Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (17 page)

He’d regret that
arrogance.

I licked my lips
before bringing him to my mouth. We both tensed, but a surge of desire stole my
words and thoughts. I captured him between my lips and welcomed his hot,
pulsing head upon my tongue.

How could
something so hard, so rigid, so
intimidating,
have such velvet skin?

Father Raphael
closed his eyes. His head struck the confessional wall.

His body trembled.

He clutched his
bible.

The clatter of
rosaries captured between the bench and his fingers.

And I drew him into
my mouth, deeper and deeper, swallowing as much of his length as I could take
while still delivering him the pleasure he deserved.

This was a
sin—though technically everything outside of marriage and without the express
desire for procreation was a sin. Still, this felt worse. Bad.

I teased a priest.
I
pleasured
a priest. I took him in my mouth and flicked my tongue over
his thick, hardening shaft.

This was
wrong
.

So why didn’t I
stop?

I hummed in
pleasure as he caressed my cheek, his rosaries clenched in his fingers. He
tasted of salt, smelled of delicious incense, and grunted the harsh breath of a
pleased man. I sucked and swallowed, pulled him from my mouth to kiss the tip
and lash my tongue over the thick vein which pulsed so desperately for me.

Every movement,
every motion, every leisurely lick twisted his hand in my hair.

He wanted me.

He
loved
this.

And I savored the
salty rush of his desire. A little dollop of his excitement escaped as a
prelude to his greatest sin.

His lips moved in
a quiet prayer. Latin.

He had to pray in
Latin
to protect himself from the pleasure I created.

I’d never felt so
confident. So powerful.

So amazed that I
could create this type of sensation in another person—

The door to the
sanctuary crashed open, and the frantic click of heels rushed to the
confessional.

Oh God. Someone
was
here
.

I lurched back.
Father Raphael adjusted the screen, nearly slamming it closed as the woman
collapsed into the bench on the other side of the thin wall. Her purse
clattered to the ground, and she ended her phone conversation with a hushed
promise to return the call.

I pulled away from
Father Raphael, but he captured my hair in his fist. He pinned me against his
body, head down in his lap and still. His rosaries tangled in my hair, but I
didn’t move, didn’t speak.

Could she hear me?
Did she know I was there?

Could she see how
thick, hard, and vulgar Father Raphael’s cock glistened? He exposed himself,
but the sight was obscured by the screen and the darkness of the church.

At least, I prayed
it was.

“I’m not too late,
am I, Father?” The woman asked.

I bit my lip.

Judy?

Why did it have to
be
Judy
?

“Perhaps for
tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Would you rather come back tomorrow, when it
isn’t so late?”

“It’s only a
small, teeny weeny sin. Five minutes, Father?”

He clutched my
hair tighter. I leaned close to his cock, staring in wonder as his body had yet
to soften.

“Go ahead,” he
said. “I’ll never refuse any who wish to confess to me.”

He meant it for me,
still demanding my repentance. He was one to talk, especially as his hardness
twitched so near my lips.

“Bless me, Father,
it’s been a week since my last confession, and since then I have just been an
absolute
witch
to my husband.”

Among others.

I hated myself for
the thought. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be pleasuring
him. I wasn’t supposed to be
hearing
this.

I held my breath,
praying that my pounding heart wouldn’t tear itself apart as Judy began her
confession. I clenched my eyes shut, but I still only saw his thick cock in my
mind.

Hard and waiting.

Eager for the
return of my lips.

No wonder I had
responded in such a way last night. My body had slickened so shamefully I
didn’t understand what such wetness could be for. Now I understood. It’d be
impossible to take a man as large as him into me if I weren’t so prepared.

And I wanted to
feel him.

So terribly.
Horribly. Achingly.

I wanted all of
him in me. Over me. Around me. I couldn’t imagine how
full
I’d feel,
especially when I’d come from a single finger thrust within me. My knees had
weakened, my body fell limp, and my very soul burst and shredded against the
pleasure of that sin.

And now, to see
what I had missed?

What I would miss?

How could I lament
a sin I’d never commit?

Judy whispered her
confession, and Father Raphael’s hand gripped me. I held my breath, eyes wide
as he pulled me closer to him. Back to my knees. Rising up?

He pushed me into
his lap.

My lips touched
his cock once more.

This wasn’t
happening.

I couldn’t
pleasure him in the confessional. Not with someone so close. Not when we might
have been discovered.

Ruined
.

The panic chilled
me, but even those goose bumps became a torment. My stomach twisted. Was I
terrified or excited?

I moved without
any rational understanding. I took his cock in my mouth once more, knowing
every flick of my tongue, kiss of my lips, and leisurely bob of my head drew
him closer to that peak sin.

We’d never escape
this darkness.

And yet it
wetted
me.

It destroyed my
conscience.
This
was sin. All morals, all
humanity
faded from me,
leaving only an insatiable and unrelenting desire to taste his ultimate
pleasure.

Judy spoke in a
rush, listing sins and accepting prayers so quickly she hardly needed to end
her phone call. Father Raphael prayed over her, ordering a few Hail Marys and a
conversation with her husband to examine the cause of her argument.

Judy thanked him
and was on her phone before she left the confessional.

I stilled,
listening for the doors to slam shut once more. I left his cock in my mouth,
swirling my tongue over the head. He twitched, hard and furious. His rosaries
pressed against me.

I didn’t speak.
Didn’t breathe.

He rasped his
words as he seized my hair. “Heaven forgive me.”

I gasped as his
hips flexed. He thrust upwards, filling my mouth with his ravenous flesh. He
pleasured himself—quickly, remorselessly, using my mouth to deliver him faster
to that forbidden peak...

I welcomed him and
gasped in quiet and overwhelmed awe as a man this strong and fierce could
control my body with my own pleasure and my surrender to his will. He tensed.
His cock pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Three fierce
strokes within my mouth, upon my lips. I readied for his release.

But he pulled away
with a fierce groan. I tumbled to the floor of the confessional, waiting at his
feet for the moment he’d reward us both with the casting of his seed.

It didn’t happen.

Father Raphael
gritted his jaw, poised on the threat of oblivion. He didn’t touch his flesh.
Didn’t stroke. Didn’t tug.

He did nothing but
let the agony strike him in villainous shudders.

He denied himself.

He cast himself to
the edge of amazement, oblivion, and damnation…and he retreated.

His breathing
edged hard, gasped breaths that might have forged profanities in any other man.
He prayed Latin words I didn’t understand. After a long minute, he finally took
his cock in his hand. I longed for him to stroke it. Instead, he forced it in
his pants and covered himself with the cassock once more.

I hadn’t moved.

He sat above me,
staring at me in that intense, unflinching righteousness that had shamed me
once before.

Now he shamed me
again.

“Why didn’t you…”
I whispered. “Why wouldn’t you take that gift?”

“Faith is my gift,
and I’d sacrifice anything for it,” he said. “I told you I’d defeat this sin,
Honor. And I have.”

His victory didn’t
please him. His voice edged too harsh. Angry. Frustrated.

Proud.

“I can defeat our
temptations,” he said.

I hated the
implication. “And I can’t?”

“No.”

It was the first
time I felt truly
filthy
, and it wasn’t a pleasant or wicked feeling.
That tarnished, sullied,
darkness
allowed him to pity me.

And I had been
pitied enough in my lifetime.

And shamed.

And lost.

I didn’t need it
from him—even if he was right.

“Come here, my
angel.”

“Don’t call me
that.” I rose to my feet, shaking and disgusted. “You don’t think of me as an
angel
.”

“Of course I do.”

“How can you?” I swallowed
my pride. “You look at me and see a sinner. Someone who needs help. Someone you
think is weak because I couldn’t deny my own body. You aren’t
helping
me,
Father. You’re using me.”

“I’m not—”

“You’re using me
to prove you wield power over
yourself
.”

His voice lowered.
“I’m trying to help, Honor.”

“You aren’t
helping anyone but yourself.” I stared into his eyes, searching for anything
beneath the cold and calculating
pride
that manifested in his soul.

And I found
something worse.

Something that
frightened me more.

Pain
.

“What happened to
you, Father?” I asked. “What made you this man? Why do you have to prove your
willpower to yourself? Why do you think lust is a weapon? What happened that
made you think sex was some sort of power over another person?”

“You really want
to know?”

“I think I deserve
an answer.”

Father Raphael
couldn’t stand in the confessional. The walls were too small, and his body too
fierce.

“The world is a
dark place, full of demons and evil. It feasts on those innocent to it.” He
stared at me, and I froze as his voice gave life to sheer
hatred
. “I
want to protect you from a world of sin that would destroy your innocence.”

“You don’t want to
protect me.”

“No?”

“You’re protecting
yourself.”

His grin was cold.
“Come to the rectory tonight. Midnight. I’ll give you the answers you want.”

No. I wasn’t
falling victim to his arrogance again. Once was enough.

“Fine, I’ll be
there. But I’m not looking for forgiveness.”

“What do you
want?”

“I want to end
this.”

Midnight.

Some believed it
to be an unholy hour. I thought the opposite.

I used the
stillness of the night to pray. The Liturgy of the Hours took dedication,
practice, and time. The quiet in the dead of night, when all others slept
through their sins and salvation, was my time to find peace.

But I had none
tonight.

Honor arrived precisely
at midnight.

And I knew I’d
lost her.

My angel. Not
fallen, but hurt. Enraged and insulted. Shamed because she was so very innocent
to the world and its evils.

I welcomed her
inside. Honor was content to scowl from the front step.

The only sin worse
than what occurred in the confessional was if anyone saw a woman waiting on my
porch at midnight.

“Come in,” I said.
“Please.”

She didn’t move.
Her arms tightly crossed, protecting her core. I wasn’t sure what she wished to
hide from me, but I had seen it all. I’d memorized it all. Her body. Her
curves. The erotic softness of her skin.

Nothing—not
prayer, not willpower, not even confession—would ever have me forget such a
gift.

Her lips strained,
a frown stretching the usual plumpness. She looked away with swollen eyes. She
had been crying. Because of me.

I’d caused this
poor, beautiful creature such misery.

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 suffered
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.”