Chapter Seven
Kade
Seven Years Ago
Wren is standing against the back wall of my office when I step into the room, the floral dress she’s been wearing so modestly all day now unbuttoned to her chest as she stares toward me with those blue eyes that glimmer in the light that filters through the windows.
I can’t figure why she’s unbuttoned her dress, though I don’t ask questions. There are no questions to be asked. My cock is hard as a fucking rock. Pulsing, aching, desperate in a way I’ve never been desperate before.
I’m hungry. Hungry for her body like a man who’s been starved for centuries.
I lean into her neck and breathe her in, wildflowers and fresh air. She’s so small next to me, so dainty, like I could lift her up and have my way with her however I’d like.
Lord, help me.
I’m not okay.
Urges that I haven’t felt in ages brew and bubble inside of me like I could come without her ever touching my cock… though I won’t let that happen.
I kick her legs apart, a portrait of Jesus staring at me with a disapproving glare as my hand finds her soft, juicy center. I scrub my palm over her bare pussy and listen for the moans that echo as her mouth drops open.
“Right there,” she sighs as I tug her breasts from her bra and lean down to suckle her hard nipples, my tongue scraping over each one before my teeth.
She jumps back and whines, my dick driving harder against her stomach. Lord in heaven, I love the way she squirms beneath my touch. The hitch in her breath, the high-pitched whine, the convulsions in her body as she bends and arches to meet my hand.
“Do you see how hard you make me?” I groan against the lobe of her ear, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin again. “Do you know how fucking wrong that is?”
Her back arches away from the wall, her pussy soaking my hand as she grinds up against me.
“Fuck me,” she moans. “Fuck me hard. I need to feel you now!”
The request is clear and concise, and before my brain can calculate every vow I’m breaking, my body reacts.
Hell, maybe my brain is reacting too because I can’t stop wondering what her tight, warm, soaking little pussy would feel like wrapped around my cock.
It’s carnal, primal, like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and I need it!
The slightest breeze would send me over the edge. I can’t stop myself.
I bend her over the front of my desk, Jesus and St. Paul staring at me with judgment as I yank her panties to the side, unzip my jeans, and sink into her tight, little core.
Moan after moan, crying ache after crying ache spills from her lips as I thrust into her hard, my body slapping against hers as the echoes spread through the rectory.
I can’t stop myself. I can’t stop myself, and I know how bad she fucking wants it. How bad she needs it. How bad she needs to feel wanted, needed, desired.
My hand tightens around her waist, and I pump harder, her long hair falling down over her shoulder as she reaches back for me.
I grab a handful as I bury myself further inside of her.
“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Please.”
I’m so fucking close to betraying every bit of trust I’ve ever built in this congregation. I’m so fucking close to emptying inside of this woman. So fucking close.
Fuck.
I should stop. I should stop right the fuck now!
Instead, hormones and instinct have taken over, and I’m like a fucking heathen. Carnal and full of sin. The need to fill her with my seed overtaking every other possible thought in my head until, all at once, electricity courses through my veins and I’m filling her up with fucking stars in my eyes.
I wake up a second later, the sheets wet, my cock aching, the dark, empty room a depressing cavern in comparison to the dream I’ve just been living.
My God, that felt real.
Cock pulsing, I throw off the sticky sheets and lean off the edge of the bed, scrubbing my hand down over my face.
What the hell was that? How could I think those things? How could I let myself touch her even in a dream? I need to get a handle on this before I’m too far gone.
I stand from the bed and make my way to the shower, running the water ice cold before I step under the stream, a prayer on my lips.
Dear Father, forgive me for the impure thoughts. Forgive me for the yearning my heart holds for this innocent woman. Help me stop the urges that are drawing me toward her.
The second I say the prayer, I’m reminded of the priest at a neighboring state who’d fallen in love with a woman at his parish. He was in turmoil over the feeling for years.
I can’t imagine the pain he was in. The longing he must have had for her.
The pain his body must have felt not ever being able to touch her, hold her, claim her as his own.
Eventually, he sought out council, and they advised him to acknowledge his feelings for her as a naturally occurring human reaction.
This recommendation also included that he bring awareness of his feelings to her so that she could choose to lay her trust where trust was pure.
I remember hearing that story and wondering how anyone could ever get in that deep.
As men of God, the vows are taken without restriction.
The vows are made as a personal commitment.
A commitment most priests think through wholeheartedly before committing to.
Then again, here I am, some mixture of affection and attraction brewing for a woman I didn’t see coming.
I say the prayer over and over again as cold water shocks my system back to reality, my cock now flaccid, the sticky mess of my dreams down the drain, though I don’t know if I fully believe that as truth.
How could I when my icy cold body is still thinking about Wren? When I’m still hoping that I’ll fall asleep and dream of her again.
I recite at least twelve Hail Mary’s, mumbling until my skin is achy and my lips are purple.
I recite the prayer as I step from the shower and wrap a towel around my waist. I recite the prayer as I hear a hard knock at the front door of the church.
I recite the prayer as I see Wren Harlow in the moonlight.
I stare toward her for a long moment, towel wrapped around my waist, moonlight filtering in through the maple and aspen that are planted in front of the church.
Maybe I’m still dreaming. Jesus, this feels real.
“I’m so sorry if I’m bothering you. I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice is shaking and her eyes are red as though she’s been crying.
“No, don’t be sorry. Come in and sit down. I’ll, ugh,” I glance down at the towel still wrapped around my waist, “give me two seconds to throw some clothes on. Sorry. I just jumped out of the shower. I thought the knocking was a branch or something. I, ugh, I don’t get visitors this late.”
“I’m sorry. Maybe I should go.”
“Not at all.” I land my hand on her back and guide her through the door, the cold hair nipping at my cool wet skin. “Please, come in. Take a seat, and I’ll be back in a second.”
She nods slowly and slides into the last pew, the dress she’d had on this morning at mass now replaced with a black skirt and a soft gray T-shirt that shows off the tuck at her waist and the curves of her chest.
What am I even doing? She’s in need of help. I shouldn’t have noticed the way her T-shirt hugs her frame. I shouldn’t have noticed the curve of her full breasts and the slight tips of her nipples.
Lord, please help me.
I rush to the back room to change into something respectable as I berate myself some more for the filthy thoughts I’m having, all while simultaneously wondering why she’s here at nearly midnight.
It can’t be good. Maybe it’s something with her parents or her husband. She said today she was having a hard time with the media. Maybe something took her over the edge.
Mind racing, jeans and T-shirt in place, I hustle back into the church, slowing my steps as I walk down the aisle toward the last pew where she’s sitting. I don’t want her to feel anxious around me, and if I’m moving a hundred miles an hour, she will.
“You look different without the collar,” she says, a tiny smile trying to break through the tears, which, for some fucking reason, sends a pulse to my perverted fucking cock.
“Better or worse? Should I go put it on? Will that make you more comfortable?”
“No,” she reaches her soft hand toward me, landing it on top of mine, “I’m just being silly. Thank you for letting me in. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“What happened?” I sit perfectly, unwilling to shift in fear of her hand moving away.
She bites her bottom lip and stares down at the ground. “What kind of confidentiality does a priest really have?”
“What do you mean?” I tilt my head to the side, my curiosity peaked as the wind slaps a branch against the window. I need to add a tree trimming to the list of things that need to get done around here.
“I mean, if I tell you something, can it stay between us? Like, are you bound by some kind of godly promise?”
“Whatever you tell me will stay between us.” I nod, my hand now holding hers, my thumb brushing the back of her soft, little wrist.
“Okay,” she says, staring up at the ceiling before glancing toward me. “I just left my husband.”
For some reason a pulse of excitement drives through my cock, as though now I have the right to claim her, though nothing’s further from the truth. It’s not true, and I’m sick for thinking it. She’s here for help. “You left him for the night, or is this something more permanent?”
“No, and I took what little money I had saved. I rented a car, I left him a note, and I drove away.” She glances down again and sighs.
“After the day I spent here, I realized something. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever done anything that made you see the choices you were making for your life were all wrong until that moment?”
I don’t answer, and I close my mind off to the possibilities it wants to conjure. “I can’t say I have. What was the realization?”