Chapter 2
MICHAEL
Sarah is a burst of sunshine in the darkness of the night. Her wavy dark blonde hair is soaked to the bone, sticking to her thin white t-shirt that's practically see-through at this point.
Breathe, Mike. It's just a soaking wet woman who needs shelter from the storm.
I desperately try to keep my intrusive thoughts to a minimum. Now is not the time to ogle the young woman, no matter how much her hazel eyes lure me into studying her face. The length of her neck begs for my touch, my lips, but I take a deep breath and walk out of the room.
"Do you have a working phone?" Sarah asks. "I really need to get a hold of my mother."
"We should call the police, too. If you were attacked in your home by your mother's boyfriend, he should be arrested. Or at the very least, asked to leave the home," I tell her, trying to keep a lid on my simmering rage.
Sarah's about ten inches shorter than my six-foot height as she hunkers down in front of the fireplace. I hurry to grab some blankets, a dry pair of sweatpants, and a shirt she can change into. She doesn't hesitate to wrap the blanket around her and pull the wet shirt off from under it.
My eyes were wide before darting away.
"I'm sorry. I'll give you some privacy," I tell her, and head into the bedroom.
I could go into the kitchen, but there's no separation between the two rooms. I'm determined to keep my priestly vows of abstinence. She's not paying me any mind as the blanket falls just enough to show her bare shoulder.
I take multiple deep breaths as I pad into the bedroom, where I pace in circles until a soft knock on the door stops me. She's drowning in my clothes. Cute.
"Thank you, Father," she says softly.
The way her words send a thrill of lust ricocheting across my body tells me I'm in trouble.
There's no one who's been able to trigger my primitive urges so quickly.
Even as my shirt hangs loosely over her, it still can't hide the supple fullness of her breasts.
And those two teasingly tempting little nipples peaking right at me stir my cock. Oh, so deliciously.
Sarah's running her fingers through her wet strands with a slight grin on her face as she speaks. "I know I asked for a phone, but would you happen to have a blow dryer too?"
"Not here, but I'm certain there's one in the donation room in the church. I left a phone for you on the counter in the kitchen. There's some stew and a salad. I'll be right back with the blow dryer for you."
I have to get out of this space. This room …
my bedroom … with her standing there waiting for me to take her into my arms and between the sheets.
The storm outside is more comfortable than the storm brewing inside me.
My vows pitted against the physical realities of lust throw me.
This close is just too much. I need to make a quick release.
I welcome the rain as I leave my cabin. My steps splash through puddles, keeping my mind focused on the task.
It only takes a few minutes to get inside the main church building, where the statue of Our Lady above the altar in my church, Our Lady of Grace, glares at me through the dimness with her judgmental eyes.
I kneel as thunder rolls outside. Rain streams down the stained glass windows. I cross myself, clasp my hands together, and pray.
Our Father in Heaven,
I come before You here tonight in darkness—both the storm that rages without and the tempest within my soul. I have worn this collar with devotion, yet tonight I must speak a truth I have long resisted: I do not know if I am called to this life. My doubts grow stronger.
Grant me the courage to face what I have been afraid to examine.
I feel the stirrings of human desire—for companionship, for intimacy, for a life beyond these walls.
These are not shameful whispers, but the voice of the man You created me to be.
Help me discern whether they are temptations to resist or callings to honor.
Give me wisdom to understand the difference between a moment of weakness on one hand and a fundamental mismatch of vocation on the other.
A sudden flash of lighning brightens the church. Startled my eyes pop open as the following thunderous peel rattles the foundations of the church. I’m sure I see Our Lady’s eyes widen and smile direclty at me in that instant.
Give me the strength to examine my heart with absolute honesty.
If I remain, let it be because I am truly called—not from fear, not from comfort, not from obligation to others' expectations.
If I am called to leave, grant me the grace to do so with integrity, seeking opportunities to continue serving my community rather than betraying my promises and principles.
Most Holy Mother, Virgin Mary, guide me toward truth. Help me see clearly without the distortion of desire or despair. You know the value of virginity above all else; share that wisdom with me.
And Lord, whatever path unfolds: grant me peace, and the wisdom to live with honor and courage; love and respect; passion and truth. Always.
I start to cross myself and rise, but hurriedly add;
Please protect and guide Sarah in her life, especially her relationship with her mother. Keep he mother safe and above all give her mother’s boyfriend the wisdom and courage to be a better man, and heal from his physical and emotional wounds. Amen.
After pleading for strength, restraint, clarity, and understanding, I get up to rummage through the storage room where we keep the items our parishioners donate. There are several hair dryer things, but I'm certain Sarah can manage with just one.
When I return to my cabin beside the church, I can hear Sarah on the phone. The tone of her voice tells me she's not happy.
"I can't believe you went back. That wasn't a part of the plan," she says into the device.
I poke my head inside and set the hair dryer on the counter before retreating into the bedroom for her to continue her conversation without my prying ears.
When she knocks, and I open the door to her a while later, I can see the disappointment in her eyes.
However, the expression on her face shifts as she scans me in from head to toe.
"Oh no, now you're all wet. Come on," she demands, taking me by the hand and leading me into the bathroom.
“Oh, Sarah, there’s no need.”
“You should have taken an umbrella.”
“Just a little water… a baptism of sorts.”
“It’s my fault, and the least I can do is dry you and your wet clothes. I just burst in here, disrupting your evening. Completely unannounced.”
Her movements start off mechanical. She takes my towel from the rail and dabs at my chest.
However, as she goes through the motions of drying my wet shirt, her hands slow. She holds the towel to my chest and slowly moves it. Caressing my chest in small, deliberate circles.
I know I should pull away. I need to stop this.
This is no path for a man of the cloth. No matter how hard I want to stop, I don't want to lose her touch.
My body reacts to her naturally. I look towards her eyes, but she keeps them focused straight ahead.
Her tongue flicks out between her lips, and she licks them, then bites her bottom lip. She looks up, and our eyes meet.
"Sit." She commands me as she plugs the blow dryer into the socket.
I do as she commands and lower myself to the edge of the bathtub.
The sound of the appliance drowns out my heavy breaths.
Sarah's standing between my legs, blow-drying my hair while running her fingers through my strands.
A contented smile spreads across her face.
The scent of dust lifted by the rain and vanilla from a candle burning in the living room mingle as she turns my head.
My hands naturally hold her waist, as she continues twisting and turning her body while shuffling her feet in sync with her hand waving the blow dryer around my head.
Over the sound of the blowing fan, she says, “Too hot?’
Unspoken explosions of desire erupt in me. Desires I have not felt in a very long time. She finishes and sets the blow dryer down on the sink.
"There, now you're all dry," she says with a smile, as the back of her hand caresses my face.
I lean into her touch. Soft, warm, and intimate. I'm not sure if she hears the moan she's effortlessly pulling from my throat. Goosebumps erupt across my body, and I want to bury every inch of myself inside her.
"I've never been this close to any man like this, and definitely not a priest," she says, seeming to sink in the moment with me. "You make me feel so safe."
"You are safe with me," I tell her, our eyes lock, and my mouth waters. "When you say you've never been this close? You mean—"
She grins with a slight giggle, "I mean never as in, never this intimately close. Just as Our Lady of Grace was never intimately close to a man.”
I struggle to brush her quip away, but the idea of this gorgeous woman being a virgin makes it easy for my mind to focus on her. She's still between my legs, running her slender fingers across my scalp, and causing an inappropriate erection to perk up between us.
"Is everything okay?” I see her head tilt and eyes squint, so, I clarify, “with your mother and the boyfriend." I only ask to stop blood from flowing to my cock. I need this to end before it starts.
Sarah understands I'm pulling away by changing the subject. A slight huff pushes from her nostrils as she backs away from me and folds her arms across her chest.
“C’mon,” I walk ahead of her towards the living room and sit on the couch.
She follows, shaking her head, "No, mom went back to the house and found him bleeding on the floor. He conned her into calling an ambulance and taking him to the hospital instead of calling the cops."
"What do you want to do? You can't go back there."
"I don't exactly have a choice, do I?" She sits on the couch, a little distant from me. It's clear the night is weighing on her, and she needs to rest.
She continues softly, "All my stuff is there. My mother has my car. I'm still trying to figure out school and work."
"School?" I ask.
"Yeah, I'm a sophomore at Bingham Community.
I'm majoring in sociology, but the only jobs are in the city, which is what?
Two counties over? I don't think my clunker is going to make that kind of commute.
On top of that, I don't want to leave Ma here with the likes of Dade.
I hate thinking about what he'd get away with if I'm not around. "
She's in school. Okay, so now I feel like a pervert. College, yes, but still … she's too young for me. It's best that I help her with this situation and let it go. Let her go.
A good night's sleep is best for both of us. She needs rest, and I need to cool off.
"If that's what you think is best, Sarah, I'll take you home, and if you don't mind, I'd like to meet your mother and this Dade guy. I just want to make sure you're safe. For now, get some rest. The bed is yours, and I'll take the couch. Have a good night, Sarah."
"Thank you, Father. I'd like that. I truly appreciate this, all of it. Good night," she says as she stands and walks slowly past me. She reaches out an arm and tickles her fingers on the top of my head, then smooths down my hair. Again.
“All dry now, thankfully.” Smiling down at me more with her eyes than her mouth, she steps away, effortlessly, almost floating. “Good night, Father Michael. Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Sarah, yes, sweet dreams for us all.” I close my eyes and imagine her head resting on my pillow as her beautiful eyes close and her hand drifts down between her legs.
I run my flattened tongue across her nipple, sucking it hard.
I slide my own hand into my pants and wrap a firm grip around my raging, hard cock.
Pumping slowly.