2. Temptation
Chapter two
Temptation
Cassian
Sister Margaretta wagged her finger at Celeste and began to raise her voice.
Anger hit in my chest.
Celeste stood in front of her with flustered cheeks that I could only guess was embarrassment. However, Celeste’s eyes said that she was a few seconds from putting Sister Margaretta on her back.
I should handle this.
Next to Celeste was her mother, Mary, sitting quietly and sucking on a lollipop utterly oblivious to the tension crackling around her. She was our retired organist and had been loyal to our church for over forty years so much that there was a plaque in her honor over her gold framed picture of her in the hallway.
Why would Sister Margaretta be bothering them?
I directed my view to Celeste. The soft, warm glow of the stained glass highlighted her dark brown skin, giving her an almost ethereal radiance that stood out against the muted tones of the pews and the congregation’s Sunday best.
Her short curly afro framed her face like a halo, the springy strands catching the light and creating a contrast so striking it made my chest tighten.
She was both out of place and undeniably magnetic—a figure that commanded attention without meaning to.
Heat curled low in my stomach.
It wasn’t just Celeste’s presence that rattled me.
It was the dress she had on.
The deep red fabric clung to her body, accentuating every delicious curve, and dipped just enough at the neckline to send a thrill of unease through me.
I swallowed hard and my cassock suddenly felt stifling.
Hers was the type of body that made me re-evaluate my vows.
The morning light caught the sheen of her brown skin, and her collarbone was exposed like a challenge I hadn’t prepared to face.
I cleared my throat and sent another small prayer to God.
Father, fortify my resolve and guide my thoughts back to You for her beauty threatens to undo the vows I made in Your name.
To calm myself, I looked at the cathedral’s walls made of towering stained-glass windows that stood as monuments to divine artistry and devotion. Each one told the story of salvation. There were scenes of saints ascending to heaven, martyrs enduring their trials, and the Passion of Christ in all its harrowing beauty.
By afternoon, when sunlight streamed directly through the windows, the entire cathedral transformed into a kaleidoscope of divine jewel-toned color.
Okay. My body is calm.
Slowly, I put my view back on them and headed that way, descending from the altar.
My grip tightened on the Bible in my hand and the edges pressed into my palm.
But this lustful storm didn’t care for reason or righteousness—it was primal, searing, and entirely unwanted.
And the closer I got to them, the more I could see that Celeste’s dress was a delicious temptation wrapped in carnal sin, the kind that had been written about since the dawn of man.
Red—a color meant for fire.
For warning.
For blood.
And yet, on her, it wasn’t danger.
It was an invitation.
One I could not accept, one I could not even think of accepting.
Not that she had asked me to accept in the first place.
Still, I exhaled and forced my steps to remain steady.
As I approached, I could feel the tension radiating from the pews.
Sister Margaretta’s sharp voice, though hushed, carried enough authority to command attention.
“This is a house of God.” She pointed her bony finger at Celeste’s breasts. “Not a place for indecency. I insist you leave until you can dress appropriately.”
“Listen. I already told you that I didn’t—” Celeste began and then her eyes darted to me and went wide. “Father Cassian, I’m so sorry.”
Her apology hung in the air as if she were speaking to me alone, instead of the dozens of people seated in the pews.
My grip on the Bible tightened even more and my body continued to betray me.
I had walked the path of righteousness for over two decades but nothing in scripture or seminary had prepared me for the way her voice—her mere existence—shook the foundations of my faith.
God help me.
I forced my gaze to stay on her face but it was no use.
Celeste’s voice broke through my internal battle. "Father Cassian?"
I blinked, realizing I had yet to respond.
Sister Margaretta turned to me. "Father, I trust you’ll handle this indecency appropriately. She must go."
Celeste rolled her eyes. “Indecent? That’s going too far.”
Ignoring Celeste, Sister Margaretta’s gaze pierced through me like a blade. In fact, her disapproval was more than tangible. And I swore that look dared me to defend Celeste and risk exposing my own weakness.
Or maybe it was all in my mind.
Still, I steadied my voice. "Sister Margaretta, your shaming her is unreasonable."
She widened her eyes. “It is not!”
"Listen. I would usually never wear anything like this to the cathedral," Celeste said quickly. "But my mother—she thought I was a burglar this morning and splashed tea on my white dress, then ran through the house and locked herself in the bathroom. Once I finally got in and then calmed her down. . .I had to change. This dress was the only thing I could find in time. I didn’t want us to be late."
Sister Margaretta rolled her eyes. “Why would you even have a dress like that in the first place—”
“That’s enough.” I scowled at her and put my view back on Celeste.
Meanwhile, Celeste glared at Sister Margaretta. “You know what, we will leave because I don’t need this today.”
Her hand brushed against her mother’s as she probably prepared to take her away and I found myself wishing—sinfully, desperately—that it was my hand that she was reaching for instead.
“No.” I shook my head. “You do not need to go. Sister Margaretta was out of line.”
Sister Margaretta scoffed. “But how when the gospel plainly dictates that one should have respect for the Lord—”
“Only God has the power to judge, Sister. I see no need for him to judge in this moment.”
Celeste placed those lovely brown eyes on me.
I cleared my throat. "This is a place of worship and also a place of loving grace. Of course, you both can stay."
Celeste sighed.
Sister Margaretta bristled, muttering something under her breath.
I turned to her. “What was that, Sister?”
“Nothing, Father.” She stomped off.
Celeste gave me a sad smile. “Thank you, Father Cassian.”
“No problem at all.” My words were steady, controlled, but everything inside me burned, an inferno raging beneath the surface of my carefully constructed composure. “I apologize for Sister Margaretta. After all your mother has done for us, all her dedicated service and the joy she brought to this congregation every Sunday, Sister Margaretta should be ashamed for how she’s treated you today.”
Celeste smiled. “Well. . .we’re lucky that you came over and saved the day.”
I stood there for a moment longer, unwilling to move, and yet knowing I must.
The heat of Celeste’s presence was unbearable, the deep red of her dress etched into my mind like the scarlet letter itself, searing its image onto my soul.
Christ, deliver me.
The way the fabric clung to her body was sinful in its perfection, every curve of her hips and swell of her chest a demonic siren call to the darkest parts of me.
My vow.
My collar.
My faith.
They all felt like fragile barriers in the face of this temptation.
It was all too raw.
Too dangerous.
If I’d not been a man of the cloth, I would have. . .taken her right here.
Right here in the sacred walls of this cathedral with sunlight filtering through the stained glass to illuminate every depraved act.
I would have fucked her right in front of her mother, blissfully oblivious to it all.
In front of the congregation with their whispers turning to gasps. Their bodies heating with lust.
I would have even taken her right under the condemning eyes of Sister Margaretta, whose judgment would only fan the flames of my erotic defiance.
In my mind’s eye, I could see it.
Hear it.
Celeste’s moans, soft at first then louder, desperate as I claimed her in every way.
The arch of her back.
The way those full, perfect breasts would spill out of that dress, dark nipples hard and begging for my mouth.
My tongue.
My touch.
Surely, those breasts would bounce over and over as I drove my hungry cock into her, relentlessly.
And each thrust would be a declaration of my possession.
I would ruin her for anyone else.
God help me, I would relish it.
The thought of her crying out my name, not in reverence but in pleasure, sent a thrill so potent through me that I nearly dropped the Bible in my hands.
Stop it! What are you doing?!
Blinking twice, I shook my head breaking the spell just enough.
These thoughts are blasphemous. Never think them again!
The shame that followed was sharp and immediate, cutting through the haze of desire.
Celeste widened her eyes. “Father. . .are you okay?”
I didn’t mean to, yet. . .I licked my lips and lifted one hand up to my collar to loosen it.
Right now, it felt like a noose.
“Y-yes.” I cleared my throat again. “I am fine.”
I stepped back, forcing myself to tear my gaze away from her, though every fiber of my being screamed at me to stay.
To look.
To take.
To fuck.
Without another word, I turned and hurried away, my pulse hammering in my ears and my chest heaving with the effort it took to hold myself together.
I had prayed for strength before walking in here.
I had prayed for resolve.
And gotten none of it!
Just Celeste wrapped in red silk.
What test is this, God?
When I reached my gilded pulpit, I kept the Bible in front of me because. . .my erection was growing.
No. Not here. Don’t do this.
I gazed up at the ceiling.
As always. . .she’s unraveled me. I must calm myself.
Above the altar, the cathedral's dome soared into the heavens. It was a breathtaking mosaic of saints and angels shimmering in gold, sapphire, and ruby tiles.
The central image was of St. Michael with his sword raised high, standing victorious over a serpent writhing in agony.
Faith’s triumph over sin.
I swallowed and lowered my view.
Usually, I would have set the Bible down and opened it to a verse.
But the words of God were blurry now.
The Commandments, the Psalms, the Proverbs—nothing held my attention.
And then there was my erection pushing up against my holy fabric.
I clutched the Bible tighter as if holding onto it would help me regain control over my thoughts, but it was an empty gesture.
I forced my gaze away, focusing on the flickering candles at the altar. Their steady flame was a reminder of the discipline I needed to reclaim, though it felt as fragile as the wax they melted.
Finally, I focused on the congregation and got closer to the microphone. “We are. . .all tested. . .”
My voice when I spoke, was steady yet inside, there was chaos.
I’d prepared a sermon for today but knew I’d been called to speak from my soul.
I calmed a little. "Temptation is a trial that none of us are immune to. But it is through resisting these trials that we find grace, that we find salvation."
My eyes betrayed me and flickered to Celeste before I could stop them. She wasn’t looking at me this time, her focus was on her mother, who now twirled her lollipop with an absentminded contentment.
I forced myself to look away; to pour every ounce of control I had into my words. Yet, the heat of her presence lingered—a constant pull that I knew would haunt me long after this service was over.
And in that moment, I realized something that terrified me to my core.
Dress or no dress, this wasn’t the first time she had stirred something in me.
And it wouldn’t be the last.
Somehow, I need to fight this battle of the flesh.
“Even the Son of God, in His perfection, faced temptation.” I glanced Celeste’s way again and realized that her view was back on me. “He was hungry, weary, alone—yet He resisted, not through His own strength, but through the Word of God and the power of His Father.”
Celeste bit her bottom lip as she watched me and I swear there was hot desire in her eyes. There was no way I was imagining this. She was looking at me with lust.
Mmmm.
A dark groan lodged in my throat.
Fuck. . .
My cock grew harder and hotter.
It was shameful, wrong, and yet, I could do nothing to stop it.
I looked away and pressed the Bible closer to my cock praying, it would further mask what I desperately couldn’t control. “Every time we are tempted, we stand at a crossroad. One path leads to sin and separation from God.”
Unable to help myself, I glanced back at her.
Celeste’s gaze was still on me, but this time those brown cheeks flushed and her lips parted slightly as though she’d just been caught doing something forbidden.
What was she thinking? No. What are you doing? Focus!
A child in the back pew dropped their hymnal with a sharp thud, and the noise jolted me out of my sinful reverie for a fleeting moment.
“The other path. . .” I blinked and turned back to the rest of my congregation. “The other path leads to grace, to growth, and to holiness.”
My voice began to carry the verse from 1 Corinthians 10:13 , “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind. And God is faithful; He will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, He will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”
As I boldly said those words, my thoughts betrayed me.
What did this mean for me, a sinner standing before this sea of faces? What did it mean when I, too, wrestled with temptation clawing at my resolve?
And so I stared at everyone, hoping to answer this for all of us. “What does this mean for us, as sinners who struggle daily?”
I forced my voice to remain steady. “It means that temptation is not our master. It means that, with God, we have the strength to say no .”
But could I?
Could I stay away from Celeste and not. . .do the things that I wanted to do to her?
My gaze flicked back to her against my will.
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs. The movement so subtle, so innocent, yet, it sent a jolt of heat through me that I struggled to contain.
I gritted my teeth. “ It means . . .that we must prepare ourselves. Christ resisted the devil not with silence, but with scripture. Each time Satan tempted Him, He answered with the Word of God. This is our model.”
Celeste licked her lips and closed those beautiful eyes. I wondered once again what could be on her mind.
Did she have the same film of lust playing in her head that I had earlier?
Was she imagining me fucking her on that pew in front of everyone?
I dragged my gaze back to the congregation, “when we feel the pull of sin, let us remember Christ’s example. Let us arm ourselves with prayer, with Scripture, with the strength that comes only from God.”
But even as I spoke those words, I felt like a fraud.
A hypocrite.
“Temptation,” My voice faltered. “is not a sin . It is a trial . And with every trial, God provides a way out.”
My eyes caught hers again, just for a second.
Hers were open now, she didn’t look away and I knew in that moment that she understood. She knew the power she held, even if she didn’t wield it intentionally.
God help me, I was failing the very trial I was preaching about.
Desperate to shield the pounding of my heart from the congregation, I nodded. “Let us pray.”
Celeste and the rest of the congregation bowed their heads.
But far in the back, one person had not bowed their head.
I tensed.
Sister Margaretta watched me with disdain and then slowly she shook her head at me.
She knows.
The new organist played and still Sister Margaretta kept her judging view on me.
I must be more careful.
I guessed that her disdain for me wasn’t just rooted in piety—it was personal. Perhaps she saw in my weakness something that mirrored her own.
But, regardless, if I didn’t keep my desires under control, it wouldn’t just be Margaretta I would have to face—it would be the congregation’s collective judgment and the Church with their eyes waiting for any sign that their priest was less than holy.