“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.