19. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
Eden
N o one warns you how miserable your first hangover is after months of avoiding alcohol.
The pounding headache behind my eyes is relentless as I try to piece together the events of last night. My throat feels raw and swollen as if I’ve had strep for days. Touching my tender neck, the memories of what happened in Roman’s car come rushing back.
I remember how it felt as he mercilessly thrust his cock down my throat, a mix of shame and arousal flooding my senses. But then the memory of vomiting all over myself and his car shatters that moment.
I sit up, opening my eyes to find I’m in an unfamiliar room. The room is bathed in the soft, golden light of a single lamp, the curtains drawn tight, barely letting in the morning sun. The space is impeccably clean, almost sterile, yet there’s a warmth to it. The walls are a muted gray, adorned with minimalistic art, mostly religious iconography, but there’s nothing ostentatious about it. A crucifix hangs above a small, dark wooden desk, the only clutter being a leather-bound Bible and a few scattered papers. Looking down, I realize I’m wearing nothing but a large shirt and my underwear, the smell of fresh laundry clinging to the fabric. Where the hell am I?
My phone sits on the nightstand, flooded with texts from Aiden and Luca, ranging from apologies to confusion about my whereabouts. Luca’s texts, in particular, are a stream of remorseful apologies. I quickly reply that we need to talk, then text Aiden, telling him I decided to crash at Zoey’s for some girl time.
Running a hand through my tangled hair, I cringe at the lingering scent of alcohol and vomit. Trying to piece together where I am, I quietly slip out of bed, noting the undisturbed sheets and pillow on the other side of the bed.
Creeping to the window, I pull back the curtain and blink past the pounding in my head. My heart drops when I see the church just a few yards away.
Oh fuck. I’m in Roman’s house.
“Glad to see you’re alive,” Roman’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts, and I spin around, choking on my words as I see him standing in the doorway.
He’s wearing nothing but sweats, his tattooed, sculpted body on full display, making him almost impossible to resist. There’s a large cut on his side, held together by a butterfly closure. He holds a cup of water, his gold ring catching the light as he moves. His face is stoic, as if unaffected by the chaos from last night.
“A-Am I in your house?” I stammer, my voice scratchy.
He glances around the room, then closes the curtain more and flips on a lamp, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow .
"I figured bringing you back here would be better than explaining to your parents why you were passed out in my arms, covered in vomit."
"Did we..." I trail off, glancing at his bed.
"No, and we won't," He warns, handing me the glass of water. "I almost hurt you. It took everything in me to hold back. The things I wanted to do to you...what do you think would happen if I lost control, Eden?” The feeling of him down my throat again was both exhilarating and nerve-racking.
"I was fine."
"Yeah?" He questions, his fingers grazing my throat with a light touch. "Is that why you can barely speak this morning? Because you're fine?" He scolds, tipping the glass of water towards me. "Now drink, Angel. You were messed up last night."
Not wanting to argue, I take the water and drink it down in one go. Just as I catch my breath, my phone buzzes, lighting up with messages from both Luca and Aiden.
Roman narrows his eyes and grabs the phone before I can react, his expression darkening as he reads the texts.
"How about I go to the Autumn Mass today? We can talk afterward," Roman mutters, reading Luca’s message out loud. "Already making plans with pretty boy?"
I snatch the phone back from him, tossing it onto the bed, shaking my head in frustration.
"Would you rather me ignore him? After what you did last night? The last thing either of us needs is some rumor spreading that there’s something going on between us, Father.”
He looks like he’s about to argue, but he stays silent, his gaze trailing over me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle .
"I like you in my shirt," He murmurs, a smile ghosting his lips as my cheeks heat up.
"Don't get used to it," I retort, brushing past him. "I reek of vomit, and it’s nearly noon. I need to shower before Mass. It's a day of service for us both, Father," I add with a grin, pretending to gag as I stick a finger down my throat.
I stride toward the nearest door, my hand wrapping around the handle, only to find it won’t budge.
"That's not the bathroom," Roman says, a smug grin spreading across his face as he nods towards the door beside it. "That one is."
I stare at the locked door, then at him. "What the hell is in there?"
"Nothing you're ready for," He scoffs, nudging open the bathroom door.
"I put your clothes in the wash. They should be dry by the time you’re out of the shower."
I step into the space. The bathroom is immaculate, almost unnervingly so. White tiles gleam under the soft light, the air tinged with the crisp scent of soap and disinfectant. It’s a space that reflects a need for order and control—everything is meticulously arranged, not a trace of personal clutter. The showerhead, polished to a shine, stands ready as if awaiting some unspoken command, and the neatly folded towels on the rack suggest a man who maintains rigid discipline in all aspects of his life.
Someone’s a bit of a neat freak.
"I'll leave you to it. No need to dwell on last night," He mutters, retreating a step, though his eyes flicker with something he’s trying hard to suppress .
"Right," I whisper, fighting the urge to lose myself in how damn good he looks, all controlled strength and simmering tension beneath that calm exterior.
I grasp the hem of his shirt, peeling it over my head, the cool air brushing against my bare skin. His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking as he forces his gaze to stay above my shoulders. I hand him the shirt, then slowly slide off my underwear, making sure to bend over deliberately, offering him a view he can’t ignore. Running my fingers through my hair, I notice his eyes remain fixed on mine, his restraint fraying as I step closer.
When my hand grazes the front of his pants, I can feel the tension thrumming through him, barely contained beneath his composed exterior.
"Your lips say one thing, Roman," I murmur, leaning in just enough, "but your body tells me another."
His hand clamps down on the back of my neck, firm but not rough, like he’s caught between his duties and his desires.
"Ah, ah, ah," I cut him off, my eyes dropping to the ring on his finger. "The ring’s still on, Father.
I pry his hand off me, locking eyes with him, throwing down a challenge before stepping into the shower, leaving the door ajar. The steam from the hot water begins to fill the room, the heat matching the thrum of excitement in my veins. I wait, listening for any sign that he’s going to tear down the walls he’s hiding behind—or if he’s going to retreat into the rigid safety of denial he seems to rely on to keep him safe from this thing that’s growing between us. Seconds turn to minutes, and it seems he’s made his choice.
As I lather soap through my hair, the events of last night dissolve, slipping away with the suds that spiral down the drain. The warm cascade of water from the oversized showerhead envelops me, a gentle embrace that soothes and cleanses. As I glide the bar of soap down my front, there’s a sting from fresh cuts, and I hiss in pain.
I glance at the door, left just slightly ajar, to see if Roman would give in to the need I know he feels just as strong as I do. But he doesn’t. My excitement, once bubbling under the surface of my skin, dwindles to nothing, extinguished as the water turns cold.
I shut off the water and reach for a towel, my thoughts a tangled web of uncertainty, replaying the hesitation in his eyes, the restraint in his movements.
This is so pointless.
He brought me here to keep me away from my parents.
As I step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped tightly around me, my breath catches at the sight before me. Roman’s back muscles flex as he finishes a knot, the ropes on his bed taut and secure. The door to his mysterious room is slightly ajar, hinting at secrets kept just out of reach.
Two thick, braided ropes stretch taut from the corners of his headboard, their coarse fibers stark against the dark wood. Each rope ends in a pair of metal cuffs, their cold steel gleaming dully in the low light, hanging open as if waiting to snap shut. The cuffs sway ever so slightly, a silent promise of what could be, their weight pulling against the tension in the ropes.
A single blindfold, black as night and smooth as silk, rests atop the pillows. It lies there with an almost deliberate care, an invitation that teeters between seduction and surrender—or perhaps a test, a challenge for me to cross the threshold of his restraint.
The air in the room is cool, too cool, and it raises goosebumps on my skin. But it’s not just the temperature that causes me to shiver. It’s the sharp edge of anticipation that cuts through me, the electric undercurrent of tension that hums in the space between us, pulling tighter with every breath. I can feel it in the way the room seems to hold its breath, waiting as if the very walls are in on the secret we both refuse to speak aloud.
"Why so quiet?" Roman’s voice cuts through the room, devoid of the playful tone he usually carries. His words hang heavy as if daring me to respond, to cross the line he’s drawn.
Turning around, he places his ring on the nightstand, along with the cross he’d been wearing moments ago.
"Come here, Eden," He whispers, his voice a low, commanding hum that sends a shiver through me. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, the bulge in his pants unmistakable even from where I stand. "Unless you’re scared."
With a slow, deliberate step, I move closer, feeling the cool air brush against my skin as the towel loosens and drops to the floor, pooling around my ankles. The distance between us shrinks, and I can feel the heat radiating from his body as I stand before him. My breath hitches as I prepare to straddle his lap, already imagining the sensation of his lips on my skin .
Before I can settle into him, his hands are on me, not with tenderness, but with a roughness that catches me off guard. He shoves me onto the bed, his grip unyielding, his body pressing down against mine. The strain in his jeans is hard against my thigh, a stark reminder of the desire he’s barely keeping in check.
His hand wraps around my throat, not enough to hurt but enough to hold me in place, his thumb brushing along my pulse. His tongue traces a slow, burning path down my neck, each kiss a brand that sears into my skin. When he reaches my ear, his breath is hot, sending a shiver straight down my spine.
"If you really want me, Eden," He whispers, his voice a rough rasp that vibrates against my earlobe before he nips it sharply, sending a jolt through my body. "We have to get that pretty pussy prepared for it so you’re still able to walk once I’m done. I won’t be gentle. Understand that now before we go any further."
His words shock me, a raw mixture of fear and excitement tangling in my chest. Before I can react, his hands move with practiced speed, fastening the cuffs around my wrists. The metal bites into my skin as he tightens them, my arms pulled above my head, leaving me exposed and vulnerable beneath him.
The ropes, once an abstract possibility, now bind me to the bed, the cold steel of the cuffs a stark contrast to the heat pooling in my core. His eyes cloud with intensity as he looks down at me, all traces of restraint gone, replaced by a hunger that both terrifies and thrills me.
I can feel the pulse of anticipation, the tension between us reaching a fever pitch, as Roman’s control slips further away with every breath he takes. He’s no longer the composed priest nor the man who brought me here to protect me from the world outside. Here, in this moment, he’s something else entirely—something primal, something I’m not sure I’m ready to face but can’t bring myself to resist.
"Roman—" I begin, but my words are cut off as his fingers clamp down on my nipples, delivering sharp pinches that send shockwaves of sensation through my body. My voice dissolves into a gasp, any protest dying on my lips.
"No talking," He commands, his tone leaving no room for defiance. He holds my legs firmly, his grip unyielding as he fastens cuffs around my ankles, pulling them tight until I can feel the strain in my leg muscles. He flips me onto my stomach, my ankles drawn out so far apart that I’m left completely exposed and vulnerable to him.
My ass is fully bared to him. My face presses into the softness of his sheets, the scent of him surrounding me intoxicating and overwhelming. The position is degrading, yet there’s a thrill in the helplessness of the way he’s taken control, leaving me at his mercy.
"What are you doing?" I manage to ask, my voice trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement that courses through me like a blazing fire. I can feel him behind me, his presence looming, powerful. Though he still wears his pants, the weight of his body presses down on me, his breath hot against my ear as he leans in close.
"I'll stop once you've completed a Hail Mary," He murmurs, his voice dark and full of promise.
"Stop what?" I ask, but before I can grasp what he means, the blindfold from the pillow slides over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. The loss of sight heightens my other sense, and I feel the tension coil tighter within me, every sound, every touch magnified.
"You’ll know," He whispers, his voice a tantalizing threat that sends a shiver down my spine. His hand glides over the curve of my ass, gentle at first, teasing. My body responds instinctively, my pussy beginning to throb with need, aching to be filled with his fingers, his cock, anything that’s Roman’s.
There’s a moment of stillness, a pause that stretches into eternity, where I’m left teetering on the edge of something unknown, the tension between us a living thing, pulsating, waiting to break free. And in that silence, the only sound is the quickening beat of my heart, the ragged breaths I try to steady, and the promise of what’s to come.
The sound reaches me before the sensation does—Roman’s spit, a warm, slick liquid that lands between my folds. The warmth spreads, and then his fingers follow, gliding slowly over my yearning heat. I bite down on a moan, my teeth sinking into my lower lip as I strain against the binds that keep me helplessly in place. His fingers tease, tormenting me with every slow pass over my slick folds, never once dipping inside where I need him most.
"When I finally stretch this pretty pussy out, you're going to take every inch of me," He murmurs, his voice a low, possessive growl that sends shivers down my spine. "You’ll feel me pounding into you, filling you up, claiming you..."
As he speaks, something cold and smooth touches my back, a startling contrast to the heat of his words. The object drags across my skin, leaving a trail of icy anticipation in its wake.
He presses it against my center. "What is that?" I manage to ask, my voice trembling with a mix of confusion and arousal, as his hand hovers at my entrance, the tip of the toy teasing my slick folds.
"A warm-up," He replies, the smugness in his tone almost palpable. "I’ll stop once you’re done with your prayer."
"Stop wha—"
Before I can finish, he slides the toy into me. The sensation overwhelms me, and a moan spills from my lips. My body arches instinctively from the sensation. The binds hold me firm, leaving me no choice but to take it, to revel in the mixture of pleasure and restraint.
A gasp escapes me as Roman begins to move the toy, dragging it out slowly, teasing my entrance before driving it back in, each thrust a deliberate, torturous stroke. "Fuck," I moan, my voice trembling with pleasure as his other hand finds my clit, the sensation sending jolts of ecstasy through my body.
Roman drives the toy in and out of me, his fingers skillfully circling my clit, sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through my body. My legs tremble under the strain as he pushes the toy deeper, harder, faster, each thrust a deliberate assault on my senses.
"Will your tight little pussy enjoy my cock as much as this?" Roman's voice cuts through the fog of pleasure, painful desire lacing every word, his tone a possessive growl.
"W-Well, let’s see, Father," I manage to smirk, though my voice quivers with the effort. "Will I finish my prayer or cum all over your little toy before you get the chance to feel me on your own cock? "
He drives the toy into me with a force that makes my entire body jerk. The slick sound of my own arousal echoes in the room, each wet thrust sending ripples of exhilaration through me.
"Start your prayer," He hisses, the command sharp and edged with something savage. "Or I’ll make you choke on me while I drive this into your pretty cunt."
I can’t take much more, my pride teetering on the brink as gasps and moans escape me with every breath. My body is aflame, every nerve ending alive.
"Hail Mary, full of grace—" I begin, the words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to comply, but they catch in my throat as he pumps the toy harder, faster, the rhythm relentless.
"Don’t stop.”
"The Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women—" My voice falters as he yanks the toy free, leaving me gasping, only for his fingers to plunge into me, working me even harder. His fingers curl inside me, hitting that spot I love so much with ruthless precision, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my core. When my moans replace the words, his hand strikes my ass, the sharp sting pulling me back from the edge.
"Keep going."
"And blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners—" The prayer is barely coherent now, my voice trembling as I try to hold on to the last thread of control.
"Now, and at the hour of our d-death—" My words break off as he curls his fingers just right, and I bury my scream into his pillow, my release crashing through me with a force that leaves me breathless. My wetness gushes onto his hand, and before I can catch my breath, his mouth is on me, his tongue replacing his fingers, greedily lapping up every drop of my orgasm.
Even after I’ve finished, Roman continues to devour me, his tongue working me through every last tremor of pleasure until my body is spent, quivering beneath his touch. After a few more agonizing minutes, he finally relents, loosening the binds that have kept me tethered and vulnerable. My body slumps into the mattress, every muscle trembling, struggling to stop the shakes that ripple through me.
He pulls the blindfold from my eyes, and I blink against the light, my breath ragged as I lie panting on the sheets. I turn my head to look at him, catching sight of the toy resting on his nightstand, a stark reminder of the intensity we’ve just shared.
"That was a warm-up?" I ask, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he meets my gaze.
"It was," He murmurs, his voice low and rough as he grabs my legs, dragging me toward him until I’m settled in his lap.
I can feel the strain of his desire pressing against me, the hard length of him igniting a fresh wave of heat in my core. Instinctively, I begin to roll my hips, savoring the friction as his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me in place with a possessive grip.
"Afternoon Mass starts in thirty, and we both need to get ready," He sighs, though there’s a reluctance in his voice that tells me he’s fighting his own urges. "Besides, you're still not ready for all of me," He whispers, his words a tantalizing challenge.
My gaze drops to his lips, where a small trail of blood mars the perfection of his mouth. Without thinking, I reach up, wiping it clean with my thumb. But when I glance toward the toy on the nightstand, my heart skips a beat. A smear of blood marks its base, and embarrassment floods through me.
"Your body wasn't prepared for how hard I went," He whispers, his voice dark and steady. "And I’d be lying if I said what I would’ve done with my cock would have been any less bloody."
His words aren’t meant to soothe; they’re a warning, an attempt to scare me away, but I hold my ground, refusing to let fear take root.
"You don’t scare me Roman," I whisper, leaning in, ready to claim his lips with my own.
"I wish I did, for your own sake," He snaps, his voice edged with frustration as he places his thumb on my lips, silencing me before I can kiss him. "You need a safe word. You tore from how hard I went, and you didn’t stop me."
"I like the pain," I admit, a confession that sends a shiver of satisfaction through me, but he shakes his head, his expression serious.
"You say that now. Just think of a word..." His voice trails off as his gaze drops to my lips, his jaw clenching with the effort to maintain control.
"Want a taste of how sweet you were?" He asks, his thumbs slipping from my lips, leaving them tingling with the absence of his touch.
A smile spreads across my face as I lean in closer, my lips brushing against his as I whisper, "Yes, Father."
"If you’re what sinning feels like, Eden, then I will gladly embrace the gates of Hell and beg for God's forgiveness for the rest of my life," Roman murmurs, his voice a low, fervent confession that sends a shiver down my spine.
His lips crash into mine, a collision of desperation and desire as if he’s trying to consume every piece of me. His tongue traces the contours of my mouth, each movement deliberate, claiming. My hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. For a moment, time ceases to exist; it’s just us, lost in the sinful pleasure of each other’s touch.
But all too soon, the distant toll of church bells pierces the silence, a harsh reminder of the world outside this stolen, forbidden moment. Reluctantly, I feel him pull away, his breath mingling with mine one last time before he slips the ring back onto his finger—a cold band of gold that binds him to a vow he can never truly break.
No matter how intoxicating these fleeting moments are, he’ll always be dedicated to a higher power. To him, I will always be nothing more than a sin, a temptation he’s drawn to but can never fully embrace.
But the question that lingers, the one that gnaws at the edges of my mind, is this: What is he to me?
Luke 12:2: “There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.”