19. Not Now. Not Ever.
Chapter nineteen
Not Now. Not Ever.
Celeste
Father Cassian, still bare-chested, his cassock pooled at his feet, stood before me—a vision of divine sin.
My knees trembled as I fought to keep my breathing steady.
My lips tingled, still tasting the faint salt of him.
My body hummed, pulsing with adrenaline.
I had never felt so alive.
So powerful.
A sharp knock at his door jolted me from my trance.
“Father Cassian,” a soft voice called on the other side. “Prayer service will begin shortly.”
I held my breath, suddenly hyper-aware of the narrow space separating us from the rest of the world.
He kept his gaze on me. “I’ll be there, sister.”
“Okay, father.”
The sister’s retreating footsteps faded into the background, leaving us alone once more.
I pressed my hands to my flushed cheeks, as though trying to calm myself, but the effort was futile. My skin burned, my heart raced, and my thighs clenched as echoes of what had just transpired replayed in my mind, vivid and electric.
Every flick of my tongue, every guttural groan that had escaped his lips as I sucked his cock—it was all branded into my memory, searing and unforgettable.
Oh my God.
My thoughts should have been of repentance, of guilt.
I was in a confessional after all.
Instead, my mind drowned in a rush of awe, of disbelief at what I had just done.
I lowered my gaze to his cock. That masterpiece of flesh, slowly softening now, yet still glistening with the aftermath of our sin. A bead of cum clung to the tip, heavy and trembling, before falling with a soft, almost unnoticeable splatter onto the cold marble floor.
Every inch of him radiated this otherworldly masculinity.
Even now, as his chest heaved with the effort of catching his breath, he remained a vision of wild temptation.
He spoke, “I don’t want to get dressed. I want to stay in here and make you cum.”
Jesus Christ.
The way I wanted to say fuck prayer service and his congregation, and hell yes Father make me cum right now.
But I had done enough sinning for today.
I gave him a weak smile. “You should get dressed. If you stay in here and make me cum, I’m going to be loud and. . .”
He leaned his head to the side.
“I may never let you leave this confessional.”
“You already want to live in my arms.”
“True.”
“We might as well live in the confessional too.”
“That sounds like a beautiful life, but. . .” I grinned. “You should get dressed, Father.”
“You’re correct.” He placed his cock back in his pants.
I almost frowned.
He moved with deliberate grace, bending down to retrieve his cassock. The fluid motion of his muscles within this shadowed space made my throat tighten.
The soft rustle of fabric filled the confessional as he pulled the cassock back over his broad shoulders.
Each button he secured felt like a ritual.
I couldn’t stop staring.
I couldn’t stop craving.
My gaze lingered on the sculpted lines of his muscular chest until they were hidden from view.
When he adjusted the collar, his fingers lingered there for a moment, and I swallowed hard.
Alright. Girl, you have to get your freaky ass out of this cathedral.
A shadow of guilt began to creep in around the edges.
This wasn’t just any man I had shared such an intimate, forbidden moment with—this was a man of God.
A man bound by vows of chastity and devotion.
And yet, he had come apart for me, had surrendered to me so completely that it left me breathless.
What did that say about me?
About him?
About us ?
Okay. Don’t think too hard about it all.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my surging hormones, but all I could see was him—towering over me, broad-shouldered, and utterly undone. The way his muscles had tensed under my touch, the way his voice had trembled with need, the way his cock had pulsed in my hands, on my tongue. He had been so hungry with carnal need, and I had been the one to bring him to that brink and then push him over the edge.
I shook my head, trying to dispel those thoughts and realized. . .
The guilt. . .
It didn’t matter.
Not now.
Not yet.
All that mattered was the way I felt, the way he had made me feel—like I was a force of nature, like I could bend the world to my will if I so desired.
Because in the end. . .I did that, and now I want to do it again and again.
I opened my eyes.
Father Cassian was now completely clothed and watching me.
I bit my lips.
I had never seen a man look at me the way he did, had never felt so desired, so. . . adored .
It was intoxicating.
It was terrifying.
It was everything .
He took a step closer and pierced me with his gaze. “This moment that we had here. . .”
I parted my lips, unsure of what he would say.
“I want to savor it, to stretch it out, to relive it over and over.”
The soft shuffle of footsteps outside the confessional brought me back to the present, and my pulse spiked with a jolt of panic. The cathedral was still alive with activity, the nuns preparing for evening prayer, the staff moving about with quiet efficiency.
I let out a long sigh. “Too bad we can’t relive this moment over and over.”
A sad expression spread across his face.
Still kneeling, I straightened a bit, smoothing down my white dress and willing my breathing to slow.
My body wanted more, craved more, but I couldn’t have it.
Not now.
Not here.
He came over, leaned closer to the divider, and gripped the lattice with his hands. “Celeste.”
“Yes?”
His voice was velvet brushing against my skin. “I need to see you again.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Can I pick you up this evening and take you somewhere nice?”
“You want to date me, Father?”
“I want to spoil you.”
I shivered. “Someone might see.”
“I’m not thinking about that now.”
“You should.”
It would have been easy for me to give in to selfishness and recklessness, to lose myself entirely and only care about my desire to be with him no matter what.
Alone time with Father Cassian.
A date.
The thought thrilled me, yet something deeper and quieter tugged at the edges of my heart, pulling me back from the brink.
I was starting to care for him—not just as a man caught in the throes of passion, but as a person bound by convictions and responsibilities that I could only begin to understand.
Father Cassian had a life outside of this, a purpose greater than the two of us tangled together in forbidden intimacy. That purpose wasn’t just an abstract calling or an empty set of rules. It was a guiding principle, the foundation of who he was, and as much as I hated to admit it, it mattered to me.
What could happen to him mattered to me.
I didn’t want to be the one to unravel him completely, to leave him standing amidst the ruins of his beliefs and his vows with nothing left but the hollow remnants of what we’d shared.
It was tempting—God, it was tempting—but I couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at me one day with regret instead of desire, with resentment instead of longing.
And more than that, I didn’t want to see him hurt.
One misstep.
One careless moment, and everything he had built—his reputation, his role in the Church—could come crashing down around him.
“I. . .can’t,” I whispered.
“You can’t?”
“It wouldn’t be right.”
“I don’t care about that. You deserved to be romanced.”
“Father Cassian—”
“You do.”
I blinked. “Well. . .maybe we can figure it out. . .later.”
“We must because. . .you deserve more than lusty moments in the shadows. You’re. . .perfect. . .captivating. . .”
My heart warmed.
“Let me pick you up tonight and take you somewhere nice. It could be out of town or—”
“Not tonight. In fact. . .I’m leaving here to go to the airport—”
Worry flashed in his eyes. “Are you leaving Obsidian Bay?”
“No I have to pick up my sister, Denise, her husband, and their kids—my nieces.”
“They’re visiting?”
“Yeah. . .” As I spoke, reality came back to me, crushing the high I had been riding.
“Is something wrong, Celeste?”
My voice trembled. “Well. . .it’s just life.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re in a confessional. If ever there is a place to talk about things. . .this is the place.”
“I came here to see you. To escape my sad reality.”
“And did you find that escape?”
“God yes.” My bottom lip quivered. “Like you, I wish I could replay that moment again, stay lost in it.”
He studied me. “What’s wrong, Celeste?”
“Father. . .” My eyes watered.
“Talk to me. I’m more than Father Cassian to you.”
“What are you to me?”
“Anything and everything you would ever need me to be.”
I swallowed.
“Talk to me, Celeste.”
“My mother. . .the doctors said her dementia is getting worse, but of course I kind of knew that from these recent shenanigans.”
His fingers tightened around the lattice. “What did the doctor say?”
“She’s. . .uh. . .she’s having trouble eating, speaking. He says, soon she won’t be able to do other things. . .” My throat closed, and I blinked rapidly, willing back the tears that burned behind my eyes. “The doctor said she doesn’t have much time left, so. . .my sister. . .uh. . .came to see her and say goodbye. . .”
The confession tumbled from me, and I hated the weakness in my voice, the way it cracked and betrayed the heaviness I’d been carrying.
Father Cassian didn’t say anything.
Instead, he backed up, left the lattice and disappeared from his side of the confessional.
What? Where is he going?
The door on his side slammed close.
O-kay. . .
Next thing I knew, my door suddenly swung open, and there he stood.
What the hell?!
Rising fast, I stumbled to my feet and stepped out of the confessional. “Father Cassian, what are you—”
He wrapped his arms around me in a fierce, protective embrace. “I’m so sorry.”
The warmth of his body against mine melted the icy ache in my chest, and I couldn’t hold back the sob that tore from my throat.
The nuns and staff outside the confessional turned to look.
Their shocked expressions blurred through my tears, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
Father Cassian didn’t care either.
His hold on me tightened. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I shivered. “Yes. I’m just focused on being strong and—”
“No. You do not have to be strong. It’s okay to fall down and cry, to mourn, and to let yourself feel this pain and let others hold you.”
My face was now pressed against the firm planes of his chest. His cassock was soft under my cheek and the warmth radiating from him was what truly kept me from falling apart.
He pressed a tender kiss on my forehead and then held me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered, and all I could do was feel safe and secure as I sobbed and trembled.
All around us, the nun’s murmured, probably judging the situation. Surely, Sister Margaretta was pointing and calling me a whore in her head.
He must have heard too because soon he positioned his body to the side, shielding me from their curious stares and creating this cocoon of intimacy and care.
“It’s okay, Celeste.” He smoothed the back of my head in this rhythmic motion, calming me like a lullaby.
But my mom is about to die. . .
“God,” Father Cassian shifted to rubbing slow, soothing circles on my back. “I ask that You give strength to Celeste as she prepares to send her mother home to You. Celeste will miss her but let her find peace in the knowledge that her mother will be embraced by Your eternal love.”
More tears fell from my eyes in thick, hot streaks, dripping down to my chin.
The nuns’ murmurs grew louder, some gasps of disbelief, but then came a shift—a ripple of quiet understanding.
“Lord, let Celeste’s heart find peace in the knowledge that her mother—Your cherished child—will be welcomed into Your eternal embrace. Let her take comfort in knowing that her mother’s journey does not end here, but continues in Your perfect, unending light.”
I closed my eyes and a flash of my mother came. Her crouching beside me at the dining table, guiding my small hand as she taught me how to write my name.
“Ease the weight of her sorrow, Lord. Replace her tears with reminders of joy, her pain with whispers of gratitude for the time they shared. Give her strength to hold onto the legacy of her mother’s love and to carry it forward into the days ahead.”
More memories played in my mind—my mother young and laughing in a yellow summer dress as she took my sister and me to the park. That smile. Then, the image came of her braiding my sister’s hair. Those fingers had been so gentle and patient, carefully twisting and winding strands while she hummed Amazing Grace.
“God, as Celeste navigates this journey of mourning, surround her with the support she needs—be it through friends, family, or strangers moved by Your divine grace. Let her feel the beauty of community and the power of Your presence in those who stand by her side.”
And then, I felt the gentle press of others’ hands on my back.
And then I knew it was the nuns when their soft voices joined Father Cassian’s.
“Yes, God,” they whispered in unison. “Give her strength.”
And their supportive presence around me made me cry more.
The nuns murmured their amens, and Cassian continued that prayer to God.
And there was this warmth. . .that spread through me like a quiet flame.
And I thought of how my mother always talked about the power of God, of the church, of community.
And I was sad that I couldn’t tell her that I finally understood that she was right. Because I had never truly felt that sense of community within these walls until now. It humbled me, made me see this all differently.
“Amen.” Slowly, Father Cassian leaned down and brushed his lips against my ear. “You are not alone.”
I shivered.
“Not now. Not ever.” His words wrapped around me like a safety net and I sank into that comfort.
The edges of my despair softened.
When I finally opened my eyes and lifted my head, I realized so many nuns surrounded us.
Wow.
I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped back.
My gaze met his, and I saw a quiet resolve there, a determination that steadied me further.
“Thank you, everyone.”
He nodded.
A few of the sisters patted my back and walked away.
Off in the corner, I saw Sister Margaretta scowling.
Girl, bye.
I put my view back on Father Cassian.
His gaze never left mine. “Go to your family.”
“I will.”
He slipped his hand into his pocket and handed me his card. “My personal cellphone is on there. Call me whenever you need. Let me know that your sister made it in okay.”
A few nuns remained around us, smiling.
I took his card. “Thank you, Father. I will.”
He looked like he wanted to say so much more, but we had an audience and it was time for me to go.
“Goodbye, everybody.” I stepped away from the group, leaving Father Cassian and the small circle of nuns who had gathered to pray with him.
Although my legs were unsteady, my heart was lighter than it had been in weeks.
His blessings still echoed faintly in my ears.
I continued off and could feel his gaze on me.
I didn’t have to turn around to confirm it; I just knew he was watching me. The intensity of his presence lingered, wrapping around me like a protective cloak, even as I put distance between us.
I didn’t want to leave him.
God help me, I didn’t want to leave at all.
But I had to.
I swallowed hard, clutching the small card he had given me like a lifeline.
His personal number.
His promise to be there whenever I needed him.
The edges of the card bit into my palm as I gripped it tighter, willing myself to focus on its significance rather than the ache in my chest at walking away.
As I moved through the cathedral, the steady rhythm of my footsteps began to drown out the sounds around me. The low whispers of the nuns faded into the background, and even the sharp clink of candlesticks being set on the altar became a distant murmur.
My thoughts swirled in a haze of emotions—grief, hope, and this rising sense of new love.
God. . .I’m falling hard for him. Is that okay? Or is that a sin too?
When I reached the main aisle, Sister Margaretta was standing off to the side with her arms crossed over her chest and her expression as sour as a lemon left out in the sun.
She narrowed her eyes as I approached.
Got a problem? Say it and get knocked out. My mom’s about to pass. I would love to take all my grief out on you.
I met her gaze head-on, refusing to flinch or look away.
Let her scowl.
Let her think whatever she wanted.
My heart was too full of the warmth Father Cassian had poured into it, too full of the sense of support and love I had felt in his arms and from the nuns who had surrounded me in my grief.
Sister Margaretta huffed and then muttered something under her breath as I passed.
I didn’t stop to listen.
I kept walking with my head held high and my steps steady and sure.
As I neared the cathedral’s heavy wooden doors, a fresh wave of memories washed over me, each one sharper and more vivid than the last. My mother’s laughter as she pushed me on the swings. Her voice, soft and patient, guiding me through spelling words I struggled to grasp. Her hands, gentle but firm, wiping away my tears when I’d gotten my heartbroken in ninth grade.
And then the last memory hit me. . .from today. . .her hands again, but now frail and trembling, clutching mine as if they were the only anchor she had left.
Oh, mama.
The ache in my chest grew sharper, a hollow pain that threatened to pull me under.
My breath hitched, but I didn’t stop walking.
I couldn’t.
Not now.
I glanced over my shoulder.
Father Cassian hadn’t joined everyone in preparations. Instead, he continued to watch me.
“You are not alone. Not now. Not ever.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Swallowing, I looked forward and pushed through those double doors.
The path ahead of me wasn’t going to be easy. My mother’s death loomed over me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun, and I knew it would break me in ways I couldn’t yet comprehend.
I believed him.
For all the complications, the forbidden desires, and the tangled emotions between us, I really believed him.
He cared for me.
Truly cared.
And as long as he was with me, as long as he was willing to catch me when I stumbled, I knew I would survive this.
Sin or not. . .thank you, God. Thank you for him.