by Sara Cate
"I wouldn't dream of it."
Chapter 8
Cora
This is heaven. It must be. I couldn't imagine anything better than Father Roman's weight on my body, his lips on mine, and his fingers thrusting inside me.
I have pleasured myself before, but I have never come like that. It consumed me, heat and sensation inhabiting every cell in my body. And what makes it even better is the look of contentment on his face right now.
He hasn't run away, and he's not nearly as bothered as he was earlier. He looks...happy. Leaning down, he kisses me, biting my bottom lip as he gently pulls out of me and drags his moist fingers up my body. Without stopping, his hands find their way to my back, and I feel him fumbling with the clasp of my bra as he kisses me.
Just as it releases, he pulls away and stares down at my body. My small breasts barely move as the bra slides off, but his eyes don't leave them. Letting the bra hit the floor, he touches my right breast, gently pinching the nipple.
"So beautiful," he whispers before leaning down and kissing the opposite one. Pulling the pink bud between his teeth, my back arches, and I feel moisture pool between my legs.
"You are so beautiful, Cora," he says, and I love the way those words sound on his lips. I could get used to this. Loving words from the man I love more than anyone.
"Just keep touching me," I reply because I don't know what else to say. I love you isn't enough. I love you more than anything in the world, more than myself, more than God, more than everything. That's a little closer to the truth.
"I want to."
As he devours my breasts, I begin to squirm. I could easily climax again—I’m that hungry for him.
“It’s just us tonight,” I whisper as I run my fingers through his thick hair.
“Mmm…” He hums against my skin. “Just us.”
As I’m about to reach for his pants, eager to feel him in my hand again, he shifts downward, trailing kisses along my stomach.
“Tell me if this is too much,” he murmurs.
I let out a yelp as his teeth nip at my hip bones. His touch makes me jump, tingles erupting across my body. Again, he shifts downward and my eyes widen.
“Father!” I squeal because his face is right there. Right in front of my most private, most sensitive spot. He pauses for a moment before pressing his lips to my inner thigh, and I feel him smiling.
“I’m already destined for Hell, Cora, but the way that word coming out of your mouth turned me on just made me certain of it.”
“What? Father??” I ask, a slight tremble in my voice.
Pulling his face up for a moment, he gives me a wicked grin with his mouth only inches from my heat as he says, “Yes. Keep calling me, Father.”
“Oh,” I reply, biting my bottom lip to hide my smile.
“Now lie down and let me worship this beautiful piece of heaven right here.”
Oh my...God. My mind is in a flurry, suddenly overwhelmed with this new, hot, sexy as fuck version of the man who I have known since I was fifteen. Thoughts swirl around in my mind until his tongue sweeps straight from the very bottom and all the way up to my clit, every thought then disappearing.
It’s silent in my mind, and I let out a breathy moan.
Then he does it again, this time running this tongue deeper inside me, and I have to clench the sheets in my hands because it feels like I might fly off this bed. There is so much movement of his warm, wet mouth against me, my mind can’t register anything anymore. It’s soft and wonderful, but then he takes his mouth to my already sensitized clit, and I nearly scream.
“Father, wait.” I breathe because the pressure becomes too much. But he doesn’t listen. It’s not that I don’t want to come, it’s that I just don’t want this to end. I need more.
“Father, please!” I squeal, but it’s too late. My body erupts in an earth-shattering orgasm, far more intense and longer-lasting than the one he gave me with his fingers. It’s so good, I never want to come down.
When seeing and hearing return to my eyes and ears, he moves up my body and kisses me, letting me taste myself on his mouth. Then I stare into his eyes, those fierce green orbs that promised me safety and comfort during my darkest times.
“Please don’t leave me,” I gasp, suddenly feeling on the verge of tears, which is ridiculous considering I’ve never been happier.
He presses his soft lips to mine. Then my chin. Then my nose.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
When I sleepily reach for his pants, he grabs my hand and stops me. “No, baby. Sleep.”
“But—” I protest.
“Just sleep.”
I’m surprised to find how sleepy I am until he says that for the second time. He holds me close, and I’m still completely naked. I’ve never slept naked, but I like the way it feels.
Still, he doesn’t leave. Cuddling my body close, he peppers my brow with kisses and I lean into his warmth. Just as I feel myself drifting, the words hanging on my lips demand to be spoken.
“My father hit me the first night I came here. Do you remember that night?”
He presses his nose against my cheek. “I remember it vividly.”
“He came home drunk and I fell asleep before doing the dishes. He was mad. He threw a porcelain plate at my face and it broke against my cheek.”
“Cora…” he whispers.
“He forgot it was Christmas Eve. Or maybe he just didn’t care. But I knew that night when I ran away that I had no one. I was alone in this world, and then I found this place.”
“You found God,” he whispers.
“No,” I say, turning toward him until our noses are touching, and I let myself float away in the comfort of his nearness. “I found you.”
Chapter 9
Father Roman
I wake before the sun by habit, but today, instead of the morning rays pulling me from my dreams, it’s the warm breath against my neck and the feel of a naked woman in my arms.
That’s not something I’m used to.
Cora is using my shoulder as a pillow, with half her body draped over mine. Her wavy blonde hair tickles my bare arm and her right knee, which is folded over my typical morning wood, is making the idea of climbing out of this bed not very appealing at all.
She stirs as I try to maneuver myself out from under her. But even as I do, her leg creates delicious friction on my erection, and I bite back a groan.
We can't keep doing this. Last night was...corrupt and wicked. Even forcing those words in my mind feels wrong. Yes, it was a sin, but it was also so much more than that. It was beautiful and exciting and... fun.
But this isn't right. Cora is in training. She's trying to commit herself to God, and I've just ruined this for her. How can she take her vows now? The memory of my face between her legs like a ravenous, sex-crazed animal flashes through my mind. Fuck, what have I done?
I've corrupted this poor girl, the girl I love more than anyone.
And it's Christmas.
Shit.
"Good morning," she whispers, kissing my neck and stretching her body against mine. I feel the head of my cock leak at the sensation of her movement like it's crying for her.
"Good morning," I reply. I want to kiss her, but this doesn't feel appropriate. I can't be her boyfriend. I can't be the man she wants.
"What time is it?"
"Almost five," I reply, glancing at the clock on the mantle. "I have to get ready for the morning service. The volunteers arrive at seven."
Cora stiffens. "Okay."
It's silent for a moment, both of us not daring to move. I need to say something. Apologize or explain that it was a moment of lust and sin, something we cannot repeat. These are the rational thoughts in my head, but my heart and my body are saying something much different.
How do I tell her we can't do this again when that's literally all I want?
How do I tell her I can never love her like she wants me to, when I love her more than she could ever understand?
"Cora, listen..." I start quietly, not quite sure how to continue.
"Wait," she says, interrupting me. "Before you tell me that what happened last night was a mistake, I just want you to know that I've wanted that for longer than you could ever know."
"What?" I ask, sitting up. She pulls the blankets up to her chin and sits up next to me. "What are you talking about?"
"Father Roman, why do you think I came to this church nearly every day since I was fifteen? Why do you think I joined the convent?"
"I don't understand..." My mind is reeling, trying to catch up to what she's saying.
"I shouldn't be telling you this. I know it's not fair of me, and I swear I never intended to but last night..." she lets out a deep sigh and her expression softens, "last night was the best night of my life."
I start to say something, but she stops me again. Her hand presses against my chest, and I can't take my eyes away from the fullness of her pink lips and how they look as if they were thoroughly kissed all night, which they were.
"I understand, Father Roman. I understand it was a one-time thing, a miracle really. It was a gift, I guess. The best Christmas gift of my life. But I know it will never happen again, that you are dedicated to your role and your vows."
My heart splinters at her words. How is she so calm and confident when the very sound of the word 'never' makes me want to scream? I hate the idea of never touching her again, never kissing her soft skin or waking up with her naked body in my arms.
My mind spirals into ideas of how I can have Cora here with me at the church and it can be like this forever. What the fuck am I thinking?
And while my thoughts are reeling in my mind, she leans in and presses her lips softly against my cheek. "I've been in love with you for five years, and this is the best Christmas of my life. Thank you."
Without another word, she climbs out of the bed, leaving me in a daze. While she's in the bathroom, I go back to my room. Her words replay in my mind as I shower and get dressed for the day.
Standing in the bathroom, I stare into the mirror as I put on my collar. I used to look at myself in uniform with such pride and reverence, thinking of my mother and her dying wish for me, but right now, I’m looking at the man who held heaven in his hands at the cost of his soul. The pride is gone.
The next two hours move by in swift, duty-filled moments, readying the church for one of our most-attended services. People arrive and tasks are delegated. I see Cora in brief moments as she moves comfortably around the church, placing flowers and programs and candles.
In my head, I keep seeing her naked on the bed, touching herself, begging me to help her. Confessing her love for me.
Those thoughts don’t vacate my mind, not even during our morning Mass. The church is full of parishioners, and I’m at the altar on autopilot, because my brain is still stuck on images not suitable for Christmas morning while I’m talking about baby Jesus and Mary and Joseph.
Just getting through our only service of the day is a miracle, and although there is still more to attend to today, that was my biggest duty, and I couldn’t be more relieved that it’s over.
Desperate to escape the chaos and crowd, I take off to my office. Dropping into my chair, I welcome the silence, hoping to find my way back to the mindset I had just two days ago, when things made sense and life was simple.
As I read over the Christmas services, not a single word makes its way into my mind. It all feels so...futile. How can I stand at the altar and preach about fealty and faith when I am so lost?
How can I claim to be so devoted to God when all I want is to give myself to her?
Sitting alone at my desk, I clasp my hands together and hang my head, and I do the only thing I know how to do when I’m bothered—I pray. “Lord, I am so lost. I am desperate for your guidance. Please, give me a sign.”
The room is eerily silent as I focus my mind on the intensity of my plea. Suddenly, there’s a harsh knock on the door. I know by the weight of the impact it’s not her, and my shoulders hang in disappointment.
“Come in,” I call.
Sister Abigail walks in briskly, stopping in front of my desk to bow her head. Quickly, I stand as she addresses me. “Good morning, Father Roman, and Merry Christmas.” It’s a greeting, but there is no warmth in her tone.
“Merry Christmas, Sister Abigail.”
“I know you’re very busy today. Can I have a word? I won’t take much of your time.”
“Of course,” I reply, gesturing to the chair. “Please.”
She sits and folds her hands in her lap. She’s a woman of about fifty, stern features and tight, thin lips. She has the stern confidence of a woman who does not regret or second-guess anything. I’d call it faith, but it appears on Sister Abigail as more like stubborn naivety.
“It’s about Cora,” she says abruptly, and my spine straightens.
“What about her?” I ask. Immediately, my mind fears the worst: she’s found out already what I’ve done. Did Cora tell her? Is Cora so upset with me that she would do that?
No. Even this morning she said it was the best night of her life. She told me...she loved me.
“I know Cora was a member of your congregation, that you baptized her yourself, which is why I sent her here with you this week, but I hope to confess to you some of my concerns when it comes to her constitution.”
“Her constitution?” I ask, my skin beginning to heat. Something about the way she speaks about Cora and that word has me getting worked up.
“Yes. I’m afraid the poor girl doesn’t have what it takes for this position. She’s a sweet child, but she lacks discipline. She struggles with her lessons, her commitment, and her responsibilities.”
“You’ll never find someone with more faith than Cora,” I say, keeping my tone level.
“Faith yes, but so much foolishness.”
“Foolishness?” I bark, letting my irritation show. Her eyes widen. “Excuse me, but I think you’ve misjudged her. Cora may be young and a bit naive, but you have no idea the things she’s endured, the home she was born into and the devotion she showed to the church at such a young age. You have no idea the commitment she’s exhibited to me.”
“To you?”
I shake my head. “To the church. To God, Sister Abigail. Cora…” I struggle to find the right words, but fuck it. It’s Christmas and I don’t care anymore. “Cora is special, and if you can’t see that, then I’m starting to wonder if you’re the wrong mentor to guide her in her journey.”
It’s silent for a moment but I can see she’s tempted to argue with me. Finally, she grips the arms of her chair before standing up and bowing her head to me again. “Of course, Father Roman.”
It grates on my nerves the way she acts like a subordinate to me, like it’s a slap in my face, toying with me. Keeping my manners, even though I’m thoroughly annoyed with her, I stand and show my respect in return.
Standing from her bow, she keeps her eyes down as she adds, “I would be careful if I were you because even though you may see her commitment to God, the rest of us see the way she looks at you.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask through clenched teeth.
She raises her eyes and looks straight at me. “A woman’s love is a dangerous thing for a man in your position, Father Roman. Just...be careful.” Then, she quickly moves toward the door, opening it in a rush as if she’s trying to escape me.
“And what position is that?” I ask, stopping her.
Before slipping through the door, she quietly replies, “Tempted.”
Chapter 10
Cora
I have the privilege of driving into town to deliver the Christmas day donations to the soup kitchen and I’m already in such a blissful mood that this is just the star on top of the tree for me. The radio is blaring Bing Crosby’s “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and my mind gets lost in the idyllic memories of last night.
A thrill of excitement shoots through me at every remi
nder of his touch, his kiss, his embrace. The way we kissed in the dark for over an hour like teenagers before we both drifted off to sleep. That was almost better than the two orgasms he gave me. Maybe I was overly sensitive from the last six months at the convent, never being able to touch myself outside of wiping with toilet paper in the bathroom, but my climaxes came on fast and intense, not that I think I would ever have a hard time being aroused around Father Roman.
Shit, can I still call him that? It feels weird to just call him, Roman.
The thought of him not as my priest, but as a man, gives me a whole different set of butterflies. A man who wants me. That image settles comfortably in my mind. No longer Father Roman, the priest, but Roman, my friend, my lover, holding my hand in the store while we shop, cuddling close to me at night on the couch. Making easy love to me in our shared bed every night.
I really shouldn’t be daydreaming about that, but I’m too far gone now. The dream is just too sweet to ignore.
It will only be him for me. That’s why I joined the convent in the first place. This was my only way to be in his life for good, to show my undeniable devotion to him, but I never saw this happening. I didn’t come to the church this weekend to seduce him or to even confess my feelings. The plan has always been to take what I can get and be satisfied with that. I just wanted to be near him and make him a part of my life as much as possible.
But now the dreams of something more are at the forefront of my mind, and I want them to come true more than I've ever wanted anything.
But that’s ridiculous. Dreams don’t come true. That’s why they’re dreams. All those nights I dreamt of my mother kicking my dad out never did me any good. Either did wishing my father didn’t drink so much or that he would just be a dad and not a monster.
Dreams and wishes aren’t reality. So it’s best to be sensible.
Father Roman can never be my boyfriend or my husband and he will never fully let himself be with me, so I need to accept that being a dutiful servant of God, alongside him, is the most I'm going to get, and honestly, that idea sounds a whole lot better than finding some other idiot to date. I’ve tried that. They don’t look at me like he does. They don’t say the deep and thoughtful things he does. They don’t light up my soul the way he does.