Chapter 16
“What are the church's thoughts on masturbation?” Javier asks.
“Stop,” I tell him, walking out of the kitchen and through the living room. “We are not talking about this.”
“I’m guessing it’s against the rules. So, you can’t have sex but you also can’t masturbate. Honestly, it sounds sadistic.”
“I’ll be back,” I say as I make my way through the hall and into my bedroom.
I hear him chuckle as I close the door, needing to get out of these clothes. Not that it makes much of a difference, but the collar was starting to feel really tight around my throat. The long sleeves of the shirt felt like they were trapping the heat of my body.
As quickly as I can, I remove my clothing and change into a pair of black joggers and a gray T-shirt. In the connected bathroom, I remove my glasses and splash cold water on my face, hoping the flushed feeling gets washed away.
Back in my bedroom, I stop near the bed, thinking about the scourge hidden under the mattress. I decide not to use it only because the sound of hitting my back will incite questions I’m not ready to answer.
When I return to the living room, Javier is standing in front of the fireplace, looking at the decorations on the mantel.
He does a double take when he sees me, giving me a small grin. “You don’t have any personal photos anywhere.”
“Nope.”
I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine, pouring myself a glass.
“Now that I’ll have some of,” he says, coming up behind me.
I hand him the one I just poured and grab another glass. After I’ve poured a significant amount of red liquid in it, I take a drink that cuts it in half.
“What are you thinking?” he questions, bringing the glass slowly to his lips.
“I’m thinking God is using you as a way to test me, because I have no idea why you keep showing up, or why I allow you to stick around when all you do is make me uncomfortable.”
I didn’t mean to be that honest, but the words were already on the tip of my tongue.
He gives me a slow grin, amused by my response.
“I think we’re drawn to each other for the same reasons.”
With the glass at my lips again, I murmur, “Hmm.”
“We’re opposites. Good and evil. Light and dark.
Order and chaos.” He puts the glass down on the counter next to him.
“You’re curious about my life because it’s so different from yours.
I don’t want to be you. I don’t want your job, but I find myself intrigued by the life you live.
” He steps closer. “I wonder if…” He pauses, his eyes roaming down my neck and chest. His finger touches the inside of my elbow and traces a path to my wrist. “I wonder if I were to taste you if you’d be as sweet and good as I imagine. ”
Several seconds pass between us as my heart thumps quickly in my chest. “I may not be as sweet and good as you think.”
His eyebrow raises slightly. “Oh really?”
I finish the wine in my glass before turning my back on him to refill it. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Any intrigue, on either end, won’t lead to anything more. I’m dedicated to—”
Javier’s body is against mine in a second, the warmth of him instantly heating my back. He traps me between himself and the counter, his crotch pressed against my ass as his breath hits the back of my neck.
“To a life of celibacy. To priesthood. Yes, I know. Tell me what the Bible says about sex, Father.”
I swallow, trying to focus on anything but his body against mine. I shakily put the wine bottle and glass down, gripping the edge of the sink.
“To flee from sexual immorality.”
“Mm. What else?”
“Whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body.”
His body rubs against mine. “And?”
“Sex is a sacred act in a marriage.”
“Between who, Father?” Javier’s soft breath touches the skin below my ear.
“A man and a woman.”
“But you don’t want a woman.”
“No.” The word is barely above a whisper.
“And you can’t get married.”
I shake my head slightly.
“Tell me.” His left arm moves, his hand coming to a rest on my hip, making me jolt. “Who would know? God?”
“Y-yes.”
“And you think you’d go to Hell? He’d punish you to an eternity of fire and brimstone for simply having sexual pleasure? It’s hardly the worst thing you could do.”
“You don’t fear the afterlife? You don’t think about where you’ll go?”
“No. I think I’ll die and that’ll be the end of it.”
I envy his way of thinking, but I don’t admit that.
“I can’t,” I say softly, refusing to turn around to look him in the eye. “It’ll feel like everything I’ve done and gone through will have been for nothing. I’ll be throwing it all away, and for what? A brief amount of pleasure that I’ll regret the moment it’s over?”
He shifts, moving to my side and facing me. “I don’t know about brief, and regret isn’t something I believe in. Which you know. It’s why I’ll never be absolved. I do everything with intention.”
My eyes move in his direction. “I don’t intend on doing anything with you. I hardly know you.”
“I suppose everyone knows everything about every person they hook up with, huh? I know you’re not in the dating game, but one-night stands with strangers do exist.”
“You’re dangerous.”
“Have I threatened you?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You probably shouldn’t.”
“I’m not doing this.” I finally spin around and put space between us. “You shouldn’t come around anymore. It’s not right.”
“I’m not sure what about me has given you the idea that I care about doing what’s right.”
I turn around and pour another glass of wine before marching to my living room where I sit on the couch with a huff. “You can see yourself out.”
Unperturbed, he saunters into the living room. “Or I can show you something. It wouldn’t even be you doing anything. No sacred bonds or vows would be broken.”
He sits on the loveseat across from me, only separated by a rectangular coffee table. He runs his hand over his crotch, gripping the growing erection in his pants.
My eyes widen, frozen on the length and size of it against his thigh. Now that he’s brought my attention to it, I can’t not see it. He’s turned on. By what? The thought of breaking me? Torturing me?
“You’re not saying anything,” he says.
He’s right. I haven’t told him to stop. I haven’t angrily shoved him out the front door, offended by his actions. Instead, I find myself glued to the couch while all these conflicting thoughts bounce around in my head.
My brain tells me this is an easy decision.
Tell him I’m not interested, even in watching, and he needs to leave.
My suppressed libido tells me there’s nothing wrong with watching.
It would be more than I’ve experienced in a long time.
Maybe enough to keep me going even longer.
I’m not having sex. I’m not masturbating. I’m simply a viewer.
It’s a slippery slope. A gateway drug, so to speak. If I see him, in the flesh. If I hear the noises he’ll make and see the aftermath of his pleasure, would I want more? Would I want to touch, to feel, to taste?
“Please leave,” I say, putting my wine on the table between us. “Because I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to say that.”
Javier doesn’t move right away, but eventually, he stands, peering down at me with a grin tugging at his lips. I anticipate him making a move, even if that move is on himself, and I resign myself to let it happen.
Instead, he walks to the front door and leaves.
I sink into the couch, the tension leaving my body now that he’s gone. I take a few deep breaths before I go to my room and remove my shirt, reaching under my mattress.
I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to restrain myself.
Sure, in the privacy of my own home, I could touch myself and nobody would know. I’ve done it before, but I try to be good, and I’ve been on a six month streak.
But the truth is, I like the sting of the leather on my back. It gives me another kind of pleasure.
I swing the scourge and let the strips smack against my shoulder blade. I repeat the action, dropping my head with a moan, and then I hear the floor creak behind me.
“Well, well, well,” Javier says.