13. Father Alexander
Father Alexander
“If you keep this up, Father Alexander, we will have to send you to the hospital to get these properly looked at.”
“I know.” My head hangs low in shame as Sister Agnus cleans up the reopened wounds on my back.
I was able to stop myself from racing back to my room after leaving Celine with Sister Greta.
Something about hearing her say my actual name in the library sent a heat rolling through me.
No one has called me Alexander or Alex since I left New York.
When I call my mother, she always calls me Alex.
If I ever talk to my friends on the phone, they call me Father Alexander as a joke, but when they call me by my name, it doesn’t affect me.
Not in the way it did when it came from Celine’s mouth.
She wasn’t trying to be sexual or flirty when she said my name.
It came out naturally, but someone needs to tell that to my dick because he heard it as a calling.
He had mistaken her voice for a siren in the sea, and it woke him up.
After years of not being touched, it was content until she spoke my name.
How pathetic.
I pushed the need to discipline myself from my mind because the marks were too fresh, and I knew if I took the rope to my skin, I would do more damage. So, I went about my day, attending my meetings and preparing for Sunday.
Eventually, Celine was deep in the back of my mind. That was until I noticed she wasn’t at dinner. I checked the library to see if she was still working, but Sister Greta told me Celine had left an hour earlier.
Knowing that she’d be in her room, I made up a plate for her and went to deliver it. The hall was quiet, given that all the women were eating in the dining hall, and when I stood outside her door, I could hear the labored breathing and soft moans leaving her mouth.
Celine tried to be quiet as she touched herself, but with how silent it was where I stood, it felt like I was in the room with her. It was wrong of me to stand out there for so long, listening to the noises she made.
My dick awoke again, jealous that he wasn’t the one to be between her legs in that moment to provide her the pleasure she was chasing.
I had to shut my eyes and even my breathing to attempt to calm myself. I almost had myself under control until I heard my name. There wasn’t anyone behind me calling for me, trying to get my attention. No. It came from that beautiful mouth on the other side of the door.
She was thinking of me as she touched herself. The thought alone drove me crazy, and I should have walked away. I should have turned around, disposed of her food, and gone back to my room, but I knocked on her door. There was a brief moment of silence, and then I heard her shuffling off the bed.
When she opened the door, her cheeks were red, and her hair was a mess. Her dishevelment only made me grow harder. I was thankful I was wearing all black, so she wouldn’t notice the reaction I was having. But if she really looked, she’d see the effect she was having on me.
She lied, saying she was working out, and I pretended to believe her. I handed her the food, and as she took it from me, her hand brushed along mine. Celine didn’t notice at all since she was in her head, but my jaw tightened when I felt the wetness from her fingers glide across my skin.
I held my composure for the rest of our conversation and walked away. Unlike earlier, when she uttered my name, I rushed to my room without running into anyone.
With the door shut behind me, I ripped off my shirt with my clean hand, ready to discipline myself, and paced around the room, staring at her arousal on my finger.
The devil and angel on my shoulders were fighting for my attention. The angel told me to wash my hands. To rid my body of her temptation. The devil, however, was telling me to lick her clean. That one taste wouldn’t be so bad.
For once in my life since I became a priest, I listened to the devil.
After making the decision, I couldn’t get my finger into my mouth fast enough. Her arousal tasted so sweet against my tongue. I was tempted to take my cock out and stroke myself as I cleaned her off me, but that was the temptation I wouldn’t give in to.
Her taste still lingers on my tongue today, but I try to ignore it as the burning sensation grows in my back. The pain becomes too much. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth. My breathing has become rapid, and it causes Sister Agnus to sigh.
“I won’t do it again,” I promise her.
“I don’t like seeing you in pain, Father Alexander,” she says with hurt in her voice. “Whatever it is that is troubling you, maybe you can confide in Father Keaton.”
She is trying to be kind with her suggestion, but there is no way in hell I’m talking to Father Keaton about this.
Sure, I could keep Celine’s name out of it and confess the thoughts I’ve been having in a way that doesn’t mention her at all.
But I won’t do that. I’m already ashamed of these temptations and think less of myself.
I don’t need Father Keaton to look at me differently, too.
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
She places a fresh piece of gauze on my back and tells me to put my shirt on. Instead of telling me to come back for her to clean it later tonight, she sends me on my way with a tube of ointment.
In the hall, I blow out a breath as I navigate my way toward my office. My notes are in there, and I need to discuss a few questions I have with Father Keaton about Sunday.
When I have my papers and knock on his office door, there is no answer. I check my watch to make sure I got the time right. It’s the exact time we’re supposed to meet, and he said he’d be in his office.
After a couple more seconds, the door handle turns, and I’m met with Joanna and Father Keaton. She offers me a soft smile and greets me with a hello before stepping out of the office and walking down the hall.
“Sorry about that,” Father Keaton says, moving a bit to let me come in. “Joanna wanted to speak about some concerns she’s been having. She didn’t want to wait until confessional.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask as I step into the office.
“Nothing a prayer won’t fix.” He pats me on the back, and I have to hide my wince from the pain. “What can I help you with?”
“We were going to go over my words for the service on Sunday.”
“Yes, of course!” He sits in the chair behind his desk. “Let me see what you have.”
I take my seat, sliding the papers to him. As he reads over my words, my eyes wander around his office. I’ve been in here multiple times, but never really looked around.
On the shelves behind him, there are only books and a variety of Bibles. There are no photos of him with his family—no sign of life outside the convent.
“This is perfect, Father Alexander.” He hands my notes back. “I’d better watch out! Seems like you could steal my job.”
“I would never.”
“Maybe one day when I retire.” He shrugs. “Is that something you would be interested in? Leading the convent on your own?”
Is it?
“I guess I haven’t thought that far into the future.”
“I think you’d do a great job. You have your faith and your voice to spread the word of God. There would just be a few things I would need to teach you before you could take over completely. But that wouldn’t be for a while, so there is no need to worry.”
“I will give it some thought.”
“Very well.” He relaxes back into his chair. “How is Celine?”
“What?” I can feel my cheeks growing red at the mention of her name.
“How is she settling in?” He clarifies.
“She’s doing fine.” I clear my throat. “I’ve set her up in the library to help Sister Greta.”
“Oh, bless her soul. Sister Greta is a tough one to deal with.” It’s amusing that even he knows how Sister Greta is. She doesn’t show kindness to anyone. Not even him. “Maybe Celine spending time with her will help get her on the straight and narrow.”
“That’s why I suggested it. I think her being around Sister Greta will be helpful.”
“Only time will tell.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk, and gestures towards the papers I let him review. “Your words will resonate with a lot of the women. They are lucky to have you here.”
Warmth floods me at the compliment. I don’t know how much he truly means it, but it is nice to see my hard work paying off.
“Thank you, Father.” I flash him a kind smile.
“I am here if you need anything,” he says, standing from his chair. “However, right now, I need to meet with Sister Alice.”
“Of course,” I say, grabbing my papers and walking out the door with him.
We head down the hall in casual conversation, and when we approach the chapel, he takes a right turn to find Sister Alice.
I stay in my spot, diverting my eyes from him to the inside of the chapel. A few women are sitting in the front pews, while one woman sits in the last pew closest to the door. Today isn’t the scheduled day for prayer, but it isn’t uncommon to find women in here on other days.
I put one foot into the chapel, my eyes graze over the others who are sitting closer to the stage and altar. Some women sit with their heads bowed, while others rest their wrists on the pew in front of them, their foreheads resting on their hands.
Celine, however, sits slouched with her head tilted toward the ceiling.
When I round the pew and glance at the side of her face, I see that her eyes are fixed on stone arches. I know she senses my presence even though she doesn’t acknowledge me. And from where I stand, I can see the color of her cheek begins to turn pink.
Slowly, I make my way down the bench and take a distant seat next to her.
“What brings you into the chapel today?”
In her lap, her hands are clasped together, but she separates them to pick at her thumbnail from nerves.
“Admiring the beauty,” she tells me.
I hum in response because I get it. Besides the garden, the chapel is the most beautiful place in this convent.
“They did a very nice job building it,” I say, letting my eyes roam from the windows to the ceiling where she was staring before I stole her attention.
“That they did,” she agrees and then grows silent.
“Is something troubling you?”
Celine stops picking at her nail, and her body goes taut.
“No.”
“You are free to speak in here, Celine.”
“I don’t want to speak to you about it,” she says with a sharp tongue.
I’m pretty sure I already know what the thing is that is bothering her, but it is not my place to bring it up because I am not supposed to know she touched herself to the thought of me.
“Maybe Father Keaton could help you.”
“No!” The word flies out of her mouth, echoing off the stone walls. Women from the front glance over their shoulders and then return to quietly praying. “I don’t need to talk to anyone about it.”
“Keeping it in isn’t healthy.”
She breathes heavily out of her nose and shoots to her feet. “I’m going to my room.”
Celine doesn’t look at me before she leaves, and when she makes her way to the door, I notice she is lightly stomping from her frustration. It’s cute.
A smirk plays on my lips as I face forward now that she is gone. I stare at the cross on the wall behind the altar and decide that now would be a good time to pray.
The only person I can talk to about these unwanted thoughts is God, because even though he will judge me, it might not be as bad as the judgement that Father Keaton would have. So for a few minutes, I sit in the pew and silently pray.