6. Whitney
WHITNEY
“Amen.”
I stand with my head bent, hoping my sisters will retreat from the chapel without paying me any attention.
As soon as the double doors close and I know I’m alone, I breathe a sigh of relief.
My reprieve is short-lived, however, because just as I’m about to sit in a pew for further reflection, Father James enters.
“Oh, Sister Emiliani,” he says jovially. “I didn’t realize there was anyone still in here.”
“Good morning, Father.” I glance toward the doors and then back at him. If I’m not comfortable sharing with the other nuns, I’m certainly not going to share with Father James. “I was just ab—”
“Sit with me for a moment?” He gestures at the pew. “Please?”
Careful to keep my expression blank, I sit with my hands folded in my lap. He sits a few feet away from me and completes the sign of the cross before focusing all of his attention in my direction.
“How are you doing, Sister Emiliani?”
“I, um…” My cheeks heat. “I’m doing well.”
He smiles, and I’m reminded of the many times he checked in with me when I was a child. “I was expecting you for confession this morning.”
“Forgive me, Father,” I say. “I wa—”
He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Oh, stop that. I’m not here to chastise you. I’m simply checking in.”
Guilt weighs heavily on me because he’s right. I didn’t go to confession this morning. I wish I could say it’s because I have nothing to confess, but the opposite is actually true.
My mind wanders to the dream I had last night.
Warm water cascades down my back, and I tip my head to let it wash over my face. Most of the time, I don’t let myself linger, but not today. I’m just about to lift the soap when the shower curtain is yanked open, causing me to squeal.
“Hey,” Quake says, a grin on his handsome face. “Want some company?”
Instead of waiting for a response, he strips off his clothes and drops them on the tile floor. When he steps into the shower with me, the heat skyrockets, and it’s not from the water.
“W-what are you doing?” I find the presence of mind to ask.
Quake wraps his arms around me, and I melt into his embrace. “Isn’t it obvious?” he counters, his voice low and entirely too enticing.
“Sister Emiliani?”
Father James’ voice cuts through the memory, and I clear my throat. “Sorry, I, um… My mind wandered.”
“Is everything okay?” he asks, the wisdom in his eyes replaced with questions.
Not even a little bit.
“Yes,” I lie, ignoring the anxiety rolling in my gut. It’s bad enough that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Quake since he left yesterday, but add in my lustful dreams, and I have no clue how to speak the truth. “I’m just worried about Sacred Haven’s ability to provide for the children.”
“Ah, yes, Sister Beatrice filled me in on the funding issues.”
“She did?”
As far as I’m aware, Father James has nothing to do with the home's donations or monetary concerns. Well, other than prayer, that is.
“Of course.” He smiles. “I will certainly be praying about the matter.”
Prayer doesn’t equate to funds.
“As will I.”
He stands but makes no move to walk away. “Are you sure there’s nothing else
on your mind?”
“Yes,” I reply, and when his gaze sharpens, I know he’s not buying it, but he doesn’t question me further.
“Well, I’m always available if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Father James nods before turning and walking out of the chapel. Once I’m alone again, I breathe a sigh of relief. Sagging against the pew, I allow myself to remember the rest of my dream.
“It’s obvious that we’re both naked,” I begin. “And that one of the other nuns could walk in any minute.”
That’s not entirely true. Everyone else is likely sound asleep. I’m only awake because I couldn’t stop thinking about the man in front of me and thought a shower would help. I was wrong.
“Then we better make this quick,” Quake says, easing me back against the wall.
His mouth descends on mine, and I moan at the sensations rolling through my body at the contact. I’ve never kissed a man before, yet somehow, I know exactly what to do.
I flatten my palms against his chest, and when his tongue pushes past my lips, I curl my fingers into his flesh. His heartbeat thuds wildly, and a feeling of sensual power bursts forth.
Quake pulls away and levels his stare on mine. “I need to fuck you, Sister. Please let me fuck you.”
“Whitney,” I breathe. “My name is Whitney. And yes, please fuck me, Quake.”
He lifts me up, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. Reaching between us, he lines his dick up at my entrance. A flash of pain tears through me the moment he thrusts inside, but it doesn’t last long before the pleasure overrides everything else.
“Goddamn, you’re so tight,” he growls.
My hands are everywhere: his chest, hair, face, shoulders. I grab anything I can, trying to hold on for dear life because if I don’t, I just might float away.
“I can’t… I don’t…” Complete sentences are beyond me as I pant. “I’ve never…”
“You can, and you will.”
Quake doesn’t let up, and before I know what’s happening, I explode into a state of carnal bliss. He grunts, hammering into me a few more times until he comes.
He sets me on my feet, keeping an arm around me so I don’t collapse.
Smiling down at me, he says, “I hope what we just did doesn’t send your soul to Hell.”
Standing, I take a few steps to the altar at the front of the chapel, and then I make the sign of the cross.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”