13. The Wolf at the Door
Chapter thirteen
The Wolf at the Door
Cassian
The knock came again.
My cock ached.
I licked some of her wetness off my lips. “Can we ignore it?”
And then another knock banged over and over against the door.
The sound was deafening.
Soon it became a sharp, insistent banging booming through the house, jolting her and me from the sinful haze of her wetness, her scent, her taste.
Why?
Next, the doorbell rang—sharp and shrill.
“What the fuck?” Celeste shivered and tried to catch her breath. “I’m trying to have another orgasm.”
A smirk spread across my face.
Now the person knocked and rang the door.
“Goddamn it.” Celeste quickly put her gown back on. “Oh. I’m sorry.”
Wiping my face some more, I straightened myself up immediately and stepped back. "Sorry for what?”
“Well. . .I’m sorry for taking the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Celeste, if we are counting sins that we have committed in this kitchen tonight. . .we have a lot more to worry about than your taking the Lord’s name in vain.”
She widened her lips in shock. “Yeah. . .I guess you’re right about that.”
And that damn knocking persisted.
My body screamed in protest, every nerve on fire, my cock still painfully hard and pressing against the confines of my pants.
But there was no time for regret or shame, not when the knocking resumed—louder, more urgent.
She rushed with putting on her robe.
Pissed, I moved quickly to the kitchen window and cautiously peeked through the curtains, keeping myself hidden as much as possible.
Oh no! Not now!
There they were.
Sister Margaretta stood on the porch with her hands clasped in front of her. Those sharp eyes scanned the door as though expecting it to open any moment.
I thought I had time.
The sight of Sister Margaretta sent a cold chill down my spine.
She was a true wolf disguised as a shepherd, her eyes always seeking prey to devour.
And now, her prey was me.
Behind her stood three other sisters—Sister Eleanor, with her perpetually kind expression; Sister Beatrice, tall and severe with her silver-streaked hair; and Sister Genny, the youngest of the group, her face still soft with traces of youthful naivety.
Oh no. They came to tell Celeste about her mother. How could I forget?
Panic surged through me.
I knew they would come eventually. Of course I never thought that I would have been at Celeste’s house this long and. . .doing what I was doing to her.
Frowning, I stepped back and kept my voice low. “The sisters are here to inform you about your mother.”
The doorbell rang again.
“Shit.” Celeste turned in the direction of the hallway and raised her voice. “I’m coming! Please, hold on!”
The door bell and knocking stopped.
She looked back at me. “I thought you were the one that was supposed to come and tell me.”
“No. I just. . .” I slipped my gaze over her body now concealed within that robe. “I just wanted to tell you myself. . .I just. . .”
“What?” She stepped closer.
I noticed how swollen her lips were from my kisses. How I had even left marks on her necks from sucking so hard.
The sight of her like this—disheveled, beautiful, and possibly unaware of the gravity of the situation—only made the ache in my chest worse.
“I just wanted to see you, Celeste.”
She bit her bottom lip.
My cock throbbed.
I cleared my throat. “They can’t see me here. Not like this. Not right now. There would be no explaining this moment. No justification for why I was here.”
“I understand.”
“I’m not ashamed of you or. . .what we did, but. . .”
“It’s still against what you’re supposed to be doing. . .”
I parted my lips to speak but was at a loss of words.
“Father Cassian don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”
Secrets were horrible cruel seeds that eventually grew into massive trees that could never be hidden.
Yet, I took that seed for now. “Thank you.”
“As far as I’m concerned, this moment is just between you and me.”
I swallowed. “And God.”
A pang of guilt hit my chest.
“Anyway. . .there’s another way out of here.” Quickly, she took my hand, guided me out of the kitchen, led me down the hallway, and stopped us right at the back door. “You should wait here until they come inside the house. When they do, just walk around the path. It’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry to sneak away like this. You deserve better and—”
“Father. . .you made me cum so hard I can barely remember the other guys I’ve had sex with in my lifetime.”
I blinked.
“Don’t apologize to me. I’m not sorry.” Then, she blinked. “Or. . .should I be sorry?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me either.”
“Celeste. . .” I reached for the handle, pausing for just a moment to glance back at her.
In those beautiful eyes of hers, there was a glimmer of something—fear, longing, uncertainty.
It mirrored my own feelings.
She whispered, “Yes?”
What should I say?
The words were stuck in my throat.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again.
Should it be another apology? A confession? An explanation? What could I possibly say to her right now that would make any sense?
We had crossed a line and there was no going back, and like here. . .I didn’t have any regret.
But I was supposed to feel bad about it.
I let out a heavy breath. “I will. . .see you again. . .and we will. . .talk.”
She nodded. “Yes. We should. . .uh. . .see each other and at least talk about this.”
A strange sense of calm washed over me.
“We should. . .” I turned the doorknob, opened the door, and headed out of the house. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Celeste quietly closed the door behind me.
I should have kissed her goodbye.
I waited.
What if this is the last time we have an intimate moment like this?
This was complicated and it could result in a massive scandal that would shake the very foundations of my cathedral but in the face of all of it, Celeste was worth it.
The night air was cool against my flushed skin as I crouched by the side of Celeste’s house, and kept my back pressed against the cold brick.
The sound of her voice at the front door floated to me—steady, calm, and utterly confident.
Too calm for what had just transpired in the kitchen moments ago.
And then came the voice I dreaded most.
Sister Margaretta.
She didn’t even start with good morning or hello. Instead, her voice came out in a sharp and suspicious tone. “Is Father Cassian here?”
I froze in my hidden place.
What?
My pulse thundered in my ears.
How did she know?
Yet, Celeste’s voice dripped with the perfect amount of confusion. “What? No. Why would Father Cassian be at my house in the middle of the night? Is he missing?”
“Well. . .no—”
“Then, why are you at my house at this time asking about him?”
“I think his car was parked a few houses down.”
“You think or you know ?” There was not one bit of patience in Celeste’s voice.
Sister Margaretta said crisply. “Well. . .I thought it was his car.”
Celeste’s sigh was audible, and I could picture her standing there, one hand on her hip, and her eyes narrowed in disbelief. “You came to my house early in the morning to tell me a car that may look like Father Cassian’s is parked nearby? Are you serious right now?”
I smiled.
Good job, Celeste. Take control before she tries to bully you.
Sister Margaretta was surely not used to anyone standing up to her. Many times I had to go to other sisters’ rescue to stop her bullying them.
It was good to hear Celeste put Margaretta in her place.
Still, Sister Margaretta, not one to back down so easily, retorted sharply, “Well. . .I am almost certain it is his car and I think it is a peculiar observation at a peculiar hour, wouldn’t you agree?”
Before Celeste could respond, Sister Eleanor, ever the peacemaker, interjected softly, “Umm. We’re sorry to disturb you, Celeste. We didn’t come to discuss cars. We actually bring sad news, but also. . .blessings of possibility.”
The shift in tone was palpable.
I heard Celeste step back, allowing the sisters inside.
My nerves flared as the sound of the front door closing echoed through the house.
The sisters are in.
I glanced around the yard.
Escape was still possible, but the thought of leaving Celeste to fend off Margaretta’s suspicions made me linger.
Sister Beatrice described the events that I had already told Celeste earlier—her mother crashing into the sign, coming into the cathedral and playing the organ, and even how she was now sleeping.
Celeste listened and made all of the appropriate gasps and sounds of horror.
“We’ve taken your mother into our care. She is well-loved after all and. . .we feel it is now our duty to help you,” Sister Eleanor began. “She’s resting comfortably with us, and we have the Medical Mission Sisters overseeing her needs. It’s the best place for her, truly.”
Celeste’s response came quickly, tinged with stubborn pride. “And how much will this care cost? I’m sure it isn’t free.”
"Celeste, you’ve carried so much on your own. Let us help you. Not out of charity, but because it is what’s right."
“Thank you, but. . .no disrespect. How much?”
“It is free for you .”
“How could that be?”
Sister Margaretta spoke up, “Because Father Cassian has decided to make you his charity case for this year and has dipped into one of his many trust funds to handle all expenses.”
The mention of my name sent a fresh wave of tension coursing through my body.
Damn it. I didn’t want her to know. I told them to keep my funding the situation a secret.
For the first time, true shock hit Celeste’s voice. “What? He’s paying for everything personally?”
“Yes.” Sister Margaretta’s voice rose. “Don’t you think that is very. . .interesting?”
Celeste sighed. “Excuse me?”
"There’s just something odd about all this. A priest dipping into his personal funds for one woman? Paying for all her expenses without her asking? It seems. . .improper, doesn’t it?"
Celeste cleared her throat. “Well I think that was nice of him to do, but I can handle it. I’ll figure out her bills myself.”
Sister Eleanor replied gently, “Father Cassian anticipated you might say that. He was adamant that we refuse any money from you. He’s seen to it personally. All bills are paid for as long as she will be with us.”
Margaretta’s voice cut through like a knife. “And you’re absolutely sure Father Cassian wasn’t already here?”
My fists clenched at my sides.
Of course, she wouldn’t let it go.
Celeste’s response was quick and defiant. “I said what I said. Now don’t ask me again.”
I could hear the rustling of robes and footsteps moving deeper into the house—toward the kitchen.
Then, Celeste asked. "Would you all like some tea?”
Margaretta’s voice was triumphant, as though she’d discovered a crack in the alibi. “Why are there already two cups of tea on the table?”
“Because…” Celeste said smoothly. “There are two people who live in this house. My mother and me. And I had no idea she wasn’t here until you came banging on my door in the middle of the night. But. . .honestly. . .who are you to come into my house asking about why anything is on the table in the first place? What happens in my home is my business.”
The silence that followed was heavy, and I imagined Margaretta’s lips pursing in disapproval.
But before she could press further, Sister Beatrice spoke up, her tone brisk but nonconfrontational. “Margaretta, enough. This is neither the time nor the place. This poor child has had to deal with enough.”
Still, I could hear Margaretta mutter under her breath, “Strange coincidences always deserve scrutiny.”
I gritted my teeth.
My frustration simmered just beneath the surface.
If I didn’t leave soon, Margaretta’s scrutiny would turn into an outright investigation.
As they continued talking, I eased away from the window, keeping low and silent.
As Margaretta had noticed, my car was just a block away.
I would have to circle the house and slip away unnoticed, and still the thought of leaving Celeste to deal with Margaretta’s prying irritated me to no end.
Yet, staying would only make things worse.
I moved quickly, the cool grass dampening my steps as I skirted the edge of the house.
Every step I took felt like a thunderclap, though the night was eerily silent.
I could almost hear Margaretta’s sharp voice cutting through the shadows, catching me in my sin.
My breath quickened, but my feet moved faster.
After a few minutes, my car came into view, parked under the shadow of a large tree.
I rushed over there fast, got to the car, opened it quickly, and slid into the driver’s seat.
Once I closed the door, I gripped the wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white, as though the force of my grip could stop me from turning back around. But the thought of her—Celeste, flushed and vulnerable—would not leave me.
God, help me. I am already damned. Right?
I felt how wet my shirt was and smelled my fingers.
I. . .kissed her. . .I tasted her. . .and. . .
It all played out in my mind.
I would have done more if they hadn’t interrupted me.
A cold shiver ran through me.
I gazed up at the sky.
What do you think of me now, God? Can you even still hear me? Or has my sin deafened my voice to you?
My body vibrated with lust, yet my soul darkened.
The memory of her lingered—the way the faint light kissed her skin, the way her legs parted for me as though she were offering herself as a sacrament. She was temptation itself, wrapped in sinless beauty because even the ghost of her touch stayed on my skin like a brand.
My lips still burned from the taste of her.
My hands still tingled from tracing her curves and exploring her pussy.
No amount of prayer could erase her from my body.
What will I do?
Sighing, I started the engine and headed away.
Sister Margaretta might have her suspicions, but this morning, she wouldn’t find the answers she was looking for.
And as I drove away, the memory of Celeste’s swollen lips, flushed skin, and dripping pussy haunted me, a reminder of how deeply I’d crossed the line—and how desperately I wanted to cross it again.
I knew without a doubt that. . .I would see her again.
I couldn’t stay away.
But next time, I wouldn’t just kiss her or just lick that sacred space between her thighs.
Next time, I would claim her with my cock—body, soul, and everything in between.
Damn the consequences.
I just wondered. . .about my vows.
Who am I now if I won’t stop seeing her?