notifying the next of kin."
"And you're positive there are no other priests by that name?" Emma pressed her.
"Well, this is an international church database, and I have no one else by that name," she responded firmly, "But I can give you contact information for his family. Wouldn't they inherit the bequest intended for Father Hook?"
Emma thanked her and took down the information, not sure if it would be helpful or not.
"Thank you, but before I let you go, I need to make absolutely sure I've done my due diligence on this. Before I called, we were told very definitely that he was very much alive and currently serving as the parish priest for St. Aloysius in Storybrooke, Maine. Are you sure there hasn't been some sort of terrible miscommunication or data entry error?" Emma was pushing it, but she needed to know.
More taps on the computer, then she heard the woman's voice come on the line again. "I'm sorry, but that's completely impossible. Until he retired a few months ago, Father Peter DeAngelis from Bangor served in that position on an occasional basis, but currently no replacement has been appointed, and the diocese is considering closing St. Aloysius entirely and merging it with a larger church in a neighboring town. That decision likely won't come for several months."
"I see," said Emma, "Thank you for your time. I really appreciate your help."
"No problem at all, sorry I didn't have better news. Have a nice day!" the secretary rang off.
Emma exhaled explosively. "Well, fuck me," she said out loud, slumping back in her chair contemplatively. Father James Hook was dead, and according to the Catholic Church, there was no priest in residence at St. Aloysius. Her hot priest was clearly an imposter, but who the fuck was he? And what was he doing in Storybrooke pretending to be its parish priest? The sheer brazenness of it all stupefied her, but, so far, brazenness was a quality that was highly consistent with what she knew about Priest Hook from her own experience. It also made her wonder if he had someone inside the diocese helping him with his elaborate masquerade. It seemed likely. But why? She wondered if he was a wanted criminal hiding out under an assumed identity. That seemed likely as well.
She clicked into one of the databases her firm subscribed to and she spent an entire day reviewing lists of wanted criminals, but turned up no one resembling him. Frustrated, she logged off her computer, closed it and went downstairs to pour herself a glass of wine.
She would need to get closer to the man himself if she was going to take her clandestine investigation any further. Alternatively, she could simply blow the whistle on what she already knew. She didn't want to do that, for … reasons. "I'll find out your secret, you mad bastard," she murmured to herself, "And I plan on having a damn good time doing it."
She laughingly sang Sting's classic ode to a creepy stalker as she walked back upstairs, glass of wine in hand.
"Every breath you take,
Every move you make,
Every bond you break
Every step you take
I'll be watching you."
A few days later, Emma found herself dressing for a party. Regina Mills was throwing a huge party to celebrate the 40th birthday party of her husband, Robin Locksley. Regina had been two years ahead of Emma in school, and Emma had always had a bit of a girl crush on her. Regina was beautiful, popular, and smart. She was one of the cool girls. She'd been Class President, head cheerleader, captain of the girls' soccer team, editor of the school newspaper, Homecoming Queen. Emma had both idolized and feared her since she could remember. Now she was the Mayor of Storybrooke, and many thought her next step would be running for the state legislature or even Congress.
Emma knew that le tout Storybrooke would be in attendance, including the new celebrity in town, Father Hook. Or just "Hook" as she now thought of him in her own mind. She shivered a little with excitement at the thought of seeing him again, and observing him at her leisure. She was waiting with no little anticipation for his next move. Either that or it would have to be her next move and she sensed it was better to wait for him. She remembered his sinister instruction to her before he left her in the alley – "Don't bother wearing anything under your skirt the next time you see me."
After thinking it over, she decided to comply with his demand. She wore a seemingly demure looking black knit long sleeved dress trimmed with a crisp white collar and matching white French cuffs. From the waist up, she looked like a librarian, though it clung to her figure and accentuated her breasts. Hopefully, she looked like a sexy librarian. Below the waist, the dress was extremely short, and she was completely naked underneath. She finished the outfit with simple pearl stud earrings and a pair of Jimmy Choo strappy sandals anchored to her feet with a thick gold chain around each slim ankle and sky-high stiletto heels. She hoped Regina had the heat blasting, because she was going to literally freeze her ass off if she didn't.
When Emma and her parents arrived, the cocktail portion of the party was in full swing. Formally clad waiters passed silver trays of wine, champagne and martinis along with various delectable finger foods. The chatter of the crowd was deafening, and Emma spotted at least two open bars. "Yep," she thought, "Storybrooke is gonna get lit tonight for sure." She just hoped no one fell down shit-faced on their way home and froze to death. Like many traditional, WASPy New England communities, the tough Yankees of Storybrooke believed that there was no emotional issue or distressing family situation that could not be dealt with by repression and stoic endurance. And if all else failed, blotted out with alcohol.
She spotted him across the room near the grand piano chatting with Dr. Hopper, the high school psychologist. As usual, he looked devastatingly handsome, his black hair artfully disheveled in the manner of a male model. She tried to remember if she'd seen any hair product in his toiletry collection. Damn, she hadn't. It was natural. Dr. Hopper had a puzzled look on his face and Emma could almost see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to figure out the new priest. Archie was a man possessed of rare perceptiveness himself, and she could tell he sensed something didn't quite add up with Father Fucking Ralph de Bricassart Hook.
Emma had been steadily downing champagne since she arrived to fortify her own nerve. She was very pleasantly buzzed when Regina announced that dinner was going to be served in a candlelit, heated tent set up in back on the giant patio. Emma drifted out to the tent and began searching for her seat among the place cards Regina had set out at every table in elegant black calligraphy. She finally found it in one corner of the tent. Just as she was about to sit down, she looked across the room at the center table and saw Regina glaring directly at her, looking furious. What the hell?
Then she felt her chair being pulled out and heard a voice directly behind her murmur, "May I?" She nearly jumped out of her skins at the sound of his voice. Glancing at the empty place to her left, she saw the place card with the name "Father James Hook" in front of the plate. Feeling a bit panicky, she looked over at Regina, who continued to glare.
Then suddenly she put it together when she saw Dr. Hopper arrive to claim the seat to Regina's right, and to pull out Regina's chair for her. That devious, ersatz priest had switched the place cards! Regina had been planning to seat the new Storybrooke conversation piece at a place of honor next to her, and suddenly she was next to good old Archie, while her trophy was over in the corner with Emma. Emma felt a frisson of excitement when she realized what had happened. His cleverness impressed her, and the mere thought he'd done it to be near her aroused her instantly. Then her heart sank a little as she digested the meaning of Regina's menacing stare. Regina clearly thought Emma had switched the place cards. Great, she thought, that's all I need.
Once they were seated, however, he disappointed her, greeting her briefly and formally, then turning to chat politely with the other guests at the table. They included an actuary and his wife, several of the town's municipal bureaucrats, and Sidney Glass, the boring editor of the Storybrooke Mirror. For the first half of the dinner, he ignored her, chatting with the actuary about risk management as if it were the most fascinating topic in the world. Worse was to come.
"Mr. Glass, I'm fascinated by the dedication of journalists such as yourself," Hook said, leaning forward avidly, "Tell us, what were the ten most important editorials you ever wrote, and why?"
Sidney sat up eagerly, almost visibly preening his plumage as he launched into a lengthy monologue about each and every one of his excruciatingly dull sounding editorials. The crying need for a new highway bypass. The urgent necessity of clamping down on unnecessary permissions for curb cuts. Why a simple one-quarter percent local sales tax would solve every fiscal problem in Storybrooke. He then proceeded to detail the particulars at length.
Emma could feel her eyes glazing over after the first few sentences when suddenly she felt him pressing his leg against her. Adrenaline surged and in seconds she was fully alert and fairly quivering with anticipation at what might or might not be coming next.
When nothing did, she began to relax again, thinking maybe the leg press would be it for tonight, when she felt his hand on her thigh. She parted her legs a little more, all the while keeping Sidney firmly in view while simultaneously attempting to spear a piece of asparagus with her fork.
She felt his hand roving upward until his fingers brushed lightly up and down the slick wetness that had been seeping from her ever since he sat down. She felt him lightly flicking at her clit and she had to stop herself from closing her eyes and purring, her fork hovering impotently over the forgotten asparagus.
"As I wrote in my editorial last March, curb cuts are destroying the ambience of Storybrooke's historic streets…." Sidney's voice droned on interminably. Emma nodded her head every once in a while and slumped back in her chair, parting her thighs a little wider. She felt him inserting his fingers into her and thrusting shallowly, his hand covered by the swell of the elaborate tablecloth bunting. She moistened her lips and felt her breathing speed up as she tried not to pant.
He kept it up all through dinner, keeping her squirming and aroused but stopping whenever she seemed too excited or on the point of actually coming. By the time Regina tapped on her glass and the toasts to Robin began, she was aching with frustration and praying that he would let her come. All eyes now on Regina and Robin, he became bolder, shoving two fingers all the way inside her while aggressively teasing her pleasure spot until her eyes started to roll back in her head and she could feel herself starting to quiver around him. Don't stop, you motherless prick, don't stop…..she silently screamed at him.
In response, he promptly pulled his fingers out and proceeding to lick the taste of her from his fingers lasciviously, watching her reaction as he did so through narrowed eyes.
She almost cried with frustration and barely resisted the urge to strike him across his smug face. "You fucking bastard," she hissed, glaring at him.
He ignored her. "I see you obeyed my command not to wear anything under your skirt," he whispered into her ear. "There's a good girl." He smoothed down her skirt and gave her an avuncular pat on the thigh before folding his arms across his chest and giving Robin's birthday speech his rapt attention.
She sat beside him, her face, stony, feeling furious and frustrated. As Robin waxed rhapsodic about how blessed he was to have found his soulmate in Regina, Hook leered at her, leaned over, and whispered, sotto voce, "How's the investigation going, Nancy Drew?" His tone was mocking.
"Fuck you," she hissed.
He chuckled. "That's precisely what you've been fantasizing about all week, isn't it, Swan?"
"You wish," she said hollowly.
"You're a poor liar, Swan," he rejoined, taking a sip of wine. "Right now you'd love me to spread you out on this table and fuck your wet, greedy little pussy."
His dirty talk was making her hot all over again and she squirmed again, pressing herself against the seat to relieve some of the pressure building inside her.
"Didn't you take a vow of celibacy? What kind of priest behaves like this?" she said, frustration getting the better of her.
"A wicked one?" he said, amused. "As our Lord Jesus Christ said, I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance. I'm a sinner like any other man." He shrugged and made a gesture of innocence with his hands.
"A wholly unrepentant, repeat offender, so far as I can see," Emma said matter of factly, throwing her napkin on the table.
He just laughed at her, entirely unconcerned, depraved degenerate that he was.
When the toasts were finally – finally!—concluded, Regina announced the grand finale. She invited the party to adjourn and proceed from the tent and across the lawn to watch a fireworks display that would be launched over the water. Coffee, dessert, and after dinner drinks would be served immediately afterwards. Chairs began scraping as the guests stood up and began drifting to the opening of the tent.
Hook had dematerialized the second Regina made her announcement, and Emma decided if she was going to watch fireworks, she'd need her coat. But as she stepped into the darkness of the patio to head inside to the coat room, she felt him seize her by the wrist and drag her behind him along the dark rear of the house and through a side door. He pulled her into a room that Emma recognized from previous visits as Regina's private office. The room was bathed in shadows, lit only by a reading lamp by the leather chair in the corner.
He closed and locked the door behind them, then pressed her back against the door, his hips grinding against her as he circled her wrists with his hands and pulled them above her head. He secured them with one hand in a vise-like grip and jerked her chin roughly with the other. She could smell the wine on his breath, his face close to hers as he held her, immobile.
She tried to twist away, but he held her firm. "You're a sadistic brute," she spat.
He smirked a little "Oh? I thought that was your type…." Then he captured her lips in a bruising kiss, biting at her lip as he pulled away a few moments later.
"Go ahead, Swan, scream for help if you want," he invited.
She stood there staring at him, mute, for what seemed like an eternity, her eyes hot with desire and her pussy burning with need. She ended the standoff by rutting against him, but he broke away immediately, walking over to one of the windows and yanking free a silk rope curtain tie. Returning to her, he turned her around and pushed her into the door, then pulled her arms behind her back and wrapped the rope around and around her wrists before tying a secure knot. "Oww, that hurts!" she yelped, straining against her bindings.
"Shut the fuck up!" he said, winding his hand through her hair and jerking her away from the door. He dragged her stumblng into the room until they reached Regina's expansive desk. He forced her to her knees, leaned back against the desk, and unbuckled his belt. Silently, he unzipped his black trousers and pulled out his already hard cock.
She licked her lips and swallowed hard as he wrapped his hand around the shaft and pumped it a few times. It became even more engorged and she could see a bead of precum leaking from the tip.
"Are you going to force me to suck your cock?" she whispered, looking up at him partly from fear, partly from lust. She was balancing precariously on her knees with her arms tightly bound behind her he loomed over her.
"Don't be ridiculous," he said sharply. "I'm not going to force you to do anything, Emma. On the contrary, you are going to beg me to permit you to suck my cock."
"Why would I do that?" her voice trembled a little. This new game thrilled and terrified her all at once.
"Because," he said in a throaty voice full of villainous promise, "It's what you want."
God help her, he was right. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to taste him, to swallow his enormous, angry cock into her throat, to be utterly ravished and dominated by him.
As if hypnotized, she cautiously moved her knees closer, the carpet burning her as she did. Then she leaned forward, moistening her lips and opening her mouth, now watering with her hunger for him.
He smacked her away, her cheek stinging from the blow. "Ah, ah, ah, I gave you a command, Swan. Beg me."
"Please," she whispered, her knees beginning to ache.
"Please, what?" He was relentless.
She took a deep breath. "Please, I'm begging you to let me suck your cock."
He smiled then. "Good girl." He gave her a gesture of invitation, and she surged forward eagerly, lapping up his salty precum and swirling her tongue around the sensitive head. God, he tasted and smelled delicious, and she felt more than a little dizzy. He kept one hand twisted in her hair to keep her upright and control her head as he began to thrust hard into her mouth. His cock was hitting the back of her throat and causing her to gag. When she tried to pull back, he laughed darkly. "Oh no you don't," he said, tightening his grip on her hair painfully and forcing himself into her throat. She whimpered a little and tried to relax her throat to take him deeper. She struggled to breathe, but he was remorseless in his brutal assault as he fucked her face, chasing his own pleasure and pushing her head down on him.
"That's it, love, suck me dry," he ordered hoarsely. "Take me into your throat and swallow every drop of my come."
She stole a glance up at him silhouetted above her, his face wrecked. He looked like a beautiful, terrible, fallen angel. He looked like Lucifer, thrown down from heaven and cursed by God for the sin of pride.
She heard his breathing become ragged and felt his cock pulsate as he continued to slide into her throat, then released with a deep groan what felt like a gallon of come in a series of hot bursts. She kept sucking, milking him dry as she struggled to swallow it all without choking. When she released him, a few droplets still leaked from her mouth, but she stuck out a pink tongue and lapped up the last of it, spreading it along her lips.
"What a good little cocksucker, you are," he whispered, putting himself back together. He took her hand and helped her get to her feet, her knees numb and a little shaky. He turned her around and untied the rope. Then he moved her back a few steps to lean against the center of the desk and lift her onto the surface. "Spread your legs," he commanded. She obeyed as he seated himself in Regina's leather desk chair and rolled forward.
She lay back on the desk as he grasped one of her legs and held her ankle to his lips.
"The chains around your ankles suit you, my dear," he chuckled, taking the links in his teeth. He kissed the instep of her foot, then moved up her calf, tickling her with feather light kisses before repeating the same treatment to her other leg. Then he draped her legs over his shoulders as he moved between her legs and pressed his face into her.
She clawed at the desk and nearly screamed when she felt his tongue dragging a long, slow stripe through her dripping wet, needy sex. "Your hot cunt tastes and smells delicious," he said appreciatively, inhaling. He teased her already overstimulated, swollen clit unmercifully as she moaned and writhed under his touch. She gasped when she felt his serpent's tongue thrusting into her.
"Please let me come," she pleaded as she felt herself on the verge of shattering in a million pieces.
He rewarded her by thrusting and curling his fingers into her and sucking hard on her clit until her legs began to tremble and jump with the force of her orgasm. She bit down hard on her fist to keep from screaming from the sheer violence of her release. She continued to shudder as he soothed her through it, feeling so giddy as she came down from the high that she wanted to cry with delirious relief. He'd played with her now for hours, arousing her, teasing her, then denying her, and her long delayed climax felt like sweet heavenly mercy releasing her from hellish torment.
He pulled her up from the desk and held her almost tenderly for a few minutes. "Can you walk, Swan?" he asked solicitously.
"I think so, " she nodded.
"Good girl," he said, rearranging her hair to pull it back from her face. He cupped her chin and tilted her face to look at him.
"For the remainder of the evening, you will eat or drink nothing, do you understand?" he whispered, his hands gripping her shoulders. "I want you to have the taste of my come on your lips for the rest of the evening."
She nodded a little shakily, feeling as if she was being held spellbound by a sorcerer, her will overborne by a superior, mysterious force. "Wait five minutes before you follow me," he instructed. He strode out of the room, silently opened the door, then slipped away.
Love to hear from you about this - please review or pm me. Thanks so much for reading. For more romantic smut, please check out my other fics Tied With a Silver Chain and Saving Prince Killian.