Chapter Twelve
Wren
Seven Years Ago
The church is quiet, every settling beam, every footstep, every sigh echoing through the small building like a megaphone. Even the light rain pattering outside sounds like a heavy storm.
Father Anderson sets out buckets to catch the dripping water that’s sneaking through the leaky roof. His footsteps slow and heavy. His shoulders squared. His head lost in thought. He’s barely said two words since we left dinner.
“Are you okay?” I say, swallowing down a lump in my throat.
“Yeah,” he groans, moving the bucket side to side as he tries to get the dripping from two separate spots collected into one bucket. “You?”
“Worried about you, I guess. Tonight was weird. I figured maybe you’d need to talk about it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I messed up. Now I have to fix it.”
I nod slowly, watching his massive frame stalk back and forth in the dim light shining down on the altar. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry you had to see me like that tonight.
I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” he sighs.
“I shouldn’t have these feelings about you, Wren.
Every fucking ounce of me knows I should tell you to leave, that I should get distance from you, but that’s the last thing I want, and the thought of sending you out into the world without me there to protect you makes my fucking skin crawl.
” He pauses and stares toward me. “And that doesn’t even begin to touch the other stuff I can’t stop thinking about. ”
“Like the stuff from the dreams?”
“Yeah,” he nods, “the stuff from the dreams. It’s on my mind all the time. What you’d feel like, taste like, sound like… it’s all-encompassing.”
“When was the last time you had sex?” It feels like a sin to even ask this question, but I do, every syllable echoing.
“Twenty years ago. Maybe… longer.” He shrugs. “It’s been a while.”
“So maybe that’s why you’re going crazy thinking you want me so much. Maybe if you jerk off or something, you’ll feel better.” I lean forward in the pew as I talk, the wind picking up outside, forcing me to raise my voice a little.
“Masturbation is a sin.” He stares at me as he says the words, his frame shadowed and dark.
“I’m allowed no sexual release of any kind.
This is a choice, not a punishment. I’ve been living this life for twenty years.
I’ve made a vow before my family, before God,” he groans, turning toward the cross.
“The people of this church look to me to be an example of Christ’s way.
If I falter, some of them will lose faith not only in me, but in the church.
One mistake and I hurt more than myself. ”
“And who needs to know about the masturbation? You’ve been a man of God twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for twenty years. Surely, God is okay with you taking a short break to relieve tension. Enough so that you can move forward with your mission.”
“I don’t think it works like that,” he says, walking down the aisle toward me.
“The point of celibacy is to remain celibate. It’s about moral integrity.
It’s about living Christ’s way. What I choose to do in private still affects my soul, which will inevitably affect the souls of others who follow me. ”
“And this frustration isn’t affecting you? You deserve a moment to be selfish. You deserve to be a man. A human.”
He sits in the pew before me, his face wrinkled with apprehension that I want to kiss away.
“I know you’re worried about your sister’s soul, and I know your mom has good intentions, but it’s not on you to make sure she’s in heaven.
That’s an immense amount of weight. The God you speak about has seen the good in her and I’m sure she’s already there.
I know it.” I reach out for his hand, strong and firm, rough and calloused, my thumb brushing against the widest part.
“I’m afraid if I let myself have a second of pleasure with you, I won’t want to stop. The moment you walked into my confessional, I knew you were special. I knew you were mine to protect. I haven’t been able to shake that.”
“Then don’t. Let yourself go tonight.” I stand before him, placing his heavy hands on my hips. “Touch me, and I’ll touch you.”
A rumbling sound reverberates through his throat as he squeezes my hips. “You have no fucking clue how badly I want that. To taste you. To smell you. To slide my cock inside your warm, little pussy and pound away,” he growls and stands from the pew, now pacing in front of me. “Do you masturbate?”
I nod, my thighs squeezing together. “Sometimes.”
“When was the last time?”
I swallow hard and shrug. “I don’t know… in the shower this morning.”
“In my shower?” He pauses his pace long enough to stare toward me. “You masturbated in my shower this morning?”
My heart hammers against my chest. “I had that dream about you, and I needed to do something. I was so wound-up, and it took sixty seconds. I’d have been a mess all day otherwise.”
His jaw locks as his eyelids grow heavy. “Tell me how you did it.”
My clit throbs, aches, pulses with pressure, and all I want to do is reach a hand between my legs and rub one out while I speak, but instead, I squeeze my thighs together and keep talking.
“I leaned against the shower wall, I lifted my leg onto the edge of the tub, and I circled around my clit until I came.”
His mouth drops open slightly, his cock now hard against the inside leg of his jeans. “And what did you think about?”
“I thought about you and those big, rough hands taking me over, holding me down, forcing me to do things.”
“What kind of things?”
“You’d order me on my knees the way you did earlier, but this time you’d shove your cock deep in my throat, you’d dig into my hair, and you’d fuck my face until come dripped from the corners of my mouth.”
“What else?” he groans, his cock growing harder.
“When you’d had enough of that, you’d pin me down on the hard wood bench of this pew where your congregation meets every Sunday.
You’d pin me there, and you’d fuck me like a plaything, hard and fast. You’d call me your little slut, and you’d shove your cock in so hard and deep that I’d ache when you were finished.
” I moan absentmindedly, my panties a puddle of cream.
“Jesus Christ, you’re filthy.”
“And you like it,” I whisper, stepping toward him. “Don’t you? You like that I’m a filthy girl?”
He growls low and grips my hips against his frame tightly before bending me over the pew. “I should spank your little ass for saying such vulgar things.”
“Then do it,” I moan. “Spank me! Make my pussy vibrate!”
“Say it again,” he groans, teeth clenched. “Beg me to spank you.”
I pause and grin, wiggling my ass a little before finally saying the words he’s been desperate to hear. “Spank me, Father, for I have sinned.”
Half a second later, a hard wallop hits my ass with a groan, sending a shock of thrill through me that lights every cell in my body on fire.
“Again,” I moan breathlessly. “Spank me again.”
And he does, each with a growl more ragged than the last. The look in his eyes unhinged, feral.
“Fuck.” He lifts my skirt and tugs down my panties, the cool air of the room sending goosebumps all over my skin. “Lay back in that pew.”
I do as I’m told… because that’s what I love. Maybe this is more of what’s wrong with me, but right now, I don’t care. I do as I’m told and I lean back as he lifts my skirt and spreads my thighs. “Good girl. Touch yourself for me. Touch yourself like you did in the shower. I want to watch you.”
I swallow hard and tuck my hand between my legs, my fingertip landing on my clit with a jump.
“Fuck,” he growls, his hand brushing against the erection in his jeans. “Tell me what it feels like.”
“Velvet. It’s soft, silky, swollen and really, really wet,” I pant, drawing circles around my nub.
“You smell so fucking good.” He kneels before me at the end of the pew, the heat from his breath inches away from my slit as my thighs tighten and I continue to draw circles. “I need to taste you. Would you like it if I tasted you?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done that before.”
He blows out a heavy breath as his rough hand brushes the inside of my thigh. “How has no one tasted this sweet nectar?”
I shrug, my stomach tight, my heart pounding. “You can taste it.”
He kisses the inside of my thigh, and I jump as his beard scratches its way toward my quivering seam.
“Lord, fucking help me. Okay… one taste. I only need one taste,” he growls under his breath as he leans in, flattens his tongue, and draws a line from the base of my pussy straight up to my clit.
I jump and grip the edge of the pew as he dives in deeper, licking, sucking, devouring me like a starved man.
Every groan, every growl louder than the last as he nibbles and sucks.
It doesn’t take long before he slides a finger inside, maybe two.
It’s hard to tell. All I know is that I’m losing control.
Anyone could walk into the church and see us. Hell, Jesus himself is staring straight at us from the altar and I’m about to come in this priest’s mouth.
Somehow, the wrongness makes it even hotter. The fact that we shouldn’t be doing this. The fact that we’re both damning our souls for eternity.
He pushes into me deeper, his tongue still circling, that growl still in his throat. His fingers thrust in and out of my slippery pussy as he hits a spot that I’m sure has never been hit before.
A moment later, my thighs squeeze against his face and nerves begin to fire one by one down my spine and into my groin until I’m soaking his beard and convulsing like he’s performing an exorcism.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans as he sits up from between my thighs. “I’ve got to come right now.”
“Put it inside of me,” I pant, eyes on his. “Empty inside of me.”
“Wren,” his chest rises hard and fast, “I can’t. You know I can’t.”
“It’s just us here. Don’t you want to know what I feel like?”