Chapter One
ENYA
Ican feel his longing, hungry gaze burning a hole between my thighs.
He hasn’t said a word in ages, caught off guard by my middle finger grazing the soaked fabric of my purple cotton panties.
I sit in the front row today, which is uncommon for me, considering my usual spot somewhere in the back.
Hidden there from the scoundrels that fill this place, seeking absolution on Sunday for the sins they’ll commit on Monday.
I took a front-row pew because I wanted to give Cain Jameson a show.
I tailored my outfit specifically for it: a short, black mini-skirt barely covering my ass and a near-see-through blouse, worn to all hell.
My Sunday best, ready to fulfill one purpose—make Father Cain Jameson weak in the knees.
The same way he turns mine to jelly every Sunday.
If we weren’t living in a small town, full of low-life degenerates, I might’ve cared more about my appearance. But, I don’t. Not with how Cain stares at me—obviously fighting his nervous impulses and gnawing desperation—to see what lies beneath the tattered fabric of my washed-out clothing.
I guess this is my ‘thank you’ for making my time in this shit-hole town bearable.
I’ve been stuck in the God-forsaken wasteland that is Priest River for three weeks, now.
My stud priest’s sermons have given me strength in these trying times.
So, I’m going to thank him the only way I know how—getting down on my knees and. .. praise Jesus.
Just say the word, Father. I’m a good girl, I promise.
I slam a hand over my mouth to suppress the moan that almost slips out.
The thought of Cain ordering me around is sending ripples of pleasure through my body.
He’s clutching his pulpit on the sides; his tense muscular arms making the pulpit rattle beneath his grip.
He’s trying to stay strong and in control, but it’s not working.
Not while one finger becomes two, gently stroking my sensitive clit. Not as I lean forward, pressing my arms against my tits, and squeezing my cleavage through the neckline of my blouse. His silver eyes take in every second of my show, and he is unable to blink.
Cain forces the tips of his fingers into his starched collar, tugging at it to get some air.
Veins pulse frantically on his thick neck, and his Adam’s apple rises and falls with a hard swallow.
It’s not the only thing hard and thick on Cain, I’ll bet.
He’s six-foot-three with a sturdy farmhand physique. Cain’s gotta be packing.
I catch another noise in the back of my throat. The thought of Cain’s touch sends me over the edge. Of his calloused, strong hands, from working the pastures of his parish, wrapped around my throat while he drills the Lord into me.
I have to be careful, putting on my display.
I’m alone in my pew, and no one is sitting opposite either.
But, one wrong move or exaggerated motion will turn the other churchgoers’ attention towards me.
I don’t want any of them to see me. And, not because I care about their delicate sensibilities, either, but because my display is for Cain Jameson alone.
For his eyes only. And the way they’re looking at me, seemingly ready to rip my panties off with his teeth, drives me wild.
The way he drinks me in, eye-fucking me, and licking his bottom lip.
I’m in full control. It’s not how I want it to be, but if I have to make the first move to reach my personal heaven, so be it.
I slide my hand into the fabric of my panties, pressing my fingers into a V-shape around my slick folds.
Cain clears his throat. I hook the V around my panties, riding them up over my soaked folds and giving him a better view of what lies beneath.
He coughs and sputters, shaking his head in dismay, but his unblinking gaze doesn’t waver.
After my final tug, Cain’s looking at my fully exposed eighteen-year-old pussy. His sculpted, stubbled jaw all but drops through the pulpit. He wants to turn away, but he can’t. Not with my sin on display.
Do you like what you see, Father?
Do you like what you see, Daddy?
It’s all yours, just say the word. Order me to come, and I’ll crawl on my knees, worshiping God, worshiping you, worshiping your cock.
I lick my lips, sliding a finger down my slick lips.
I steady my hand there, the tip finding the tight entrance of my hole.
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting back the urge to scream out and beg Cain to take my place.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Cain half-whispers those choked words from his frantic lips. “It seems I’ve come down with a sudden cold. I’m not feeling well.”
Lying? You naughty boy. We’ll have to get the cane out and deliver some punishment. Not to you, Father, no, but for me—the harlot who’s shattering your iron will.
“I’ll have to cancel the rest of Mass. I do apologize.
” Cain doesn’t bother waiting for a response, before rushing down from the pulpit.
He has ripped the clerical collar from his neck before he’s even cleared the two stairs leading down.
The top two buttons of his black button-up are open by the time he’s off it.
Cain keeps up his hurried pace, nearly tripping over his feet to gain one last, longing glimpse at me pleasuring myself.
It turns into a second-to-last look. And then a third.
His lips move; he’s talking to himself, perhaps whispering filthy secrets.
He shakes his head in disappointment, for himself or for me, I don’t know.
Yet, he continually returns for another glance at my spread legs and the finger appearing and disappearing inside me.
The congregation of twenty-eight souls sitting behind me grumble and rumble, as they get to their feet. In a small town like Priest River, with a church that can barely hold a hundred, the usual devout Catholics aren’t pleased.
But I am; pleased and pleasured.
I wait until every last one of them has left. Until it’s just me and Cain. Then I start skulking through the church, searching for my Father.