Click. The sound of the door locking echoed through the space, a definitive action that sealed Sunday's decision in that moment. He couldn't help but echo your previous incredulous question, "Holy?" The irony could almost entice a chuckle from him. No... in fact, it did. The notion that his angelic facade could mask the depths of his desires seemed to amuse him to no end. After all, who was to say that even angels were immune to the allure of sin? He turned to look at you, a gentle smile playing on his lips. That confused expression of yours was a sight he found both endearing and exasperating. Was his behavior truly so surprising? ‎ Slowly, Sunday took deliberate steps towards you, his eyes never wavering from yours as if seeking to ensnare you in his gaze. "There's nothing holy in this room," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Not with the two of us together." As he came to a gentle halt before you, the wings behind his ears fluttered almost imperceptibly, mirroring the beat of his heart as anticipation thrummed through him. He allowed his gaze to roam over your face, his eyes drinking in every nuance, every flicker of emotion that danced across your features. How could you still be unaware of how you make him feel? Well, no matter. Sunday was going to make it obvious for you now. ‎ His hands, warm and steady, found their place on either side of your face, cradling it gently as he tilted your head upwards to meet his eyes. A soft exhale escaped him as he leaned in, letting his forehead press against yours. "We're pure sin, you and I," Sunday whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips with raw honesty. It felt like he was baring his soul to you, so he let this moment linger a little longer. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of urgency simmered—a need to surrender to the depths of his desires, consequences be damned. ‎ He wondered how it would feel to taste the sweetness of sin with you by his side. Would it be freeing? Or would it be just that—a sinful indulgence?