Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  As if I didn’t hate myself already.

  I hated to order her, but she’d always obeyed before. “Honor, please. If someone sees…”

  “Right.” She swallowed and stepped within my home. “Couldn’t have that. What a sin.”

  I didn’t recognize the pain in her voice. It would haunt me until the end of my days.

  I closed the door, but she moved no farther than the entry. The least I could do was offer her a seat in the living room. A cup of coffee or cool drink.

  Wasn’t that what men did for women?

  Or was I lost in a world of blessings and prayers? I usually offered comfort for sins they had committed, not the pains I’d inflicted.

  Honor wouldn’t have accepted my help. I doubted she wanted my apologies either. My greatest mistake wasn’t the touch we shared or the pleasure I gave. It was underestimating a strong woman.

  “Do you want to sit?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Can I get you anything—”

  “No, Father.”

  She stared at my cassock. It wasn’t necessary to wear it in my home, but I worried I wouldn’t act responsibly without the collar.

  Especially after today.

  Especially after the delight of her lips, the warmth of her mouth, and the enthusiasm she used to serve me in such a humbling and sinful manner.

  Honor cast her pony tail over her shoulder. The thick curls of her hair fell behind her back. It exposed her face, her neck, the delicate curve of her ears with the tiny gold studs that glistened in the light. I wished she hadn’t frowned.

  “I’m a good person, Father,” she said. “I try to be kind, even when others don’t deserve it.”

  It shamed me to think that she questioned her virtues. “I know.”

  “And I’m honest. Obviously. Or I never would’ve made the mistake of confessing to you.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake, Honor.”

  She didn’t believe me. “Yes, it was. I knew exactly what I was doing…what I hoped would happen by telling you those secrets.”

  “And what was that?”

  “This.” She extended her arms. “In some twisted part of my mind, I thought it’d get me here. With you. Talking to you. Touching you. Experiencing what we did.”

  She didn’t say if it was a pleasure or a sin. Did she even know?

  Did I?

  “I’ve never done anything like this before,” she said. “Never. I’ve followed the commandments. I’ve respected people in and out of the church. I’ve never deliberately sinned.”

  “I know.”

  “So what is it then? Is it bad luck or a challenge to my soul? Am I encouraging this lust? Or are you doing it to me?”

  The harsh edge in her voice returned. I didn’t like it, not only because she doubted me as a priest…

  But because she blamed me as a man.

  One who would never harm her.

  One barely containing himself through prayer, the rosaries twisted in his hand.

  I’d never lacked willpower. I’d never surrendered to desires—no matter how dark, seductive, or necessary.

  Until her.

  And I could ask her the same questions. Did she bait me? What did she challenge in me? How much longer could I hide my demons? I was already ruined by the nightmares of my past, but I could still save her.

  “We are both sinners,” I said. “It’s natural. It’s human.”

  She didn’t believe me. “Is it? You seem to have control over your sins.”

  “Why do you question my faith?”

  “Because it isn’t faith that guides you, Father Rafe,” she said. “It’s pride.”

  The allegation stung. I gritted my teeth. “Pride is a sin.”

  “So is most of what we do together.”

  Honor turned away from me, pacing in the small room. I memorized each of her steps. She wasn’t supposed to be in my home, and yet now I could imagine her within my living room, my kitchen.

  If only I could picture her in my bedroom.

  “I trusted you, Father,” Honor said. “I knew it was wrong for us to meet so often. I shouldn’t have gotten so close.”

  “I meant to help you. I wanted you to control your desires.”

  “My feelings aren’t something that can be controlled, no matter how strong you think you are because you denied yourself today.” She breathed deep. “This has to end now. I’m done. I won’t let it happen again.”

  She lashed me with truth, and the pain burrowed too deep, too fierce. I shook my head.

  “I don’t want to lose you,” I said. “What we feel is not weakness. Having you here gives me strength. It reaffirms my faith.”

  “And it hurts me.”

  “I never meant to cause you pain.”

  “Then you are naïve,” she said. “How can you not see it?”

  “See what?”

  “You!” Her voice rose. “You’re this powerful and amazing man, and you call me angel. You tell me I’m beautiful. That is worse than any physical tease, Father.”

  “You deserve the compliments.”

  “It doesn’t work like that. When you speak to me…” Her words broke. “You know nothing can come from the words we say or the things we do. It’s like you want me to destroy myself.”

  “Never.”

  She pointed to the kitchen in a mix of anger, confusion, and pain. “And then…you give me such pleasure. I’ve never felt that way before. It was beautiful and amazing, and now it’s ugly. Sullied and dark.” She sighed. “I’m afraid to look in the mirror. I don’t know if I’ll see a confident, sensual woman…or some sort of demoness, tempting a man of God.”

  “No.” My voice hardened. “No. You are pure and innocent. I wanted to protect that.”

  “By making me feel horrible?”

  “By making you feel cherished. Strengthened. I would never willingly lead you astray.”

  “Surprise.”

  “Honor, I consider myself a patient man,” I said. “I struggle to maintain that integrity. It’s a virtue that I prize.”

  “One of your many.”

  Her bitterness hurt us both. I exhaled, soothing the rising hackles that might have roused me to anger. But I wouldn’t have directed that rage at my angel.

  It focused on myself.

  Because she was absolutely right.

  “You came to me in a moment of confusion,” I said. “You confessed those feelings, those urges. I did what I thought was right.”

  “I don’t know if you’re lying or delusional.”

  Neither, but I was angry now. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe you wanted to help me. Maybe you wanted to guide me away from damnation.” She hesitated, her voice aching in betrayal. “Or maybe you thought it was a good opportunity to test your faith.”

  “You think I’d willingly lead you into sin?”

  “I think you’d lord your power over me. You already believe you’re stronger than me. You think you can confront sin and head-on, like it’s a battle to win or a war to wage.”

  “It is.”

  “It’s not! Run from temptations that capture young people. Timothy, 2:22.”

  I’d never fought another person with the scripture before, and I wasn’t starting now. I stayed silent. Honor’s eyes widened. Weeping in anger and pain. Not sorrow. Not yet.

  “You said it yourself.” She held her arms open. “We are human. We sin. We fail. We have to ask forgiveness for the urges that command us. But you? You treat it like it’s a decision. Like it’s something willingly entered into and willingly fought. It’s not, Father. And I see through you now.”

  My voice lowered. “See through what?”

  “You’re in pain.”

  I turned away, clenching my jaw. The urge to lose my temper was beaten out of me at a young age, but some instincts were hard to abandon. Even the comforts of prayer and a life far from the abuse wouldn’t soothe what rage created in me.

  Honor suff
ered from her own confusion. Her own pain.

  It wasn’t anything like my pain. It wasn’t anything I’d ever admit again.

  “Am I right, Father?”

  Honor took no pleasure in her verbal castrations. And I gave her no indication of whether she was right, wrong, or completely inappropriate.

  It didn’t matter. Her voice trembled without my reaction.

  I marveled in my silence, almost amused as she berated me, herself, any sins of mine she thought caused her own disillusionment.

  This was why I wanted to protect her. To spare her from these thoughts—such worry and needless posturing.

  Honor quieted, but she still held my gaze.

  Brave little angel.

  “You’re hurting, Father. And you’re taking it out on me. You blame lust and sex for it, but that isn’t the full truth.”

  “And what would you know of the truth?”

  “Sex is power.” She shrugged. “Of course it is. I’ve realized that since the moment I confessed my desires to you. Sex is power…and you’re the one commanding it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You love that this lust is cast between us. You get to be the hero. You’re the godly one, the virtuous one. The only holy warrior who can reject the lust of man and the sins of another.”

  “Easy, Honor.”

  “I’m just the Eve to your Adam. The faith you’d have me reaffirm is the same damn story told thousands of times. Except in this retelling, you’d have me eat from the tree so you can refuse it. So you redeem yourself of whatever it was in your past that hurt you. And the only way to do that is by making me falter.”

  “I’ve never said that.”

  “You’ve thought it.”

  I clenched a fist. My fingers trembled, but this wasn’t my fight. It was Honor’s battle. She was the one who needed to speak, to be heard, to be respected in her fears.

  I prayed for patience.

  And I was ignored.

  Nothing shielded me from my angel. Not the way her eyebrow arched as she spoke my name. Not how her body trembled, ached, and nearly crumbled as she revealed more of her soul to me now than she had ever shown in confession.

  Except last night when her body, mind, and soul surrendered to me. I had worshiped her in that moment. Prized her. Owned her pleasure like it had always belonged to me and my sins.

  “You’ve used me since the day we met,” she whispered. “You tricked me into thinking we could control ourselves and this passion. The only reason you’re encouraging this ridiculous test of faith is so that I fail.”

  Nonsense. “Why would I want you to fail?”

  “So you could be the one to save me.”

  “Save you?” Now my voice did harden. I shed the patience and the kindness, the self-imposed softness and any bindings of my own invention which contained my rage. “My soul is just as endangered as yours.”

  “And here I thought you’d learned how to combat your sins.”

  There it was. The truth was as ugly as I feared it’d be.

  “Are you upset because I didn’t let you bring me to orgasm?” I laughed. “Is it your pride that’s hurt? Examine your own sins, Honor. You came upon my hands, and it was beautiful and natural and the greatest sin I ever tasted. I offered you a chance to confess it, and you refused.”

  Her voice trembled. “You made me come.”

  “And I will forgive it.”

  “Of course you will. Because that’s who you are. What you do. You are the savior of my wretched soul, aren’t you, Father?”

  My breathing quickened. I abandoned prayer and counted to ten.

  “Don’t insult me,” I warned. “You have no idea the torment I’m enduring.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of that torment.” She tapped her chin. “The guys on campus call it blue-balls. I can see how it might be uncomfortable, unlike the pit of Hell calling me home.”

  My words tasted of poison and ash. “You want to talk about Hell? What we did in the confessional was worse than a sin, Honor. That vow between priest and penitent was broken. If anyone finds out what we did, I will be excommunicated.”

  Just the word might have torn curtains and cracked the foundation of my soul.

  Honor quieted. So did I.

  “I violated more than just my job tonight,” I said. “I defiled a connection between a soul and God. And do you know why?”

  She shook her head.

  The truth stunned me, and I had no one I trusted who would understand, who would forgive me of this, my darkest confession.

  “I would risk my faith, my vocation, my very soul because I can’t spend ten minutes apart from you.”

  My words resonated. Honor looked away. Unacceptable. I forced the command into my voice, bidding her to meet my gaze.

  “I wasn’t strong enough to push you away,” I said. “I couldn’t remove my cock from your lips for five minutes to hear a sinner’s confession. I was too obsessed with my own suffocating evils.”

  I stepped closer to her.

  She retreated, but her back struck the wall.

  She couldn’t escape.

  “You gave me such pleasure,” I whispered. “Such unholy pleasure. If we hadn’t been interrupted, I’d have sinned with you, Honor. I’d have allowed you to take me in your sweet mouth, between those perfect lips…”

  I reached for her. She stilled under my touch, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. I stroked her cheek, and my thumb pressed over her mouth. She kissed me.

  Heaven help me.

  “I wanted it, Honor. I wanted to come in your mouth, over your tongue. I longed to watch you swallow my sin. But I didn’t. I fought it. And I nearly lost.” I silently groaned. “I knew what would happen if we were discovered.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t believe you, Father. You liked the danger.”

  “No.”

  “I know the games you play.”

  “What we do, say, and feel is more dangerous than any game, Honor.”

  She twisted against the wall, determined to be free of me, to confess whatever fears and rage she suffered. I didn’t let her go. My hands slammed on either side of her, trapping her in my arms.

  My little angel stilled, unable to fight me.

  Where could she run that I wouldn’t chase?

  Where could I hide that she wouldn’t burn my soul?

  “You love that you didn’t come, Father,” she whispered. “Don’t pretend it’s a struggle for you. Your celibacy isn’t a virtue. It’s the source of your pride.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “You’re proud of resisting, just as you’re proud of how I lust for you. You love that I come to you for help because you’re proud that you have all the answers. You use your faith to dominate me, Father.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Every time you promise to save me, it’s self-righteous foreplay. You want to own me and my pleasure. You made me orgasm so I’d ruin myself—not for you, but because of you.”

  My heart raged, and I’d have ripped it from my chest if it might have silenced her. “I want nothing more than to protect you.”

  “No,” she whispered. “You don’t protect me. You seduce me. Shame me. Then redeem me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you get off on this, Father.” Her words tore at my very soul. “You love the control you have over me.”

  I grabbed her, ripping a hand through her hair just so she’d gasp, so those plump lips would part and I could kiss her without a barrier between my fierceness and her tongue.

  I didn’t pray as my hands tore through her clothes.

  I didn’t seek my rosaries as I ripped her shirt from her body.

  I didn’t beg forgiveness as my fingers wrenched the button from her jeans.

  I growled, staring at her. She stood half-nude and breathless from my kiss, the assault against her body, her heart, and her innocence. My hands curled around her, forcing her soft curves close to me. It wasn’t en
ough.

  I picked her up, trapping her in my arms.

  Honor called my name. I silenced her with a kiss before hauling her through the house, beyond the safety of the living room, the memories of the kitchen, and into the darkness of my bedroom.

  I threw her on the bed.

  My hands began with the top button of my cassock, freeing the collar.

  No hesitation. No remorse.

  No forgiveness for this sin.

  I dropped the collar upon the ground as my voice lowered in dark, sinful warning.

  “You’re wrong, my angel. With you? I have no control.”

  13

  Honor

  Was he a different man without the collar?

  No.

  Father Raphael wasn’t just the cassock and the collar, the Mass and the confessionals.

  He was a righteous man. A messenger of God.

  The most dangerous threat to both our souls.

  And I fell upon his bed, half-naked, trapped between right and wrong, obedience and disgrace, sin and salvation. Our kiss tormented me with hellfire. The separation of our bodies froze me.

  Father Raphael twisted the buttons of his cassock, every movement blessed with a ritualistic passion, a slowness that trapped me within his gaze. He stared at me, and his fierce eyes darkened with lust. The buttons unfastened under his fingers.

  Ten, eleven, twelve…

  I knew his robes had thirty-three, one for each year of our Lord’s life.

  A black t-shirt hugged his muscles beneath. My mouth dried.

  I should have stopped him. I should have spoken, screamed, done anything to break the silent spell which captured our souls and tangled us in a bed of sin.

  The robe fell from his broad shoulders.

  He kicked it across the room. His fingers tangled in the hem of the t-shirt. It stretched as it tugged over his head.

  The Bible said we were created in God’s image.

  He proved it.

  Thick muscles rolled over his body, strengthened through hard work and toil. His abs flexed, a deliberate and impressive pack of strength that intimidated and protected. His trim waist angled into the black trousers, and the thick V of definition aimed lower. It captured my attention, forced me to look and wonder and lust for what hid in his pants.