by Sara Cate
* * *
Present day
* * *
His eyes find me often during Mass, more often than normal. Even as I assist him during the Eucharist, I feel the heavy weight of his stare on my face.
I was such an idiot to admit my feelings to him. The shame and embarrassment I feel is intense—but then he confessed that he feels the same way for me.
Father Roman, this man I have looked up to and crushed on for years, has feelings for me too. How long has he thought about me like that? I go through my memories of him, the casual late nights together and all of the times he listened to me talk about my life. There are no signs in these memories that he ever saw me as anything more than a kid. Even as I grew into a woman, Father Roman’s behavior toward me didn’t change.
Until now.
At least he had the good sense to keep these thoughts to himself. Unlike me, he suppressed them and kept his vows, without ruining everything like I did.
If I ruin our friendship, I don’t know what I’ll do. Father Roman is practically the whole reason I even joined the convent. To be in his life, to be near him.
I mean...of course it’s for God, but Father Roman was the one who got me here.
He’s tense during his entire homily, not at all the same passive, comfortable priest he normally is, and the guilt eats away at me. And when Mass ends, I have a feeling he’s avoiding me. He intentionally moves out of every room I’m in, and it’s late by the time we run into each other again. I’m putting his robes back on the hangers when he slips into his office, not spotting me until it’s too late. We’re finally alone.
In a panic, I move quickly toward him to apologize for what I said earlier, but before I can, he catches me by the arm, so we’re practically pressed up against each other.
“Cora, we need to talk,” he says, his voice dark and low, and it’s not like him. He seems desperate even...afraid. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up and an ache brew low in my belly.
He quickly shakes off the urgent look on his face and loosens his grip on my arm. “I mean...I’m here to listen to you. I don’t want you to feel ashamed.”
“Thank you,” I mumble, gazing down at my feet. It’s as if we’ve swept away the earlier conversation like it never happened, and as embarrassed as I was about that encounter, I don’t really like this feeling.
“But,” he adds, and I lift my eyes. “I have to know. Are you sure about this commitment? Is this really what you want?”
“To take my vows?”
He nods.
“Of course,” I reply. “I don’t want any other life. I want to be here at the church. With you.”
The grip on my arm tightens. “Cora…”
He looks almost disappointed. Isn’t this what he wanted me to say?
I want to feel like us again. I want all of this uncomfortable talk about crushes and commitments to wash away so we can just be Roman and Cora again, two people who spent nearly every evening together for the past five years. We used to order pizza delivery and eat together in the rec room and binge-watch Netflix shows. And then there were times when we just prayed and worshipped and shared our stories, talking about heaven and the people we hoped to see there.
He kept me safe when my home wasn’t.
So, whatever is happening between us right now is not worth ruining everything we’ve built.
I reach up and rest my hands against his soft, clean-shaven face. His shoulders instantly relax and his expression softens. The hand he had squeezed around my arm releases and slowly drifts to my back so that we are standing chest to chest. And our proximity isn’t that uncommon. We have hugged and sat close to each other before, but now things feel...different—now that we have expressed our feelings.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and honestly, I don’t know. I thought by just touching him, I could rekindle whatever we had lost, but now it just feels more charged than ever.
“I just want us to be us,” I whisper.
His other hand runs along my back, pulling me closer. “We are us.”
If someone were to walk in right now, this would look very inappropriate, but they don’t know us. They don’t know the bond we share, so they couldn't possibly understand that I can stand this close to him and touch him, and breathe the same air as him, without crossing any lines.
Just then a high-pitched gasp escapes my lips as I feel something unmistakable prod my stomach. His eyes widen, but neither of us move.
I know what that is. I may be a virgin, but I’m not an idiot.
Father Roman is hard for me. Was it because I held his body close to mine or was it my touch? Do men get hard-ons from having their cheeks touched?
I’ve been on dates and made out with boys in cars, and I have seen the stiffness in their pants, but I have never, ever felt it.
Not until now.
It’s harder than I expected. Like a steel rod in his pants.
Before I can examine it anymore, he shifts away so he’s no longer pressed against me.
“I’m—I, I’m sorry. Please forgive—” He fumbles through an apology, but I’m still desperate to know that we are still us.
Although now I’m also wondering what his stiff erection looks like and how long it is.
Before I started my training, I watched a few dirty videos on my phone, but it always felt like too much. I remember wanting to love sex, but watching those made me hate it and fear it, so I didn’t watch them anymore. My fantasies about sex had more passion and love, but I decided if that was what realistic sex looked like, I wouldn’t have a problem giving it up.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I can’t seem to move away from him.
“No, it’s not, Cora.” His hands grasp my wrists gently as he carefully pulls them down. “It’s inappropriate and a sin.”
There is a tightness in my belly, no—lower, and it aches for his touch again. I should feel shame for this, for all of this—wanting him to press his erection against me again, for giving him that erection in the first place, but I don’t. It doesn’t feel wrong. It feels the same as when I’m in prayer, all-consuming and euphoric. My body doesn’t seem to know the difference between God and Father Roman. It worships them both with the same intensity.
As I step away from him, I realize what I have to do. It’s the only thing I know that will make this all better.
“Father, I need to confess my sins.”
“But you’ve already told me—”
“I mean a real confession.”
He looks weary as he lets out a heavy sigh and nods his head.
“I was afraid of that.”
Chapter 5
Father Roman
* * *
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been three days since my last confession.”
My hands are clenched in tight knots in my lap as her delicate voice echoes around the wood chamber of the confessional. Through the lattice window, I can see the sweet slope of her nose and the soft pink pucker of her lips.
And it’s driving me wild. I feel almost sick, feverish, from this new effect Cora has on me. It all started with her admitting she has a crush on me, and now I feel a sense of hopelessness. She’s found the cord holding me together, and with one small tug, she has unraveled me.
My mother wanted more for me. I feel like a disappointment because the angel sent to me in my first year as a priest is now my greatest sin.
“Confess your sins, Cora,” I mumble with a slight quiver in my voice. I’m not myself. I shouldn’t even be doing this. I could send her to the neighboring church in our parish, where Father Neil could listen to her confessions, but that wouldn’t feel right. No, I need to listen to this. She won’t say it otherwise. What she needs only I can give her.
Dammit, that sounded wrong.
After a moment, I realize she’s silent.
“I’m listening,” I whisper.
“I can’t say it.”
“Don’t you attend the confessionals
regularly at the convent?”
“Yes, Father, but...those sins were different.”
“How were they different?”
“Because this is about you,” she replies meekly.
“Cora, if you have truly sinned, then simply confess and accept your penance.”
“You don’t understand,” she interrupts me.
“What is it then?”
“I don’t feel...bad about this, and I think I should.”
I’m reminded just how young and naive Cora is. She still has so much to understand about life and love and sex, and a big part of me wishes she hadn’t gone down this path of confessing things to me.
And another part feels entirely too angry, thinking about her experiencing these things with someone else.
“I told you, Cora. These feelings are normal—”
“I felt your arousal.” Her sudden words cut me off. It’s suddenly very hot in this tiny box.
“I should refer you to another priest.”
“No. I couldn’t possibly say this to anyone else.”
“This is beyond inappropriate. The convent trusts me with you while you are here, and if anyone knew about what’s happened today... It’s best that we both do our fair share of confessing and praying, begging for forgiveness before this goes too far.”
She sits up a little higher. “I don’t want to,” she says, and I gulp.
“What do you mean you don’t want to?”
“For the first time in my life, I think I’ve experienced real arousal, Father Roman. Now, I don’t think I can go through with my vows because what I felt today… I want more. I just wanted to be near you, but it seems the more I’m near you, the closer I want to get. And I know this would be breaking my vows, and lust is a sin, but it doesn’t feel like a sin. For that one moment when I felt you touch me, it was like a new beautiful world had been opened up for me, a place where I could have everything I’ve ever wanted, but how can something so beautiful be a sin? How could that be wrong?”
My heart pounds in my chest as she goes on.
“I keep thinking about what I felt in your pants, how it would feel in my hand, and how beautiful the pleasure on your face would be. I can’t stop thinking about the terrible, lustful, dirty things that could happen if you and I could do that, and I’m ashamed of how bad I want that.”
“Cora,” I whisper, feeling completely wrung out. My mouth is so dry now I can barely swallow, and a sheen of sweat clings to the skin of my neck against my collar. And there is definitely a wet spot in my boxers where I know a small amount of cum leaked out during her little speech about my cock.
“I’m sorry, Father Roman, I know it’s wrong, and I know I’m a wicked, wicked girl for doing this to you.” When I hear her voice crack through a sob, I burst upright.
“You are not wicked,” I exclaim loud enough for people in the church to hear us, making me hope and pray there aren’t any. But it’s Christmas, so it’s possible.
We need to get out of here. This isn’t the place. She thinks she needs to confess to a priest, but what she needs is to cry on the shoulder of her friend.
The only problem is, my body is betraying me at the moment and has some very different plans.
“Meet me in my office. Right now,” I say with deep assertiveness. Without another word, I burst through the door, finding the church, thankfully, empty as I walk quickly toward my office. Glancing downward, I notice my dick is hard and tenting the black fabric of my pants, so I do a little rearranging when I’m alone. My office is at the end of the hallway and as I reach the empty solace of the room, I shut myself in and brace my hands on my desk.
What the fuck is happening today? How could Cora and I go five whole years together without ever letting this become an issue, but today, I'm like a kettle about to burst?
I never looked at her like that...did I?
No. No.
Trying to calm my racing heart and quick breathing, I think back through my memories, trying to picture the sweet girl I’ve come to know so well. I picture her tiny fifteen-year-old frame, but she was just a child. There was not a single inappropriate thought in my head then. I wanted to protect her, to keep her safe.
Then, I remember her a few years later, coming into the church in the middle of summer, escaping the blazing heat to rest her bare legs on the cool stone floor where she quietly read through her Bible study passages.
My hand rubs hard against the steel rod in my pants, and it feels so good, I let out a moan. I am sick for thinking like this. I am sick and she is my illness.
The door behind me creaks as it opens, and I squeeze my eyes closed. I need to tell her to leave. I know it will hurt her, but I can’t let things go too far. Obviously, the devil is on my shoulder today, tempting me, putting these thoughts in my head.
“Father Roman?” she whispers, and I realize my hand is still pressed hard to my cock, and I can’t seem to tear it away. “Is this my fault? Am I doing this to you? Am I... hurting you?”
I spin on my heels and stare down at the girl with tears brimming in her eyes.
“Cora, no. This is not your fault.” Her eyes dance quickly down and back up.
“Would you like me to leave?”
“No, I wouldn’t like that at all.” The honesty bursts through my lips before my mind can think too long about a proper answer.
“Then how do we recover from this? How do we go back to being just you and me? Because I can’t stand the thought of never being here with you again. I can’t stand it.”
“I can’t stand it either,” I say.
We are silent for a moment, staring at each other. She still looks on the verge of tears, and I’m still struggling to breathe at a normal pace.
“What if…” she whispers, taking one small step forward. I watch as she wets her lips. “What if these feelings have been stored up and ignored for too long? What if we are both about to burst with something we’ve never satisfied?”
The air leaves my lungs as she takes another step closer.
Tell her to stop. Tell her to leave.
“What if I could help you relieve it now?” Her voice is so sweet, my cock twitches in my pants, as if he’s reacting to her on his own, reaching out to the only thing he wants. “Would that help?”
She’s standing only a foot away from me now, the look on her face says she’s terrified, waiting for me to save her from this humiliation. If I turn her down, it’s over. She’ll never be comfortable with me again, and I couldn’t live with myself if that happens.
It’s hardly a fair rationale to let her touch me and cross this line, but it already feels too late to turn back now.
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask.
She pauses before answering. “Is it bad if I do?”
“Not at all.”
“Can I?”
My eyes focus on the pouty, pink fullness of her lip pinched between her teeth. I take in one last breath before I throw myself headfirst into this sin. I nod my head two times, and she takes the final step toward me.
We are inches apart now, and the second I feel her pressed against my cock, I shudder from my roots to my head. With her eyes on my face, she places her trembling hands on my chest.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.
Jesus, help me.
She’s nervous, scared even, and my body seems to almost rejoice in that. With a hand on the back of her neck, I give her a reassuring squeeze. Then with my lips against her head, I whisper, “Unbutton my pants and pull down the zipper.”
Her fingers cascade down my chest, reaching my pants, and at first, I flinch. But she doesn’t stop. The sound of the zipper coming down echoes so loudly in the room, I’m afraid it could be heard miles away.
“Now what?” she asks.
“Reach into my boxers and find my cock.” There’s a tiny gasp and she pulls away to look into my eyes, surprised that I cursed in front of her, as if that is somehow the worst thing I’m doing right now.<
br />
After the initial shock wears off, her lips pull up into a sly grin. Then she does as I said, looking down as she slides her still-trembling hand into my boxers. The moment her warm skin touches my rock-hard dick, I have to grab onto her for support.
“It’s so smooth,” she breathes. I let her explore the length for a moment, running her hand softly along the shaft and over the head, but the entire time I have to bite my tongue to keep from exploding. She’s only started, and I hate to just unload on her right away. She’s not quite ready for that.
When that time does come, I’ll grab a tissue off the desk.
Fuck—what am I doing? This is insane.
But there’s no going back now.
“Now what?”
She nervously stares up at me, looking for guidance. Reaching down, I lay a hand over hers, squeezing hard as I guide her hand in a stroking motion. Then, I lean my forehead down until my brow is resting against hers. If I could breathe, I’m sure I’d be inhaling the same air as her.
The feel of her warm skin against my cock is like my heart being caught in a vice grip There is tension from my cock to the top of my head and with every strum of her hand, I'm afraid I might break.
“Is this okay?” she whispers, and I let go of her hand to grab her by the hips and hold her closer.
“Yes,” I say, my voice strangled as I try to hold back the urge to come.
I keep my eyes on her lips, so soft and pink and familiar to me. This is the girl who used to spend her weekend nights with me here at the church. I feel like I’ve watched her grow into the woman she is today, and it almost feels like the first time I’m noticing that she is a woman.
Knowing that this moment is about to end with me unloading five years of pent-up sexual aggression in the palm of her hand, I pull her face up to mine and kiss her while I have the chance. She lets out a small yelp as our lips collide, and her hand stops moving when my tongue slides between her teeth, as a wave shudders through me.
I almost come, but she stops moving just in time, and I can’t even be upset because her lips taste so fucking good. Moving my hands from her waist to her face, I deepen our kiss, owning her mouth like I’m absorbing her life force straight from her body.