by Dani René
Squirming in my seat, I watch him shift in his leather chair. “Sage, you’re a beautiful girl. I’m sure there are boys—”
“That’s the problem, Father Reid. I don’t want boys. I . . .” Pushing up off the chair, I round the desk in a few short steps. My eyes lock on the window which overlooks the garden, and a plan formulates in my mind. My gaze darts around the greenery, the plush verdant growth, and I make my decision. With my heart racing, hammering wildly against my ribcage, I utter the words, “I want you.” I confess. Again. Not meeting his gaze, instead looking at the peacefulness and serenity outside. The tranquility. Silence surrounds us like a thick fog. Heavy with understanding, but burning with lust.
“Why?” His voice is raspy when he voices his question. Just one word. Honestly, I’m not sure what to tell him. When I walked into the church today, I wanted to come in here and seduce him. As bad as that is, I couldn’t take the tension that seemed to emanate from him each time I’m around. After our confessional orgasm this morning, I knew for sure he wanted me.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” I tell him, taking a step toward the window. My finger trails the wooden beam holding the glass. The top is filled with color, the image of a sheep in the field. I know I’m going to hell for doing this, but my need overrides my morals.
His body heat cocoons me from behind as his reflection appears in the glass before me. As if he’s all around me. “If we do this . . . ,” he whispers in my ear, causing a shudder to ripple through me like a stone skipping on the water.
“No one can know,” I affirm confidently. It’s enough for him because his lips find purchase on my neck, suckling the sensitive skin. His hands on my hips tug me back against a thick erection that presses into my ass. Pushing against him, I feel him hiss against my neck. The heat of his breath fans over me, causing goose bumps to rise in its wake. His teeth bite down on my flesh as he finally takes his communion of my body.
“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs.
“It’s forbidden,” I whisper.
Our confession doesn’t stop us. His hands stroke me reverently. “This is wrong,” he confirms, but nothing stops us. His fingers tease the zipper of my jeans open, then his fingers dip into the waistband.
My breathing is ragged, and my chest heaves with desire. He stalls when he reaches the elastic of my panties. The ache that starts low in my stomach feels heavy, needy. My clit throbs. I reach for his hand, teasing it down my silky underwear.
“Don’t,” he hisses, but the need in his tone is enough.
Ignoring him, I move his hand with mine until his fingers find my slick heat. My pussy pulses for him. “Just touch me,” I moan when he finally delves a digit into my core. “This is my confession, Father.” I moan as my head drops back. His lips suckle on my heated flesh like I’m his salvation, but I know I’ll be his downfall.
“This is my sin, little lamb,” he growls. Thick digits pump in and out of my body as it accepts him. His movements are gentle. Slow and steady. Taunting and teasing. I’m so close. My body hums, thrums with need. His fingers fuck me. My hips roll against him.
“Yes, Father. Let me repent. Please?” I plead. My voice is hoarse, laced with desire. I shouldn’t want this, but I do. Father Reid, the man who’s still wearing the white collar around his neck, is about to make me come on his fingers. In his office. In the church.
“Come, Sage. Let your body go. Give me your confession. Let me relieve you of your sin.” That’s when it hits. My body convulses, tightening around his fingers. “That’s it, sweet lamb, come for me. Worship the feeling,” he murmurs so seductively it caresses every inch of my body. I cry out as it hits me, but his free hand quickly covers my mouth, stifling the sound.
I think he’s going to pull out, but he doesn’t relent; instead, he continues to finger-fuck me. As I ride the wave of my orgasm, I realize this has gone where it shouldn’t.
This is far from a fantasy.
This is real.
It’s bad.
It’s dirty and taboo.
But I want it.
Every filthy moment.
Reid
The sunlight brings with it memories of yesterday. And it brings images of the girl, the woman I defiled. As much as I wanted it, I should’ve refrained. Sage’s lips begged, and I delivered. Instead of telling her to pray, I slid my hand down the front of her jeans and dipped my fingers into the warmest, wettest pussy I’d ever felt.
For years, I was a normal man. I’d been with countless women. I should now be able to resist the temptation. What we did can’t be undone, but it also can’t happen again. Guilt settles in my gut like a lead weight. As much as I wanted her, as quickly as I sank my fingers into her tight heat, I knew it was wrong. I could lose everything I’ve worked for. And for what? A girl who’ll probably be on to the next guy tomorrow if he showed her any interest.
Even as the thought comes to mind, I know it’s a lie. She’s not that type of girl. Her innocence was evident when I touched her. The way her body shuddered. She molded against me like she was made to be in my arms. If anyone finds out what we’ve done, I’ll be thrown out on my ass. Deservedly so.
With a gruff sigh, I get up and decide to start the day. As I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, I watch the spray hit the tiles. Even if it was holy water raining down on me, I know it will never absolve me from the sin I’ve committed.
I need to get rid of the images in my head, especially the picture of her face as she exploded for me. The sweet moans that fell from her lips were too much to block out. Even now, they play like a hymn on repeat in my mind. Last night, I came all over my stomach recalling them, after spending the day with her scent on my fingers and remembering how sweet she tasted.
As soon as I step under the cascade of warm water, I find myself rock hard. Once again in need of release. Each time I pray, my mind falters. Every time I recall my duty, I find my body needing something else. Granted, I’m a hot-blooded man, but surely, I have more strength than this? I shouldn’t allow myself to succumb to these urges. Feeling the ache and need for the feel of skin on skin. The heat of a woman’s body around mine.
Shaking my head, I try to recall why I joined the church in the first place. To make a difference. For me to change the mistakes of my past. But not even two years into the seminary, and I’ve already failed.
My father was right—I’m a disgrace in so many ways. Just when I think I’m on the right path, my failures catch up to me, knocking me to the ground. My addiction to drugs was one of those. When I was in college, I fell in with the wrong crowd. One hit and I was an addict. It was a slippery slope. When I finally hit rock-bottom at the age of twenty, my parents paid for rehab, and I found purpose while sitting alone in the room at night. I did something I never thought I’d do. I prayed.
Each night. Each day. It brought me closer to the man I wanted to be. A good man. After eight months of being clean, I finally made the decision to walk this path. To give up everything. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, even women. Until a certain brunette walked into my church.
Part of the flock I’m meant to lead.
And I’ve defiled her.
An innocent.
A lamb I’m supposed to lead into the light. Not into temptation.
The water doesn’t wash away my desire, though. It doesn’t cleanse me of my sins. It only mocks me, and it feels as if I’m being burned by the lust racing through my veins. As the water runs cold, I shudder under the cool spray, hoping it will rid me of this hard-on.
My body trembles in the now-cold shower, and I find myself calming down. Shutting off the taps, I step out and grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist. My messy, brown hair is sticking up in every direction when I glance in the mirror.
“You’re an asshole,” I bite out at my reflection. Cursing. I’m cursing at myself instead of trying to absolve. Heading into my room, I quickly dress in my uniform, the black and white feeling even more restrictive today than it did yesterday.
When I step into the church an hour after my morning prayers, I find it empty except for one parishioner sitting at the front with her head bowed. My heart kicks in my chest, slamming against my rib cage, wanting to be freed.
Shaking my head, I sigh, making my way toward her. “Mrs. Ellison,” I say in a soft tone, hoping not to startle her. When she looks up, she offers me a simple smile. The thirty-year-old woman who’s been back and forth with her husband since they couldn’t have a child has been in here crying more times than I can count. The asshole blames her, but refuses to see a doctor to find out what the problem is.
“Father Reid, I’m sorry if I shouldn’t be here. I just needed time to think.” Her voice cracks, and I can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, bloodshot, and puffy.
“You’re welcome here any time. Is there anything I can help you with?” She shakes her head, the rosary beads in her hand make soft clicking sounds as she moves them through her fingers at an alarming rate.
“I feel terrible burdening you.”
“You’re no burden at all,” I assure her.
“Have you ever . . . I mean, I know you’re a priest, but . . . have you ever wanted someone? Had a desire for someone?” Her big brown eyes meet mine with curiosity. I feel my throat close up at the thought of anyone knowing what I did yesterday. What I allowed to happen.
Glancing away, I look at the window, which shows a scene of the Virgin Mary. Before I answer, I inhale deeply. “I have. It’s not easy living this life,” I tell her honestly. It’s the most honesty I’ve given anyone. Even my parents don’t know about my second thoughts. I can never tell them.
“I can imagine. I mean . . . Sure you miss . . . I’m not sure, if you’ve—”
“I do miss intimacy, yes. Before I walked this path, I was a normal man, but the road I was led down wasn’t a good one, and I needed to make a change. I needed to make sure I cleaned up my act.”
“And this is what you chose?” She seems genuinely curious. I can feel her gaze on me, heating my cheeks. Before I have time to answer, another person walks into the church. I feel her immediately. As if my body recognizes hers, my skin prickles. And even before she says anything, I turn to face her.
“Uhm, hello.” Her gentle and demure smile is enough to have my cock thickening. Why is it that a sweet, innocent lamb is so tempting?
“Sage, what can I do for you?” I ask, my voice husky and rough to the ear. Suddenly, Mrs. Ellison rises and smiles down at me. Her hand on my shoulder, she offers a nod. The ominous gesture makes me stand. “You don’t—”
“I best get back. Thank you for listening, Father.”
With that, I’m left alone with the temptation I’ve been hoping to avoid today. “What did you want, Sage?” I ask, sounding harsher than I intend. When I glance her way, she’s staring at me as if I’m the sun in her darkened sky.
“I . . . I figured I’d bring you something I made,” she says, holding out a small dish, which I didn’t notice earlier. “It’s nothing special. Just some choc chip muffins.”
Sage
“Thank you, Sage,” he says. His voice is so low, gravelly, and it sends a warm tingle through me. His eyes are sparkling in the low light, the green darkening just a fraction. He strolls over to me, taking the dish and popping the lid. The smooth chocolate icing coating each one is sugar-sweet and covers the entire top of the confection.
“It’s a pleasure, Father Reid. I wasn’t sure you liked chocolate, but I figured you’d give them to someone if you didn’t. I mean, it—”
“Thank you,” he says again, halting my rambling. His hand on mine sends a jolt of want over my skin, making everything more sensitive. My nipples harden, my core pulses, and my stomach twists in knots at his nearness.
“Can we talk?”
He doesn’t respond. instead, he turns and heads for his office. The same office where his fingers brought me to orgasm. As soon as we step inside, he makes his way across the room and settles in his chair. Lifting his hand, he gestures to the visitor’s seat opposite the large wooden desk, but I ignore the offer. With the anxiety swirling in my stomach, I can’t sit. I’m nervous because as much as I want to be here, I know I’m not supposed to. I like him. I want to know him. Learn who the man is that hides behind the white collar. Something tells me he’s not as righteous, and it isn’t because he finger-fucked me yesterday.
I make my way to the bookshelf, running my fingers over the spine of each book. Bibles, encyclopedias, books of reference. “Do you read these?” He’s silent, probably wondering how to handle me being here. I saw the war raging in his eyes when he looked at me. Perhaps he wants me, but can’t find the strength to tell me. To confess that deep down he’s just a man who has normal desires.
“Sage,” he sighs, but I don’t look at him. I walk along the wall, touching each leather-bound tome. “What do you want? You can’t be here,” he says, want and hunger dripping from his tone. I want to tell him I’m here for him. I also want to tell him the memory of what we did yesterday has been replaying in my mind all night, all morning. It’s like a loop of debauchery. And as much as I know I shouldn’t, I want it again.
“I thought we could have coffee, eat those muffins together. Talk.” My voice is unsure, nervous even. And I don’t blame myself. I should be nervous. I should be petrified because I’m trying to taunt a man of the cloth. A man who’s already married.
The thought sends more desire coiling through me. It’s a serpent. Temptation. A viper tightening around everything south of my belly button, and it’s about to attack.
I turn to face him, his green eyes holding me hostage with a look so smoldering I can’t move. I think he’s about to chase me from his office, but instead, he crooks his finger, calling me over to where he’s sitting.
“Come here,” he orders gruffly. His voice is sex, his body is sin, and the way he makes me feel is wicked. And that feeling has my feet moving forward.
When I stroll over to him, his green eyes darken, resembling a dark moss similar to that covering the ground of the woods behind our house. There’s depth in them that makes my heart flutter. I want him to corrupt me as he devours my body inch by inch like it’s a sacrifice. I reach his desk, and the spicy scent of his cologne intoxicates me, warming me like a fire on a cold winter’s night. Only, it’s not cold; it’s hot, boiling, and I feel like taking my clothes off. Not to tease him, but to feel his heated gaze on me.
Father Reid is everything you could want in a man. Handsome, rugged with stubble darkening his chiseled jaw. Sharp features look severe when he’s serious, but it’s when he smiles and those dimples peek through that he’s a temptation for any woman who walks through the doors. His tall, lean, yet muscled frame is hidden in black, and each time I see him, I can’t help but want to know what he looks like out of uniform.
“Sit on my desk,” he grunts—rough and husky. I hop up, feeling the smooth, cool wood below my ass as I scoot beside his notebook, which has a pen engraved with his name. Reid Hale. “Look at me,” he orders, causing my gaze to snap up to his.
“Father Reid—”
“Listen to me, Sage. You’re too young for me. You’re innocent, sweet. I’m a bad man for even thinking about you. What happened yesterday . . .” His words trail off. His eyes drop to my dress, the hem slipping up my thigh as I swing my legs. The way his gaze burns through me tells me everything he’s saying to me is a lie.
“Aren’t priests meant to tell the truth always?” I ask.
“What?”
“Well, you keep denying this”—I gesture between us—“but I can see you want me. I mean, it’s so clear you’re dying to see what’s under my dress right now. Isn’t that right, Father Reid?” I question him, tipping my head to the side to regard him. Nothing can prepare you for desire. For need and want. It happens. Nothing like this is planned.
When I first walked into service six months ago and saw him for the first time, I knew I wanted him. It wasn’t a choice. I co
uldn’t deny it. I didn’t want to. As wrong and taboo as it is, I need it. Yes, he’ll get fired, they’ll probably burn him at the stake, but he can’t deny it or hide it. He wants me too.
“Sage—” I reach for his face. The scruff is a little longer than yesterday, and it tickles my palm.
“Do you think about kissing me, Father?” Our eyes meet in a blaze of yearning, but he doesn’t answer. “I think about you, about your touch, your fingers inside me,” I continue.
“You need to leave.” He rises from his chair, putting us at almost the same height. His voice lacks conviction, so I leap up from his desk and lean on my tip-toes. My mouth is so close to his, but I plant my lips to his cheek instead.
As soon as we make contact, the connection between us sizzles with the forbidden.
“Sage—”
“Please, Father Reid, I want this. I want you.”
“We can never have a relationship. I can’t be your boyfriend. Don’t you understand that? I’m committed to this life,” he responds. His voice is filled with frustration, so I question him.
“Are you? Committed? Priests leave the seminary all the time. If you wanted me. I mean, really thought I could be someone you could be with. Surely, this could work. I like you, Reid. I do.” His gaze pierces me deep, right to my core. I see it in his eyes. They shimmer with recognition. He does want me.
“You’re temptation.” I nod. He’s right. I am his temptation. Suddenly, his fingers are on me. His grip on my hips is painful as he tugs me closer to him. The hardness of his thick erection is pressed against my belly. “You’re a bad girl, Sage.”