Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (18 page)

“And here I
thought you’d learned how to
combat
your sins.”

There it was. The
truth was as ugly as I feared it’d be.

“Are you upset
because I didn’t let you bring me to
orgasm
?” I laughed. “Is it your
pride that’s hurt? Examine your own sins, Honor. You came upon my hands, and it
was beautiful and natural and the greatest sin I ever tasted. I offered you a
chance to confess it, and you refused.”

Her voice
trembled. “You
made
me come.”

“And I will
forgive it.”

“Of
course
you will. Because that’s who you are. What you do. You are the savior of my
wretched soul, aren’t you, Father?”

My breathing
quickened. I abandoned prayer and counted to ten.

“Don’t insult me,”
I warned. “You have no idea the torment I’m enduring.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of
that torment.” She tapped her chin. “The guys on campus call it
blue-balls
.
I can see how it might be uncomfortable, unlike the pit of Hell calling me
home.”

My words tasted of
poison and ash. “You want to talk about
Hell
? What we did in the
confessional was worse than a sin, Honor. That vow between priest and penitent
was broken. If anyone
finds out what we did, I will be
excommunicated
.”

Just the word
might have torn curtains and cracked the foundation of my soul.

Honor quieted. So
did I.

“I violated more
than just my
job
tonight,” I said. “I defiled a connection between a
soul and God. And do you know why?”

She shook her
head.

The truth stunned
me, and I had no one I trusted who would understand, who would forgive me of
this, my darkest confession.

“I would risk my
faith, my vocation, my very soul because I can’t spend ten minutes apart from
you.”

My words
resonated. Honor looked away. Unacceptable. I forced the command into my voice,
bidding her to meet my gaze.

“I wasn’t strong
enough to push you away,” I said. “I couldn’t remove my cock from your lips for
five
minutes to hear a sinner’s confession. I was too obsessed with my
own suffocating evils.”

I stepped closer
to her.

She retreated, but
her back struck the wall.

She couldn’t
escape.

“You gave me such
pleasure,” I whispered. “Such
unholy
pleasure. If we hadn’t been interrupted,
I’d have sinned with you, Honor. I’d have allowed you to take me in your sweet
mouth, between those perfect lips…”

I reached for her.
She stilled under my touch, didn’t breathe, didn’t move. I stroked her cheek, and
my thumb pressed over her mouth. She kissed me.

Heaven help me
.

“I wanted it,
Honor. I wanted to come in your mouth, over your tongue. I longed to watch you
swallow my sin. But I didn’t. I fought it. And I nearly lost.” I silently
groaned. “I knew what would happen if we were discovered.”

She shook her
head. “I don’t believe you, Father. You liked the danger.”

“No.”

“I know the games
you play.”

“What we do, say,
and feel is more dangerous than any game, Honor.”

She twisted
against the wall, determined to be free of me, to confess whatever fears and
rage she suffered. I didn’t let her go. My hands slammed on either side of her,
trapping her in my arms.

My little angel
stilled, unable to fight me.

Where could she
run that I wouldn’t chase?

Where could I hide
that she wouldn’t burn my soul?

“You
love
that you didn’t come, Father,” she whispered. “Don’t pretend it’s a struggle
for you. Your celibacy isn’t a virtue. It’s the source of your pride.”

“You’re wrong.”

“You’re
proud
of resisting, just as you’re
proud
of how I lust for you. You love that
I come to you for help because you’re proud that you have all the answers. You
use your faith to dominate me, Father.”

“That’s not true.”

“Every time you
promise to save me, it’s self-righteous foreplay. You want to own me and my
pleasure. You made me orgasm so I’d ruin myself—not for you, but
because
of you.”

My heart raged,
and I’d have ripped it from my chest if it might have silenced her. “I want
nothing more than to protect you.”

“No,” she
whispered. “You don’t protect me. You seduce me. Shame me. Then redeem me.”

“Why would I do
that?”

“Because you get
off on this, Father.” Her words tore at my very soul. “You love the control you
have over me.”

I grabbed her,
ripping a hand through her hair just so she’d gasp, so those plump lips would
part and I could kiss her without a barrier between my fierceness and her
tongue.

I didn’t pray as
my hands tore through her clothes.

I didn’t seek my
rosaries as I ripped her shirt from her body.

I didn’t beg
forgiveness as my fingers wrenched the button from her jeans.

I growled, staring
at her. She stood half-nude and breathless from my kiss, the assault against
her body, her heart, and her innocence. My hands curled around her, forcing her
soft curves close to me. It wasn’t enough.

I picked her up,
trapping her in my arms.

Honor called my
name. I silenced her with a kiss before hauling her through the house, beyond
the safety of the living room, the memories of the kitchen, and into the
darkness of my bedroom.

I threw her on the
bed.

My hands began with
the top button of my cassock, freeing the collar.

No hesitation. No
remorse.

No forgiveness for
this sin.

I dropped the
collar upon the ground as my voice lowered in dark, sinful warning.

“You’re wrong, my
angel. With you? I have no control.”

Was he a different
man without the collar?

No
.

Father Raphael
wasn’t just the cassock and the collar, the Mass and the confessionals.

He was a righteous
man. A messenger of God.

The most dangerous
threat to both our souls.

And I fell upon
his bed, half-naked, trapped between right and wrong, obedience and disgrace,
sin and salvation. Our kiss tormented me with hellfire. The separation of our
bodies froze me.

Father Raphael twisted
the buttons of his cassock, every movement blessed with a ritualistic passion,
a slowness that trapped me within his gaze. He stared at me, and his fierce
eyes darkened with lust. The buttons unfastened under his fingers.

Ten, eleven,
twelve…

I knew his robes
had thirty-three, one for each year of our Lord’s life.

A black t-shirt
hugged his muscles beneath. My mouth dried.

I should have
stopped him. I should have spoken, screamed, done
anything
to break the
silent spell which captured our souls and tangled us in a bed of sin.

The robe fell from
his broad shoulders.

He kicked it
across the room. His fingers tangled in the hem of the t-shirt. It stretched as
it tugged over his head.

The Bible said we
were created in God’s image.

He proved it.

Thick muscles
rolled over his body, strengthened through hard work and toil. His abs flexed,
a deliberate and impressive pack of strength that intimidated and protected.
His trim waist angled into the black trousers, and the thick V of definition aimed
lower. It captured my attention, forced me to look and wonder and lust for what
hid in his pants.

I remembered what
lurked in that secret. The thickness had swelled and pulsed, agonized by a
self-imposed abstinence. It pervaded my thoughts with everything impure,
unjust, and treacherous.

I drew my gaze to
his. It was wrong to worship anyone, anything, any ideal that wasn’t our Lord.
But this man deserved to be an idol. He was a graven image of sexuality, power,
and complete and total dominance.

He was no David…he
was pure Goliath. Strength. Stamina.

Fearlessness.

He had a tattoo—a
decorative cross. It spanned his right pec, over his heart. Latin inscribed on
the inside. I recognized the words.

I
n nomine
Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti
…

Father Raphael watched
as I shuddered in seduction upon his bed. His blankets and pillows smelled of
cedar, sandalwood, and
him
.

He once preached
that Mass was intended to be a full-bodied experience, complete with all
senses. We were to breathe the incense, witness the awe of the church, hear the
words of the priest, taste the body and blood, feel the holy spirit.

And I did.

Father Raphael’s
scent filled me. His words enthralled me. His body delighted me.

I longed to taste
him once more. The tease of his lips numbed my body to everything but heat,
desire, and a fading shade of doubt which disappeared with his collar.

“
The serpent
deceived Eve by his cunning
…” He warned with scripture. “
Your mind is
led astray
.”

“Are we deceived?”
I didn’t recognize the verse. “Have I misled you, Father?”

“Take off your
clothes.”

I did as I was
ordered. My bra had already fallen. I unhooked it, casting it away. I drew onto
my knees. Facing him. Wanting him. My breasts bared for his pleasure, and the
goose bumps chasing his stare centered on my nipples. They hardened and budded.

My panties were next.
I trembled as I hooked my fingers in the soft material. My breath lost in a
whimper, but he brushed my hair behind my back, offering more of my darkened
skin for his inspection.

His worship.

His lips met mine,
and I sunk into his kiss. He pulled away before I could offer more, before I
could take my fill and give a timid flick of my tongue.

His hand wove over
my curves, tickling my heated flesh. He tangled in my panties, tugging them
down, down, down. He tugged the silk from my body.

“
Truly, I say
to you, tonight…”
He whispered. “
You shall be with me in paradise.
”

Father Raphael moved
over me, capturing a kiss, a breath, a whimper of overwhelmed hesitance. His
strength rose over me, but I stilled beneath his hardened form, watching as a
man of God and muscle commanded his body and mine.

His lips tickled,
breathing prayers. My heart raced. Could he feel it?

Did he realize
what his kiss tortured from me? What his hands trapped within his grasp?

I arched as his
mouth searched lower, kissing my neck, my collarbone, lower and lower. The heat
of his lips burned over my breast. I held my breath.

Was it temptation
to let myself inhale and savor his scent?

Was it worse to arch
my breasts to his mouth? How bad of a sin would it be to ask to feel his tongue
curl over my nipple?

I didn’t have to
ask. He fed his own temptations, his own demons which heated him from the
inside and drove him to seek satisfaction from my body.

I welcomed him
between my legs, groaning as the rough material of his slacks rubbed against a
slickness far too hot and desperate for anything but the invasion of his soul.

He cupped my
breast, striking upon my nipple with a nip of his teeth, grunt of his pleasure,
and seal of his lips. With a free hand he aimed for his pants, drawing the
zipper low. I wiggled. His tongue lashed over me, darts of pink cast against a
rich darkness. Every moment of illicit attention sparked a deep pleasure.

The sensations tormented
me. My soul bundled and knotted, desperately throbbing in my core and crazed
for a freeing release. I groaned, arching, pressing my body to his.

Father Raphael
understood. He soothed me with a caress of my cheek. His dark eyes narrowed,
studying my reaction, my need.

His command teased
and enthralled me.

“You will wait,”
he said. “You will resist.”

“
No
…” My
head fell as his lips trailed lower once more. “What else must I prove to you?”

“We will reach
paradise
together
, my angel.”

I stiffened, but
he pushed my thighs apart. I was exposed to him. Again. Completely.
Shamelessly, though my shame was self-evident in the slickness of my slit.

The cool air
brushed that sinful part of me. His eyebrow arched. Had he not expected to find
me wet and wanting more of his attention, his words, his touch?

His
control
.

“This is our sin.”
He breathed over me, a homily of truth and devious arousal. “This temptation,
this moment, you were right. I dominated you with faith when I should have
worshiped you in sin. You are my lost, beautiful angel…and I will guide you to
Heaven.”

He spoke such
sensual blasphemy. His head lowered, pushing my thighs further apart.

When his words
silenced, his true prayer began.

He adored me,
tasting me, offering his tongue to my petals as though I were the holy Host and
he would have me melt with consecrated heat.

The shudders began
at my toes, rippling through me as every lashed strike of his tongue blessed my
folds. His mouth danced upon my slit, teasing the velvet and flicking across my
swollen nub.

I jerked against
the pleasure, realizing only what he did as I counted every whip against my
sensitive secret.

I arched. Twenty
swipes of his tongue, across the softness of my petals.

I groaned.
Twenty-five deliberate and devout kisses upon my tightening core.

I sweated. Thirty
agonizing suckles of my clit as he threaded me and used me and watched me
thrash against his gifted pleasure.

I knew what he
did. What he counted. Why he told me to wait.

I nearly wept,
struggling against the pleasure as my muscles cramped and fingers twisted in
the softness of his sheets.

He stopped at
thirty-nine
licks, a blasphemous and utterly sacrilegious number which wracked me in a
forbidden ecstasy.

I edged too hard
against the precipice of that peak, and he pulled away, tormenting me with the
wickedness of his feast.

“
Father
…”
My words, my body, my
soul
ached. “Please. Release me or let me go.
I can’t do this anymore.”

“I won’t lose you,
my angel. I can’t.”

He removed his
trousers. His cock wrenched from the material, finally free to harden to its
full glory. It throbbed, as intimidating as the rasping prayer he delivered
over my quivering body.

“I will bind us
together,” he whispered. “Trap us in depravity. But I’ll deliver you from this
torment. I’ll take these sins as my own to shield you from everything but this
forbidden pleasure.”

He spoke so
solemnly. His words trapped me upon his bed, torn between my own reason and
pleasure. My core ached. I needed him. More than salvation. More than
absolution.

Father Raphael fisted
his cock, pumping it in a deliberate and stoic movement. The thick shaft was
too large to hide within his hand, and every motion left
inches
exposed.

Could I do this?

A woman was meant
to take a man.

Eve was created to
submit to Adam, and we knew what happened as a result.

How could I trust
in God to protect me from this pleasure when it was darkness which controlled
our lust? Sin fed our arousal, and yet I offered my silken slickness to his
hardening cock?

Father Raphael
gripped my hips with a deliberation that belonged in prayer. Every touch
sanctified me. His stare, his whispered devotions, forged something holy inside
me. He didn’t lean over me. He readied himself on his knees. Another prayer.
Another sacrilege.

He guided my hips
to him, and he lowered his cock to my quivering slit.

Every nerve in my
body shocked me to my core. My blood pumped hard. My vision haloed.

And the softness
of his skin blended with the fierceness of his hardened length.

I was to be made
his.

And I arched to
feel that damning, beautiful connection.

His every breath
rattled the strength of his body. A raw heat entwined his movements. He tensed.
I stared as the muscles of his arms, his chest popped and rippled.

This was a man who
denied his instincts. Abandoned his urges. Deprived himself of the pleasures of
the flesh to achieve a different type of salvation.

It pained him,
just as it ached in me.

He fought his
desires to take me, to rut me, to destroy me in pleasure and lose himself
within my heat.

No longer.

I closed my eyes.
The submission came easily. My fingers entwined with his. The rosaries clenched
tightly in his fist as he trembled on the brink of immorality. I knew how to soothe
him. I tucked my hand within his and tangled the beads over our fingers. Our
touch was as sweet as the apple’s crisp bite.

It was all he needed.
He prayed—Latin, a beautiful verse begging forgiveness—and pushed within me.

We lost Heaven in that
first union of our bodies.

We found paradise
in the first breath we took as
one
.

I expected pain.
So did he. He thrust completely, tearing through what might have resisted our
desire. The fullness stole my breath, and I whimpered a shocked gasp, more
overwhelmed than frightened.

He leaned over me
and stroked my cheek.

So sweetly.

So gently.

So reverently.

I gasped over him,
squeezing his hand and shuddering as the thickness, the overwhelming
presence
of him, fractured my faith and rebuilt it in his name.

“My angel…” His
words warmed me. A comfort. As beautiful and confident as any he delivered in
prayer before our altar. “This is no temptation.”

No. This was
something beautiful.

Something shared.

A devotion of
flesh. A gift of a sanctified moment when the world stopped, the fears faded,
and the only evils we committed were lost in the regret of not offering our bodies
before this moment.

His movements
began slow. Deliberately. Every withdrawal tested our faith. His size challenged
us to stop, to turn away, to return to a world of fear and uncertainty. But his
thrusts connected us once more. Together.

Cast from Eden to
explore the world’s pleasure.

The rosaries bit
our hands, but I clenched his tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as a bursting,
crushing curtain of pleasure threatened to overwhelm me in that sinful
darkness. His voice whispered within me, around me, through me.