He doesn’t respond, but those lust-filled orbs are glued to the curve of my form. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be sitting here seducing the priest who’s been teaching us about living a Christian life for the past few months. The shepherd herding his flock. The only problem with this little lamb is she’s left the rest behind. She’s the black sheep.
I’ve never been a good girl. I never prayed like my mom and dad taught me to. And now, as I sit here, as wrong as it is, I’m wet for him. I want to be with him. Those eyes that remind me of a forest are deep green pools of need. The same emotions that match mine. The stubble darkening his jaw makes my mind race with images of his mouth on my core. My inner thighs tingling from the scratchy beard. His tousled chocolate hair that I’m dying to tangle my fingers through looks as if he’s been tugging at it.
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.