My father was right—I’m a disgrace in so many ways. Just when I think I’m on the right path, my failures catch up to me, knocking me to the ground. My addiction to drugs was one of those. When I was in college, I fell in with the wrong crowd. One hit and I was an addict. It was a slippery slope. When I finally hit rock-bottom at the age of twenty, my parents paid for rehab, and I found purpose while sitting alone in the room at night. I did something I never thought I’d do. I prayed.
Each night. Each day. It brought me closer to the man I wanted to be. A good man. After eight months of being clean, I finally made the decision to walk this path. To give up everything. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, even women. Until a certain brunette walked into my church.
Part of the flock I’m meant to lead.
And I’ve defiled her.
An innocent.
A lamb I’m supposed to lead into the light. Not into temptation.
The water doesn’t wash away my desire, though. It doesn’t cleanse me of my sins. It only mocks me, and it feels as if I’m being burned by the lust racing through my veins. As the water runs cold, I shudder under the cool spray, hoping it will rid me of this hard-on.
My body trembles in the now-cold shower, and I find myself calming down. Shutting off the taps, I step out and grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist. My messy, brown hair is sticking up in every direction when I glance in the mirror.
“You’re an asshole,” I bite out at my reflection. Cursing. I’m cursing at myself instead of trying to absolve. Heading into my room, I quickly dress in my uniform, the black and white feeling even more restrictive today than it did yesterday.
When I step into the church an hour after my morning prayers, I find it empty except for one parishioner sitting at the front with her head bowed. My heart kicks in my chest, slamming against my rib cage, wanting to be freed.
Shaking my head, I sigh, making my way toward her. “Mrs. Ellison,” I say in a soft tone, hoping not to startle her. When she looks up, she offers me a simple smile. The thirty-year-old woman who’s been back and forth with her husband since they couldn’t have a child has been in here crying more times than I can count. The asshole blames her, but refuses to see a doctor to find out what the problem is.
“Father Reid, I’m sorry if I shouldn’t be here. I just needed time to think.” Her voice cracks, and I can tell she’s been crying. Her eyes are red, bloodshot, and puffy.
“You’re welcome here any time. Is there anything I can help you with?” She shakes her head, the rosary beads in her hand make soft clicking sounds as she moves them through her fingers at an alarming rate.
“I feel terrible burdening you.”
“You’re no burden at all,” I assure her.
“Have you ever . . . I mean, I know you’re a priest, but . . . have you ever wanted someone? Had a desire for someone?” Her big brown eyes meet mine with curiosity. I feel my throat close up at the thought of anyone knowing what I did yesterday. What I allowed to happen.
Glancing away, I look at the window, which shows a scene of the Virgin Mary. Before I answer, I inhale deeply. “I have. It’s not easy living this life,” I tell her honestly. It’s the most honesty I’ve given anyone. Even my parents don’t know about my second thoughts. I can never tell them.
“I can imagine. I mean . . . Sure you miss . . . I’m not sure, if you’ve—”
“I do miss intimacy, yes. Before I walked this path, I was a normal man, but the road I was led down wasn’t a good one, and I needed to make a change. I needed to make sure I cleaned up my act.”
“And this is what you chose?” She seems genuinely curious. I can feel her gaze on me, heating my cheeks. Before I have time to answer, another person walks into the church. I feel her immediately. As if my body recognizes hers, my skin prickles. And even before she says anything, I turn to face her.
“Uhm, hello.” Her gentle and demure smile is enough to have my cock thickening. Why is it that a sweet, innocent lamb is so tempting?
“Sage, what can I do for you?” I ask, my voice husky and rough to the ear. Suddenly, Mrs. Ellison rises and smiles down at me. Her hand on my shoulder, she offers a nod. The ominous gesture makes me stand. “You don’t—”
“I best get back. Thank you for listening, Father.”
With that, I’m left alone with the temptation I’ve been hoping to avoid today. “What did you want, Sage?” I ask, sounding harsher than I intend. When I glance her way, she’s staring at me as if I’m the sun in her darkened sky.
“I . . . I figured I’d bring you something I made,” she says, holding out a small dish, which I didn’t notice earlier. “It’s nothing special. Just some choc chip muffins.”
Sage
“Thank you, Sage,” he says. His voice is so low, gravelly, and it sends a warm tingle through me. His eyes are sparkling in the low light, the green darkening just a fraction. He strolls over to me, taking the dish and popping the lid. The smooth chocolate icing coating each one is sugar-sweet and covers the entire top of the confection.
“It’s a pleasure, Father Reid. I wasn’t sure you liked chocolate, but I figured you’d give them to someone if you didn’t. I mean, it—”
“Thank you,” he says again, halting my rambling. His hand on mine sends a jolt of want over my skin, making everything more sensitive. My nipples harden, my core pulses, and my stomach twists in knots at his nearness.
“Can we talk?”
He doesn’t respond. instead, he turns and heads for his office. The same office where his fingers brought me to orgasm. As soon as we step inside, he makes his way across the room and settles in his chair. Lifting his hand, he gestures to the visitor’s seat opposite the large wooden desk, but I ignore the offer. With the anxiety swirling in my stomach, I can’t sit. I’m nervous because as much as I want to be here, I know I’m not supposed to. I like him. I want to know him. Learn who the man is that hides behind the white collar. Something tells me he’s not as righteous, and it isn’t because he finger-fucked me yesterday.
I make my way to the bookshelf, running my fingers over the spine of each book. Bibles, encyclopedias, books of reference. “Do you read these?” He’s silent, probably wondering how to handle me being here. I saw the war raging in his eyes when he looked at me. Perhaps he wants me, but can’t find the strength to tell me. To confess that deep down he’s just a man who has normal desires.
“Sage,” he sighs, but I don’t look at him. I walk along the wall, touching each leather-bound tome. “What do you want? You can’t be here,” he says, want and hunger dripping from his tone. I want to tell him I’m here for him. I also want to tell him the memory of what we did yesterday has been replaying in my mind all night, all morning. It’s like a loop of debauchery. And as much as I know I shouldn’t, I want it again.
“I thought we could have coffee, eat those muffins together. Talk.” My voice is unsure, nervous even. And I don’t blame myself. I should be nervous. I should be petrified because I’m trying to taunt a man of the cloth. A man who’s already married.
The thought sends more desire coiling through me. It’s a serpent. Temptation. A viper tightening around everything south of my belly button, and it’s about to attack.