Juniper rasped, “Fuck me until I reach absolution,” her voice cracking against the old church’s walls, a sinner’s plea clawing free. The deconsecrated shell pulsed—candlelight slashed the nave, amber incense drowned by sweat and shame. Cathedral windows—crimson, cobalt, gold—splintered moonlight over her thighs, sprawled on a king-sized bed, its crimson silk a bloodied altar pressed against the chancel. Sage and Rowan flanked her, apostles in her rite of flesh.

Auburn hair wild, hazel eyes burning past her mother’s You’ll waste it all, Juniper was a painter, hands stained—ochre on knuckles, cerulean under nails. Three years fleeing law school edicts had landed her here, body—curves and muscle—taut with need under stained glass, her guilt a fading echo.

Sage, her priestess, knelt above—pale, sharp, reverent. Fingers hovered over Juniper’s hip, lips curling. “Absolution’s steep,” she intoned, breath hot, crimson flecks painting her cheeks. “We’ll lift you.”

Rowan, her sentinel, loomed—broad and scarred. Calluses. A splintered thumb. Chestnut hair tangled, stubble brushed her thigh, breath a vow beneath the pulpit’s shadow. “Begin,” he said, voice echoing stone, a call to reckoning.

Juniper hesitated—not from shame, but from the echo of it.

Then she grabbed Sage’s hair and slammed their mouths together—teeth bit, tongues collided—mint and salt-shame flooding her. Sage grunted, thumbs pressing her cheeks, wiping tears she hadn’t wept. Rowan split her thighs, tore her lace—his eyes locked to hers, a prayer. Her nod shattered You’re nothing. He murmured, “Beg.”

“Absolve me.”

He kissed her knee, stubble burning, then struck her core—tongue stabbing fast, unforgiving. Juniper howled, Failure breaking against the nave. Sage peeled off her tank, nipples taut under Juniper’s clawing hands. She squeezed, twisted—Sage yelped, the sound bouncing off rafters.

The church throbbed. Juniper’s musk drowned the incense. Sage straddled her chest, wet folds smearing silk where pews once stood—a libation. She gripped Juniper’s hair, jerked her back. “Suck,” she said, velvet-rough.

Juniper latched on—hard. Sage arched, her sigh catching in Rowan’s rhythm below. His fingers plunged inside—curling, demanding—his tongue lashed her clit, relentless. Juniper clutched silk, then Sage. You’ll fail stabbed her mind—then flickered out.

Her gut coiled—tight, raw. Sage slammed her hips down, grinding. Juniper howled. Rowan’s eyes met Sage’s. Their fingers laced—a pact to break her. Sage kissed him, tongue tasting Juniper—a communion beneath the glass saints.

“Rowan,” Juniper gasped. Sage rolled aside, elbow in silk. He spread her wide, cock grazing—a taunt. Her hips lunged. He pinned her. “She’s ready,” Sage whispered.

“Anoint me. Cleanse me,” Juniper breathed.

He thrust—deep, profane, righteous. She yelped, clenching. He growled, hands digging her hips, carving penance.

Sage pressed her clit—tight, fierce—a blessing. Rowan drove into her past. Waste surfaced—then shattered. Skin slapped like a psalm. Juniper’s cries broke from her throat, a raw cascade. Sage’s tongue joined her fingers—unleashing her.

She bucked. Ecstasy ripped her open—blinding, sacred. Her scream, a hosanna, absolved her in the sanctuary.

Rowan’s breath stuttered, his rhythm wild. He spilled—shaking, forehead pressed to hers. “You’re free,” he whispered, as if afraid to break her.

Sage licked Juniper’s fingers clean, then leaned in, eyes sharp, soft. “One more,” she murmured.

Juniper nodded, dazed, hungry.

Sage flipped her onto her side before the altar and straddled her face. Juniper’s tongue met her clit—salt, sweet, submission. Sage bent down, dove into Juniper’s core—fast, relentless—dragging aftershocks from her spine.

They locked—tongues working, fingers buried, moans muffled in mirrored devotion. Nails clawed skin. You’re nothing melted in the taste of another woman’s worship.

Sage’s fingers curled. Juniper shattered again.

Her scream tore through silk. Sage’s sigh answered, breaking into trembling. They shook together—Juniper thrashing, Sage quaking—baptized in sweat, spit, and shared breath.

Sage collapsed beside her. Rowan’s arms wrapped around them both, anchoring them to the edge of the altar.

Moonlight bled through cathedral windows, silvering them.

Juniper lay between them, head to Rowan’s chest, Sage’s hand warm at her waist. Her bed an altar. Silk her shroud. She was sanctified.

Not forgiven.

Reborn.