by Lana Grayson
“Do you not trust me?” I asked.
Her heels clicked against the wooden floors of the kitchen. She stepped inside, spun, and cornered herself against the counter and cabinets.
“I trust you, Father.”
“Do you trust yourself?”
Another glance over my silent home. Empty. Isolated. No one would see what happened tonight, no one to judge the words we’d speak, the glances we’d share, or the sins we might commit.
“I baked you a cake,” she said. “I thought about an apple pie, but…you know the connotation.”
“What connotation?”
At least she recognized when I teased her now, but she wasn’t brave enough to chastise me yet. Maybe not ever.
“You know? Apples? Tree of knowledge?” She set the cake on the counter. “If I brought you something with apples, somehow we’d defy God, get evicted from our homes, have to toil the earth, realize we were naked…” Her eyes pinched closed. She nearly crossed herself. “I mean…I think that was part of the story.”
“It was,” I said. “Adam and Eve ate from the tree and recognized their nudity.”
“See. Cake was a better idea. We don’t need any more of that temptation.”
On the contrary. Honor wiggled, nervous and uncertain.
If any innocent person needed to confront her fears, it was my angel, trapped within mortal sins and her own dark thoughts.
I would lead her to that temptation. Teeter her over the brink. Then I’d bring her back.
I’d save her.
My pride should have shamed me, should have sent me to prayer to beg forgiveness for my own arrogance. Instead, I pulled a bottle of red wine from the refrigerator.
Honor shook her head. “I really should be going, Father.”
“One glass of wine. While we share the cake?”
She twisted a finger in her hair, the curls bouncing over her shoulders and against the swell of her chest. Her breathing quickened. I longed to hear even a single gasp.
“Are you testing me, Father Rafe?”
“Testing you in what way?”
“Any way. Every way. The more time I spend with you, the more often I think your lessons are meant to weaken me.”
“Just the opposite. I intend to strengthen you. Teach you the humility of virtue.”
“It does feel humbling.”
“Why?”
She accepted a glass of wine, but she didn’t sip. I swirled mine, preferring this brand of dry red to the sweet variety used in Mass. Honor stared at the liquid, crimson and lovely, a perfect complement to the darkness of her skin.
“You already sent the letter of recommendation for my mother, didn’t you?”
“Of course. We’ll have a response from the diocese next week.”
“Thank you.” She breathed easier, a cleansing sigh. “It’s a relief.”
I sipped my wine. “What was the hardest part of coming to me? Admitting you needed the help…or speaking with me?”
“Are you asking because I ran out of the confessional?”
She’d done it twice now, but that wasn’t the reason. “No. I’m asking because you wanted to speak with me inside the confessional.”
She shrugged. “Lately…our conversations have been a little intense.”
“And?”
“I wanted to keep everything separate, so it doesn’t interfere with…your role.”
I frowned. “I told you. I am and always will be a priest. This is my job and my calling.”
She finally sipped her wine, gazing at me with narrowed eyes. Skeptical.
She probably had a right to be.
“Do you think you’re protecting me?” she asked.
I didn’t hesitate. “I’m saving you—just as you’re saving me.”
“From what? Each other?”
“From what challenges our faith. How did you feel when you kissed me, and we pulled away? Or when we embraced, but didn’t sin? We defied our desires, and it gave us the confidence to keep fighting.”
She frowned. “Is it confidence or pride?”
“Can’t we have both?”
“Not if it leads to another sin. Some sort of arrogance that we’re beating a force we don’t understand.”
“Understand us,” I said. “We’re strong enough to defeat what would destroy us.”
Honor took a small swallow of her wine. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away. “You know I bake when I’m guilty?”
“Prayer is more effective.”
“Not as cathartic.”
I tugged the rosaries from my pocket, winding them in my fingers. “Perhaps I should teach you how to pray as well.”
“Or maybe I can teach you my grandmother’s best recipes. Cookies. Cakes. Pies. I can do them all.” Honor tapped the cake carrier with a finger. “I used to spend a lot of time with her when I was younger. When Mom was…sick, before I could watch myself. I won’t make a cake from a box because of her.”
“You made this from scratch?”
“Only way I know how.” She lowered the wine glass. “I think I wanted to impress you with it.”
“Why?”
Her smile slipped. “I don’t know. I’m living on the edge of sin and absolution, and I’m not sure where I want to fall.”
“In absolution, my angel.”
“Maybe. But this dark part of me is beating the batter and icing the cake and thinking…” Her voice lowered. “Maybe when he eats this…he’ll remember me.”
Sweet sacrilege. Beautiful blasphemy.
I edged close, setting my wine next to hers. She stiffened as my hands fell to her waist. The delightful heat sliced through me, but, this time, I didn’t touch her for the sheer heretical thrill of it.
She gasped as I lifted her, setting her on top of my counter. I didn’t ask permission. I didn’t stop.
Honor tensed as I slipped between her legs. Her shuddered whisper tore through my body, my own private spiritual conversion.
“Father…” Her hands tucked in her dress, ensuring I didn’t receive even a peek of the delights I could only imagine. “What are you doing?”
“Having a slice of cake.”
“Like this?” Her lip trembled, begging for more than a hushed murmur. “So close?”
My voice laced with something darker than the chocolate icing. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course, Father.”
“Then this shouldn’t be a challenge to you.”
I reached over her head, drawing near to her, so near. Her breath tickled my cheek, and every pounding beat of my heart pushed my wretched blood lower. It hardened that part of me my faith struggled to tame.
I set the plate on the counter and pulled the knife from the drawer. Honor watched as I sliced it with a single, penetrating thrust. The icing slickened the knife, and it slid inside like silk. I lifted the moist slice, and it slapped onto the plate.
Dark, dark chocolate.
The sugar dizzied us both, but I smelled only her, that candied apple halo.
“What are you thinking?” I pushed it towards her.
“Terrible things,” she said.
“Impure thoughts?”
“The only kind I have anymore.”
“Let them in.”
Her eyes widened. “But…”
“Think about what you want. What thought punishes you the most? Which one aches inside you? I want you to focus on it. Hold it in your mind. Together, we’ll master it.”
She looked away. “I want a lot of things, Father.”
“Tell me.”
“Well…the cake is probably the most innocent.”
I hoped she would say that. “Then you will have cake.”
I reached for a fork, but my hand stilled. Why only test the weak? Why not ensure I was still strong enough to guide the angel who needed my help?
I broke a piece of the cake from the thick slice. It fit within my fingers with a blasphemous familiarity. The motion was reflexive. I fought t
o deny the instinct to bless the dessert.
After all, if it were made at her hand, it was already consecrated.
I held the cake before her. Her lips already parted for more than a quiet breath.
Honor was a good Catholic girl, devout and practiced. She needed no instruction.
I offered her the bite, and her mouth opened just wide enough to set the piece upon the pink tease of her tongue. She bowed her head and took the offering from my hand.
Our own communion.
The cake dissolved without a single bite, just as she had been taught. Her throaty whisper groaned as rich as the chocolate.
“Amen.”
I prayed this wouldn’t send us to hell.
Once wasn’t enough. She licked her lip, catching any crumbs which might have slipped from my fingers. Her eyes rose, the almond surprise waiting for my next offering.
I wanted this woman too much. I wanted to praise, protect, and save her from herself…
Only so I could desecrate her with my own desires.
My cock hardened, vulgar and unwelcomed. It flexed against the pants beneath my cassock. Usually, I’d relax in sweats at home. Tonight, knowing she would be here, I wore the robes as my shield and armor.
It did nothing to alleviate the strain.
That addictive, sinful need.
I offered her a second bite of the cake. Messier than the last. She captured a stray crumb with a flick of her tongue.
She giggled. Such a freeing, dangerous little tease. I longed to hear more than her giggle.
The third chunk of the cake was bigger, slathered with a thick glob of icing. It layered my fingers, and Honor opened for the bite. I held it away from her mouth.
“What type of cake is this?” I asked.
Honor squirmed, her fingers tangled in a dress that covered too much and too little of her curves. She swallowed, timidly, before meeting my gaze.
“Chocolate.”
That wasn’t the full answer. I arched an eyebrow. She twisted.
“I realized after I made it that it’s actually…devil’s food.”
Of course it was. Nothing this sweet could exist without sin.
Just as my angel waited, breath held, little tempting tongue swiping over her full lips, a darkness teased us both. A shadow. A pulse.
This was dangerous.
And yet I lowered the cake to her lips. I watched, enraptured, as she hummed a pleased sigh and allowed me to feed her the delicious bite of Heaven that’d send us both to hell. The icing coated my fingers. Honor stared at me. She took the bite greedily, then her lips gently closed over my fingers.
The soft brush of her tongue licked the icing from me. Her mouth was warm, silken, and utterly forbidden.
I shuddered, imagining more than just my fingers between her lips. The velvet fullness enveloped me. She sucked to my first knuckle, completely devoted to her task. She offered me the briefest thrill, the darkest passion, and the most sensual experience of my life.
Her tongue stroked my skin as though she worshiped every inch of me.
This was sin. This was beautiful. This was agony.
I pulled away, my body wracked in disappointed pain. Honor swallowed the cake, and the smallest bit of icing dabbed her lip. I stopped her before she licked it.
My turn to taste.
I leaned close and flicked my tongue against her lip. The sweetness of the chocolate had nothing on the delicious pleasure of her kiss.
Chocolate depravity.
I forced her thighs apart so I could slip closer against her. I drew her nearer to my body, and her chest pressed against me. With a heavenly murmur, Honor welcomed me within her mouth as our tongues swirled in sweet discovery.
Her dress slipped up, settling above her knee.
My hands trembled, so near her smooth heated skin. She wanted my touch, and her whimper cascaded shivers through me. The sensation tightened at the base of my spine before aching in the places I long banished as sin.
My cock throbbed. Strained against the pants.
The wine rested near us. I broke the kiss with Honor to hold the wineglass—my chalice—before her.
The symbolism was not lost on my angel.
I tipped the wine as the glass touched her lips. She stared at me as she took the smallest sip. Her quiet, timid, reverent swallow stirred something almost sinister in me.
I tipped the glass again, accidentally spilling the wine. She gasped, but I was there, leaning in to capture the precious droplets in a kiss. The dry punch of the wine blended the dark sweetness of the cake with her natural, addictive flavor. The contrast enthralled me.
Honor trembled, her hands at her sides, eyes lowering as though she feared how high her dress had crept upon the perfect swell of her thighs.
My cassock did not belong so near the softness of a virgin’s flesh—of any flesh. I was fit, muscular, and she was forced to spread her legs wide to allow me this close. I drifted near her sacred, special place.
The holy of holies.
The sin of all sins.
“What else tempts you, my angel?” My voice turned to gravel, a raw and rumbled prayer for her honesty. “I want to know what desires control you.”
She pressed against me. I feared I’d be scalded in the heat trapped between us.
“Everything tempts me, Father. I can’t sleep at night. I can’t think. Every day I lose myself in thoughts of you.”
If only my lust was sated with words of her desire. “Have you fought these thoughts?”
“Yes.” Her voice hardened, as though she’d prove her faith to me then and there. But my angel was a more delicate and complex creature than that. “But it hurts. I live in constant agony. I wake in the middle of the night and I’m so…” She licked her lips. “Maybe I should bind my hands when I sleep.”
The thought hardened me more. I leaned close, my forehead on hers. We breathed each other, and my silent prayers tasted of her, chocolate, and rich wine.
“Do not fear your desire,” I whispered.
“I can’t let myself indulge it. I can’t go over that edge.”
“Do you fear losing yourself to lust?”
“Don’t you?”
Every minute of every day. The difference was, I knew my limitations. I understood my temptations.
Honor did not.
And it was my responsibility, my only purpose in this life, to give her that confidence.
“Let me prove how strong you are.” My fingers might have trembled had they not grasped her knee with such demand. “I know you have the strength to resist.”
I teased her leg, and the velvet darkness of her skin forever shrouded my mind in sin.
Her breathing caught as the tips of my fingers slid beneath the hem of her dress. The material bunched up, up, up, exposing the most intimate and hidden and beautiful of her secrets.
She breathed too fast, too hard. Her body stiffened as the pink hint of her panties was exposed to me.
The crest of her legs—the perfect sin—the hallowed hollow of her virtue.
Hidden from view with a pair of thin, cotton panties.
“Father…” Honor warned me.
“Sex is about power.” This lesson was the most important. “Power over ourselves…and power over each other.”
Honor sighed as I brushed higher on her thigh. I held my breath as I gently stroked the softness hidden from my sight by those sinfully pink panties.
And here I thought red was the color of debauchery.
Honor arched as my finger pressed over her core. She gasped. I hated that I was forced to choose between studying her parted lips or the crest of her legs where all my immoral decisions hid.
“Look at how easily your body responds, Honor. You quiver. You flinch. You groan.”
I had no doubt of my control over her, but I feared her dominion over me. She mewed as my fingers stroked a natural and raw heat. It beckoned me close, demanded I submit to my urges, to her lovely and delicate release.
> And I might have.
The challenge was real. Hard. Painful.
And that was why I chose to fight it.
“Lust binds your soul,” I whispered, my finger moving in a constant and steady pace. I imagined what wetted beneath, dampening her panties. “If you surrender, you’ll lose yourself. Is a momentary pleasure worth the destruction of your virtue? Would you willingly submit to this primal violation?”
Honor shook her head. “You’re wrong, Father. Sex isn’t that…destructive.”
“No?”
I stroked harder, faster, capturing the little nub that swelled as I teased her. Honor bit her lip, and I longed to cause that sharp sting myself.
“Sex is an animalistic intrusion,” I said. “It’s power and strength exerted upon another. Even now, simply touching you, I control you. I’m stronger than you, bigger than you, more powerful than you. I can manipulate you with a single flick of my finger.”
Her body bucked. She swallowed a whimper.
“Fight me,” I urged her. “Don’t lose yourself.”
Her hips wiggled. She pinched her eyes closed, gritting her teeth. I didn’t slow my motions. I tortured her in delight with the steady pulse of a man dominating a woman’s most vulnerable secret.
Honor edged away.
I didn’t let her escape. I leaned over her, whispering as her body trembled for me.
“Why does this desire exist if it’s not meant to dominate? You are nothing but prey to me, Honor. This is primitive. Sadistic.”
And still it pleasured her. Too much. Honor grasped my hand, struggling for relief. She sweated, twisting from the unrelenting pressure on her core.
One flick, one little movement, and I’d possess her forever.
“Fight your desire,” I whispered. “Fight me. Deny yourself that release, my angel. You have nothing to fear from the lust you can control.”
I wasn’t cruel. I tormented her for only five more seconds.
She tensed, and her teeth clenched against a whispered breath. Her agonized beauty pleased me, even more as she tried so desperately to fight. I memorized how she looked, how she strained.
Her head fell back.
“Father…”
I pulled away before it was too late. Honor nearly fell from the counter. She grasped the cabinets to steady herself as she sweated, groaned, and attempted to hide her panties from me.