Read Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance Online
Authors: Sosie Frost
Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance
Sweetest
Sin
Copyright
© 2016 by Sosie Frost
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and
incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a
fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual
events is purely coincidental.
This
book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold
or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with
another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like
to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover
Design
: Mayhem Cover Creations
http://mayhemcovercreations.com/
To
L.G.
This
one should be your favorite…
Note
to the Reader:
Hi
there!
Thank
you so much for your interest in Sweetest Sin. Before you get to reading…
This
novel may
offend
some readers.
Please
take this warning to heart.
This
novel is about a relationship between a Catholic priest and a college-aged
choir girl within his congregation. The hero and heroine will engage in scenes
of an explicit nature which will combine sexuality with religion and religious
symbolism.
Many
scenes may be considered blasphemous.
I’ve
written this book with the greatest respect to the Catholic faith, but I
realize some readers may find the material offensive.
Sweetest
Sin was intended to explore a forbidden and potentially damning relationship
between two devout followers of the Catholic faith. At its heart, this story
explores what happens when pride turns to arrogance, and arrogance to sin. The
characters will learn from their mistakes, but it might take a fall from grace
to get there and a good redemption to find that happy ending.
Please
understand, you may find this book
offensive
.
Happy
Reading!
Sosie
“Forgive me,
Father…we can’t do this anymore.”
The silence that
followed bound me to my forbidden confession.
Was speaking it
aloud a sin?
Was it any worse
than letting the desire poison my body and my mind?
I whispered the
damning truth in the sanctity of the confessional, but I wasn’t sure I deserved
absolution.
My fantasies of
this man burned me in hellfire. Every minute I stole with him tore me further
from grace.
What I was doing
here?
And how could I admit
these sins?
When I was
younger, I hated confession and the tiny wooden room where we revealed the worst
parts of us. Now that I was older, I feared it.
The sweet cedar
and sandalwood incense teased within the confessional. It smelled of him, and
it dizzied me with indecision.
And shame.
I should have
confessed for buying the sandalwood-scented candle too. I lit it at night, once.
Not for prayer or meditation, but because the secret flame perfumed my room. Like
it was him. Like he was there. But those thoughts were dangerous, and I’d
snuffed out the flame before the scent twisted from sweet, honeyed sandalwood
into sulfur and brimstone.
I’d reveal that
transgression. I had no choice. If the Lord acted in mysterious ways, the devil
wouldn’t miss a chance to make an example out of a sinner.
But I wasn’t a
martyr. I wasn’t even a good Catholic.
I was lost, and I
knew why.
Him
.
“Father Rafe, I…”
I regretted using his
nickname. It didn’t matter if I was more comfortable speaking it. I’d already
corrupted the confession. Why desecrate it further with such informality?
Especially since my secret would crack the very foundation of St. Cecilia’s
church.
I desired a
priest, a holy man of God.
And I knew what
type of woman that made me.
I started again, and
the words tumbled from my lips. Quickly. As if I raced the apocalyptic crash of
horses’ hooves to cleanse my soul before it was too late.
“Father Raphael,
we have to stop this.”
“You wish to stop your
confession?”
His voice had the
power to roll through the church’s nave—a rumbling command that ruled with authority
over the congregation. Tonight, he whispered in the darkest shadows of the
quietest sanctuary so only I could hear. His words smothered me like thick
honey, just as sweet or inescapable as he desired.
I shivered at the
sound of his voice.
Did he know? Could
he tell?
Father Raphael was
a man as patient as he was wicked—or maybe he was that
good
, and I was
the one tormented? He wielded silence as a weapon and baited me with the warmth
of his words. I never should have recognized the heat which shadowed his
whispered questions.
“What must we stop,
Honor?”
“Everything.”
“You’ve done
nothing wrong.”
I didn’t believe
that, but was I supposed to correct a priest? “What we’ve done isn’t…
right
.”
“There is no sin
in a friendship with a priest.”
“Is it a
friendship?”
“I hope it is. Do
you regret this past month within our parish?”
Yes?
No
.
It was hard enough
uprooting my life and transferring colleges. I left most of my credits behind to
return home and help Mom, but things were so different now. Even the church,
the one constant force from my childhood, had changed. St. Cecilia’s was served
by a new priest, Father Raphael St. Lucian, and he was nothing like the old,
grey, half-deaf Father Falconi who had tended our flock for the past thirty
years.
It was once so
easy to take comfort in the warmth of the church.
Now, it was far
easier to find that comfort with Father Raphael.
I started again,
trying to justify the unforgivable to myself. “Father, I respect the Catholic
faith.”
This amused him. “As
do I.”
“I follow the
tenants.”
“And I live my
life by them.”
“Then you
understand why this has to stop, Father.”
Father Raphael remained
silent, unmoving. Almost otherworldly. He was a confident man, without
flinching or awkwardness. It was like he mimicked the statues of the saints
crafted in solid marble throughout the parish grounds. He didn’t fidget or duck
his head unless it was a bow before the crucifix or altar. And he never averted
his gaze from anyone. Even through the screen, I shuddered under the weight of
his stare.
Maybe I was
imagining things. Maybe I read too much into the conversations we had and the
times me met within a quiet, empty church.
But could I risk
my soul?
“I should go,” I
whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Prayer is from
the heart, Honor.”
“Not this prayer.
I’ve already taken too much of your time—”
“You will stay,
and I will hear your confession. Time with you is not wasted.”
The screen
separated us, and it should have been a relief. But I could still imagine him
perfectly…because he was perfect. Hardened and soft, handsome and fierce, dark
and light.
His silhouette shifted
in the shadow cast by the confessional. I had no right to remember the dark,
charcoal sincerity of his eyes, the crest of his forehead with eyebrows that
were almost black, matching the slick darkness of his hair. Even in the dim
light, I recognized the sharp definition of his nose, royal in stature like the
strength of his jaw. He’d only just turned thirty, but his confidence and poise
made him seem far older. Wiser.
Was he a priest or
a warrior?
“Honor.” Father
Raphael called for me. Did he intend to draw my attention, or had I imagined
how he smiled over the word, as if he took pleasure in whispering my name? “We’ve
talked many times this past month.”
“Yes.”
“About many
things.”
Everything and
nothing. “Yes, Father.”
“Do you regret our
conversations?”
I stiffened. “They
weren’t just conversations.”
“What were they?”
“They were…”
Just like this.
Veiled words, unspoken desires, and every dangerous and wicked thought cloaked
in small talk. We exchanged pleasantries while holding our breath. We spoke of
the church and trembled in quiet, unrealized longing for a brush of our fingers
or moment alone, beyond the congregation.
“They were
deceitful,” I said.
He never spoke a
forceful word. Never needed to exert that power over another soul, not when his
gentleness captured them instead.
“I have never
deceived you,” he said.
I believed it as
much as I feared it. “Honesty in words is different from honesty in action.”
“You may be the
only one in my flock who listens to my homily.” His amusement hummed in a quiet
chuckle. “And here I thought I wrote that lesson for myself.”
“I learned from it.”
“Obviously. You
are here.”
“Yes.”
“Guilt does not
tarnish a soul as pure as yours, Honor.”
“Are you sure?”
He paused, posing
the question like a game, a tease. “Why did you come here tonight?”
I stared at my
hands, folded in unsaid prayer. “Because I wanted to do the right thing and
confess.”
“And what are you
confessing?”
I didn’t know yet.
I didn’t even know if I’d be able to admit it.
What if someone
heard our whispering?
But the church had
emptied hours ago. I’d waited until night fell, when the sun went down and the
shadows cloaked the nave…
Except for the
corner confessional where Father Raphael and I battled a different darkness.
If he fought anything
at all.
Maybe it was just
me.
And that was more
of a reason to run.
“What is it you
fear, Honor?” he asked.
I felt him move,
almost as though he had pressed through the walls and towered over me, scented
with sandalwood and tense with the same uncertainty and heat.
“Is it cliché to
say I fear for my mortal soul?”
“It’s not cliché,
but it is foolish.”
“
Foolish
?”
“We are all
sinners. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we convince ourselves that we
must
commit acts that go against our faith. And sometimes, after we’ve lost
ourselves, we fear what we’ve done, what we
want
, is unforgivable.” His
voice lowered. “If you truly wish to be healed, you can’t simply confess
what
you’ve done.”
“What do I do?”
“You must question
what first led you into that darkness. What reason you had for
wanting
to sin. For some, it is depression. Others, rage. And some fear. What has
driven you into sin?”
“That’s what
frightens me, Father. Answering that would risk my soul.”
“Do you think I
would threaten something so precious? Something so
innocent
?” His words
graced me like the soft brush of his fingers, a touch I wished and feared to
experience. “I would never endanger a soul this beautiful.”
My heart beat, too
quick and fierce for anything deserving in the quiet sanctuary of the church.
“You shouldn’t say
such things, Father.”
“Why?”
“It’s not…”
“You
are
beautiful, Honor.”
My fingers
trembled, lithe and dark, contrasting the pale gold of the crucifix on my
rosaries. I tucked my hands under my legs. It didn’t stop the rest of me from
shaking.
“Do you believe
me?” he asked.
I wanted to. “Aren’t
we all beautiful in the eyes of the Lord?”
“And yet before me
sits an angel, humble in her perfection.”
“And I thought the
serpent had the slick tongue.”
“I have greater
uses for mine than mere lies.”
Was he talking about
the church? Celebrating Mass and preaching or…did he tease with something
more
?
Something sinful and delightful that lingered in my mind as an untasted,
unachievable promise?
“This is what I
mean, Father. Is it wrong…the way we speak and the things we say?”
“The compliments
we give?” Father Raphael drew the question with a soft rumble in his voice. “Do
you trust yourself?”
“Me?”
“Do you trust your
thoughts, your feelings, your faith?”
“No.”
“How can you be so
sure?”
“Because I’ve
already failed my soul’s first challenge.”
“A challenge?” His
words shifted, curious. “What sort of challenge?”
“Does it matter?
We face so many every day.”
“What made this
one different?”
I swallowed. “It
was the first one I’ve lost.”
“Are you certain
you’ve lost?”
“I wouldn’t be
here if I wasn’t.” My hair fell over my face, ebony waves that should have been
pinned and proper for church. Instead I let them cascade, wild and free. I
thought I could hide in them. It only revealed more of me. “Father, we’re too
close.”
“Close to what?”
He was a priest,
but he wasn’t naïve. Couldn’t be, not when the only thing he denied himself was
so often the primary focus of the church’s teachings.
Did he want me to
say it? Was that the game? Did he wait for me to admit just how depraved and
terrible and
amazing
the fantasies had become? Every squirming second in
the confessional only made me realize how sinful my thoughts were. How
dangerous
.
And he knew it
too.
It was part of the
control he had over me.
Why should he
admit these sins if he could tease me, leave me shamed and aching for an
embrace that never happened, words we hadn’t whispered, and a release that…
Well, that release
had
come. At least he had only been in my mind and not in my bed then.
I bit my lip. The
sharp sting didn’t punish me. Just the opposite.
“Father, we’ve
spent time together this month, and I appreciate the guidance and comfort you
have given, but it has to end.”
“Why?”
“Because it no
longer feels innocent.”
This intrigued
him. I imagined his gaze upon me, scorching through the tiny screen separating him
from my innermost thoughts, fears.
