Sweetheart, I'm not religious.

Liora's pov

His brow visibly arched at my question, not expecting the randomness of it. But he signaled the waitress nonetheless.

"What would you like to drink?" His gruff voice filled my senses, my fingers instinctively inched to my crucifix as though it would keep me from sucking in his features.

"Orange juice."

"Citrus-flavored vodka?" The waitress asked.

"No, orange juice."

His lips pressed into a firm line.

"You asked me to buy you a drink and what you want is orange juice?"

I nodded.

"It's a drink, isn't it?"

The waitress shot me a look but walked away to get it anyway, I knew that I must've sounded out of place. One does not request orange juice in a neon-lit nightclub.

A few seconds later, the stoned-eyed waitress brought two glasses.

"You'll drink it too?" He nodded.

I hesitantly took the glass and rearranged it properly on the tray. I wasn't planning to drink it so I just handed it to him.

His thick brow arched again in question,

"You're not drinking it?"

"Yes," I cleared my throat. I didn't know if it was the air in the VIP section or him because the atmosphere felt different. Something akin to the temptations we prayed out on confession days.

"Are you sane, or did you and your friend engage in snorting crack before you came in here?"

His voice didn't portray insult, just curiosity. I even started feeling nervous, anxious that he would be angry, considering I made him buy me a drink that I wasn't even planning on drinking.

But his face gave nothing away,

There was no tick in his sharp-angled jawline, there was no rising rage in his eyes. Just.....traces of lust, amidst optimum calm.

"Lust." I accidentally murmured out loud drawing his attention. His tired eyes flickered with amusement.

"I'd prefer the word to be...." His eyes were drunk on my figure. "Desire."

My palms suddenly became clammy. Being in near-proximity with this man was inducing conflicting thoughts, I needed to get out of here. Fast.

"I'd like to first of all, thank you for stepping in back there. Those men got more violent than I envisioned." He simply nodded, although his gaze didn't move an inch from mine.

I was tempted to ask why they seemed tired, to reach out with my fingers and feel the subtle dark circles under his eyes.

"And thank you for buying me the drink, even if I can't drink it."

"Mmn, is this your way of getting my attention?"

"Y-Yes."

His lips curled up at the sides as in the blink of an eye, our bodies were pressed together, side by side, and his fingers lingered on my neck.

I immediately put some distance between us.

"I don't know what you assumed when I said yes, but... it definitely isn't...it doesn't relate to the look you're giving me, it's...i-i just want to talk."

I had never stuttered so much in one night.

"Just talk?" His finger pads briefly ghosted the back of my neck and I straightened up instantly.

"Yes. About..about God, the gospel, faith....uhh, the future."

A grin stretched on his face, and for a second I was frozen. Enthralled even, his smile, his dentition.

This wasn't wrong, right? he was human, God's creation; it wasn't wrong for me to marvel at the creator's creation?

Right?.

Right....?

"Sweetheart," his smile was wicked and sugary and...."I am not religious."

"Why, is there something obstructing your faith?" I was now curious.

"Not in particular, I didn't just grow up in a religious household like I suspect you did."

I bit my lips, unwilling to tell him that I had grown up in the convent.

"So.....what would it take for you to consider faith in God?"

He leaned closer, too close. I tried to put more distance in but his arm slid around my waist and trapped me.

His arm was firm around my waist, possessive even, and I could feel the heat from his body radiating, intensifying mine.

I blinked up at him, my heart thundering. Now that he was closer, it filled my nostrils; his cologne was sinful, masculine, and fruity scented.

The low hum of the club faded beneath the sound of my own breathing.

"You want me to believe in God?" he murmured, his lips dragging slowly against the shell of my ear. "Convince me."

It wasn't just the words, it was the way he said them, daring me, daring himself. My breath hitched as his other hand skimmed my arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I could feel it now, an ache, unfamiliar and wicked, blooming between my thighs. I squeezed my legs together tightly.

No. No. This wasn't right.

I grabbed my crucifix again, clutching it like it could anchor me back to sense. Like it could drown out the wetness forming between my legs. I wasn't supposed to feel this.

His lips hovered over mine, not quite touching, just....existing there. Temptation incarnate.

I gasped and stumbled out of his grip, standing abruptly.

"I-I feel full, I need to use the restroom," I did not wait for a reply. I walked off in quick strides, not trusting my legs.

My heart was still racing. I splashed water on my face once I was inside, gripping the sink for support. I needed to breathe, to pray, anything to erase the memory of his breath on my skin.

But then, the door opened.

~

I turned around, in panic.

He was there.

Before I could react, he crossed the space between us, grabbed my waist, and pinned me roughly against the tiled wall. His thigh wedged between mine, pushing up with measured pressure. I gasped, my nails curling into his shirt.

"Still want to talk about faith?" he whispered, just as his lips crashed onto mine.

It was a deep, consuming kiss, all fire and tongue. My hands trembled as they gripped his shoulders, unsure whether to push or pull. His fingers inched up my thigh, and I let out a strangled breath.

I'd never been touched like this, I'd never wanted to.

Until now.

But as he sucked on my tongue, I remembered where I was. Who I was.

I broke the kiss almost immediately, shoving at his chest. He stepped back, almost like he expected it.

But I didn’t look back as I pushed past him, bolting out of the restroom.

Without even sighting Mara, I ran, my thoughts a spiral of guilt and need.

He didn't follow.

But I heard him.

His low, husky chuckle was heard behind the open door of the ladies' restroom.

But little did I know that my crucifix had slid off right into the palm of his hand.