19. Matteo
NINETEEN
MATTEO
I’ve come to hate Tuesday mornings.
Usually, I’m someone who tries to embrace the day. Even when things were the darkest and my mornings were spent hungover nursing a cup of coffee to appease my raging headache, I still held on to hope that the day was full of promise.
Not anymore because this Tuesday marks the fourth marriage counseling session I’ve done for Theo and Clara.
Every Tuesday this month I’ve had to sit here in my office, hands gripping the ends of my chair unseen, and listen to Clara talk about her problems with the husband I fucked.
I never would have agreed to do this, but with Marcy doing all my scheduling, I never questioned who I was to begin counseling for. I was just excited at the prospect of serving my parishioners in one more facet. While I’m not a licensed therapist, many couples turn to their priests for help with their marriages. Priests are trained in the theology of marriage and pastoral counseling. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t nervous, and I still am.
Every time I look at Theo, I’m afraid what we did will be written all over my face. He’s sitting in front of me now, doing what he’s done every single session, staying completely quiet. I’m usually good at reading people but despite how hard I’ve tried, I have no idea what Theo’s feeling. Those expressive freckles aren’t telling me any more stories, those crystal-clear eyes aren’t sharing his secrets, and those perfectly kissable lips?—
Does he still think of me in the month that’s passed? Does he vividly remember what we did together? Does he… does he stroke his cock to the memory of my cum on his skin like I do every night?
He must not or else he wouldn’t be here. If he’s here, it means he wants to fix the problems he and Clara have. Of course he does. She’s his wife and he made a sacred pact with God to love and cherish her until his last day.
You made a pact too.
We’ve both broken our pacts but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a chance to atone for our mistakes. Maybe helping two people come back together will erase the damage I may have inflicted. Maybe attending marriage counseling will help Theo realize his wife is the only one he wants.
That thought sours my stomach and I can’t believe the growl I let out under my breath.
Clara blinks at me. “Father, are you okay?”
“Yes,” I rush out, adjusting my collar as I lean forward in my seat. I look at the clock on my desk, a breath of relief leaving me when I see that today’s session is over. “I think that’s all for today.”
Truthfully, we haven’t discussed anything of depth in the past four sessions. It’s a little awkward because there are questions I know I need to ask but that I don’t want to know the answers to. I don’t need to hear how they fell in love or how they spend their days. It’s like a knife in my gut just sitting here watching them hold hands like the perfect couple I know they’re not. Bitterness churns on my tongue, but I plant a smile on my face as the three of us stand.
“Thank you for your time, Father,” Clara says, reaching for my hand. “Next Tuesday at the same time work?”
Fuck . Why is it after every session I hope she’ll say it’s the last one? We’ve made zero progress so of course she wants to continue. “Yes, that works.”
“Are there any exercises you want us to do this week?”
Right. That . The first time she asked me if there was any homework for them, I nearly spat my coffee out. First, I have to listen to their marital problems and now I have to actually dictate what they do? I fumbled for an answer and settled on having them share one thing they liked about the other each day.
“Um.” I try to think of something that can really help them, although a part of me doesn’t want to. “How about you each pick three songs to play then explain what you like about them?”
I think I read that one on the internet when I did a little research before the first session. Clara seems to like it because she turns to Theo, happy eyes trying to meet his. “I already know what songs I want to play for you.”
Theo nods and sticks his hand out, and I’m pathetic because while I hate what I’m doing for them, the end is always my favorite part.
Because I get to touch him again. Even if it’s only a hurried touch of our palms, fingertips brushing as we pull apart, I get to feel him.
And it reminds me of just how much I still want him.
“Thank you, Father,” he mumbles as he turns to leave, but Clara stops him.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she says, reaching into her purse and producing a card. “Mom invited you to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.”
Both Theo’s and my eyes widen as I take the card from her. I look down at the neatly written script and shake my head. “Clara, that’s too kind, but?—”
“It’s not just going to be you and us. Marcy’s coming too,” she explains, hope in her eyes. “Please, Father. We don’t want you to spend Thanksgiving alone. Mom said she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trust me, she’ll come down to the church if you don’t show up.”
I swallow harshly, tucking the card in my pocket as I nod. “I guess that means I’ll be joining you tomorrow. I wouldn’t want to upset Noreen.”
Politely, fuck Noreen.
I glance at Theo and see the horror in his eyes. Apparently, Clara didn’t tell him the invite was being extended. He rushes out of the office, leaving Clara behind, and I hate everything about this.
I hate that I’m counseling them. I hate that I’m going to Thanksgiving. I hate that I’m alone with the wife of the man I want.
Clara doesn’t immediately leave. She doesn’t sit but lingers in front of my desk. She nibbles on her bottom lip and opens her mouth to speak but shuts it quickly. “What is it, Clara?”
“I…” She trails off, looking to where Theo fled before sighing. “I don’t know if this is helping, Father. He’s still so closed off.”
The selfish part of me wants to tell her this isn’t helping for shit, especially because it’s me they’re confiding in. The sick part of me takes pleasure in the fact he’s still cutting her off. The priest in me detests both those other parts.
I take in Clara from her pretty red dress to her hopeful face. I want to hate her, but I can’t. There’s no excuse for cheating, none, but Theo and I went ahead and did it anyway. I want to blame her, say that maybe she drove him to cheat, but I can’t. She’s not the villain in this story. From what I’ve learned, she’s a good woman, caught in the tangled mess Theo and I have created.
I've decided to give it my best effort. I’ll do my research and legitimately try to help them. It’s the least I can do for what I’ve done.
“Give it time,” I tell her, patting her shoulder. “Together we’ll use God’s grace to bring you two together again.”
I’m the worst person on the planet, aren’t I?
Clara nods with a hopeful tilt to her lips. She squeezes my arm as she steps back. “We’ll see you tomorrow. Please, don’t feel the need to bring anything. Mom always makes enough to feed an army.”
I laugh along with her even though it’s hollowed and strained. Once she leaves, I close the door to my office and lock it behind me. I close my eyes as I lean against the wood, telling myself not to do what I’m about to do.
But I’m only a man.
I fumble with my pants as I walk to my chair, whipping out my hard cock before my ass even hits it. I've touched myself more in the last months than in the previous ten years. Talking to Clara should have been a bucket of cold water, but Theo’s touch was a scorching flame.
I take myself in my hand, tugging at my dry length, reveling in the slight burn that accompanies un-lubed skin.
“Matteo!”
“Fuck, yes, yes, yes!”
I jack myself harder as the memories assault me. His lips tasted like Heaven’s grace, his toned body felt like the warmth of the sun, and his whines and whimpers were better than any opera.
He squirmed for me. He writhed for me. He came in his fucking underwear?—
For me.
But I also think about his face when he’s happy. The way we used to play Xbox and joke around. How he wants to help people and belong. His kindness and his compassion.
I grit my teeth as I near my edge.
“I want to be covered in you.”
I pretend that it’s Theo in front of me, cock out as he stares down at me, licking his lips wickedly as he urges me to come. I imagine we had gone further, that he turned me over and hiked my ass in the air, that he had released all that pent-up tension on my eager hole.
Would he love me sweetly or would he give it to me just as dirty as I want it?
Maybe he has a foul mouth I haven’t discovered. Please, tell me he’d call me his slut, tell me he’d take everything out on me, and tell me he’d kiss me breathless after.
I come on a closed shout, my head thrown back as I paint my hand with my release. The bliss only lasts a second before the nagging guilt creeps back in.
I can’t do this anymore. I can’t touch myself with thoughts of him. I can't think of what we could do when whatever we had is over.
But my head and my heart aren’t giving me a choice.