31. Andrea
CHAPTER 31
Andrea
9 Crimes - Damien Rice
W hen Savio retreats to Santa Cecilia for the service of Sext, I don’t fight the urge to follow him.
If I thought he was going through the motions before, that’s nothing to now. The sermon is short and sharp, just as his mood is. Though, I can sense his relief when Lorenzo turns up but doesn’t pull him aside or ask what happened last night. If anything, the pervert looks like he’s still drunk.
When Savio leaves the pulpit for the confessional, he glances my way once. I don’t smile at him, just remain in my pew, body starting to ache from recent events, eyes shuttered as I wait him out.
There’s a surprisingly long line for confession, but Lorenzo doesn’t wait—he takes off as soon as he can.
When the final confessor has faded onto the bitterly cold streets, leaving us alone in the church, Savio doesn’t exit the booth.
Instinct has me shuffling to my feet.
Slipping into the other side of the confessional, I take a seat. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” His only response is a sharp breath. “It’s been…” I grimace. “…a very long time since my last confession.”
“Tell me your sins, child, so that we can purge your soul of them,” he rumbles.
“What if I don’t repent them all, Father?”
“You must come to me with an open heart.”
“My heart is open. Well, it was. It closed yesterday. The man I love claimed me as his own. Can that be a sin? Can love ever be that?”
“Andrea—”
I ignore his interruption. “—I don’t think it can, Father. I think love is exactly what God wants from us and for us. I don’t repent falling for a man of the cloth, not when that cloth is strangling him. Not when his house on earth ignores my soul mate’s struggles and shunts him from parish to parish, abandoning him within the alleged bosom of their office.”
“It was my choice, mon ange ,” he says thickly.
Mon ange.
The link between us arcs through the grooves in the booth and, without another word, I stand, pushing the curtain away. A glance around the church confirms we’re still alone, so I step from my side and enter his.
“Andrea, what are you?—”
“Worshipping the man I love,” is my answer.
The close-quarters scent of him. Soap. That intangible musk I want to bathe in. The detergent he uses. But with so little space, it’s normal that the temperature increases.
Right at the beginning of our journey, I came across a couple in a confessional…
I hit the fire alarm in my teenage outrage.
How naive I was.
I drop to my knees once the door clicks to a close.
His nostrils flare. “Andrea?”
Settling my hands onto his thighs, I slide them higher, feeling the heat of him beneath me, the tension of his muscles that flinch with every stroke of my palms as I gradually shift toward his groin.
He doesn’t stop me.
Nor does he when I shuffle between the thighs he parts to allow me more access to him.
My heart’s pounding and the arousal I feel is a sin beneath this roof, but love is love is love and I refuse to allow Savio to suffocate within these confines where depraved truths are purged onto him, the weight of which he bears for all to see. I need to shift his focus from the horrors of his past to the hope the future brings with it.
Wishing to liberate him, I find his fly. The sound of the zipper lowering is unsurprisingly loud in the haunting silence of the church, but not so much as his gasp when I delve between the folds and tug his cock free of his boxer briefs and pants.
Tension locks him in place. Every joint frozen but his gaze on me glitters in the dim light. His breathing is harsh. Sweat beads on his upper lip.
Eye contact held, I lower my head.
I expose the tip and swipe my tongue over it. A harsh exhalation noisily escapes him, but it’s sucked back in with an immediate:
“Forgive me, Father, for I am sinning in Your house.”
He repeats the litany like the plea it is as I twirl my tongue around his shaft, sampling for the first time his musky flavor, drenching him in saliva before I slip him between my lips and suck him.
I’ve never done this before, but in this place, it feels like an act of benediction.
I free him from these earthly chains and remind him what it feels like to walk in the light.
As my head bobs, I suck harder, my cheeks caving in as I grace him with the pressure he needs. The ache in my jaw is nothing to the delight that fills me when he releases sounds of relief, pleasure. My fingers find his balls and I tug on them, softly at first, gently, then with the bite of pain he needs.
He groans at that, long and low, before rasping, “You sent me this angel, Father. YOU. How can this be a sin? How can it be? She is mine and I am hers?—”
Nothing could have prepared me for what those words might do to me.
Settling higher on my knees, I turn my heel inwards, placing pressure against my denim-covered pussy. Leaning into it, I rock my hips as I pleasure Savio, reveling in his soft groans, in the bite of his fingers in my hair, in the pumping of his ass as he feeds me his dick.
When I come, it’s unexpected and all the more glorious because he does too.
Cum pours out of him and with it, the burst of tension that’s made him like a walking storm cloud the whole afternoon. He stays there, body bowed in a perfect arc as his seed slaloms the back of my throat.
I swallow as much of it as I can, but some slips from the corners of my mouth.
When he slumps, his thumb strokes my cheek. Over and over. Tired, I rest my head against his thigh, but the prospect of breaking the connection is beyond me. I don’t want to let him go, so I keep his dick in my mouth. Every now and then, I suckle, hearing him groan, but he doesn’t stop me.
Outside the booth, the sudden sound of footsteps clapping against the stone flags is inordinately loud.
I make to retreat, but his hand stays on my head, that thumb stroking my cheek, holding me in place.
When someone settles in the confessional, my eyes widen as the stranger rasps, “Am I too late, Father?”
“No, my child. You are not.”
I shift back onto my heels, more than prepared to let go of him, but Savio taps the soft flesh under my chin. It’s a silent prompt. What it isn’t, is a request for me to leave him.
Gently sucking, I continue to keep his cock warm until he offers the penitent man who berates himself for being attracted to his best friend’s wife, “Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”
For the first time since I met him, those words are imbued with feeling.
They’re not uttered as a part of his role in the Church. But as a man who believes in God.
And I did that for him.
After, when he comes in my mouth again, he helps me stand once I’ve tucked him away. A part of me feared he’d be disgusted by my actions, but he joins our lips in a simple, lingering kiss.
“I love you, mon ange ,” he tells me, the words a blessing.
Though tears prick my eyes, I whisper, “I know.”