Sweetest Sin(31)

And it was all gone now.

Nothing but memories remained.

I finished straightening the apartment. It could wait for a deep clean after Mass on Sunday.

A thrill tickled through me, something entirely inappropriate for the thought of returning to the church. I took a cool shower, changed, and snuggled into my mattress in the corner. My phone buzzed as I rolled onto my side.

I shouldn’t have looked.

I didn’t have the contact in my phone, but my secret messenger wasn’t so mysterious.

Sleep well, my angel.

As if I could sleep now.

The heat burst within me once more. I swallowed, but my tummy twisted in such a good way.

Who would Jesus text?

I gripped my phone and typed back, loving the delicious thrill.

Are you allowed to text me?

He replied immediately. Who would stop me?

This man? This priest?

No one.

How’d you get my number?

His message beeped. The phone tree.

Betrayed by the women’s club and its eternal preparedness. I took a breath, wishing my body would stop shivering in exquisite goose bumps. I typed a cautious message.

I was just going to bed…

I counted the seconds for his reply. What a coincidence. I’m already in bed.

It’s early, isn’t it?

I’m up at 5 every morning.

I giggled. Good thing you don’t wake anyone with the alarm.

I also don’t need to worry about doing my morning prayers naked.

Oh, that wasn’t fair. Those terrible, wonderful images swarmed my mind. Father Raphael—bowed in prayer, concentrating, regal. Those hardened muscles straining as he prayed on his knees.

I didn’t let myself imagine anything else.

The distance granted by phone made me bolder. I bit my lip.

Lead me not into temptation, Father.

I wouldn’t dream of it, my angel.

Then why did you text?

A delay. I knew you’d be getting ready for bed.

I knew his game. It might have offended me if it wasn’t so prudent.

Is this a hand-check, Father Rafe?

Would you prefer to bind your wrists before bed to ensure your purity?

Nothing pure came from those thoughts, though plenty of people came from having them.

I dropped the phone on my belly as I exorcised that riveting imagery from my mind. It didn’t work.

And the phone buzzed too low. The sensation bolted between my legs. I whimpered.

Father Raphael knew exactly what he was doing.

Be strong, my angel. I will see you Saturday for the festival preparations.

Saturday? It felt like a lifetime. But better a wait for two days than an eternity in Hell.

I wasn’t ready to flirt. I had never learned how or bothered to tease, but this conversation made me smile, filled me with wicked joy. I wished for him to feel the same ache that would make my night unbearable.

I sent the text with trembling fingers. Don’t miss me too much.

He replied with scripture.

Matthew 26:41.

I had to look it up, scrolling through my phone with a bitten lip.

Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

I tossed the phone down, but I’d never sleep.

I feared the dreams I’d have of Father Raphael.

At least I’d enjoy confessing them.





Chapter Eight – Raphael




Benjamin didn’t have the strength to sit for his anointing.

The nurses called it a bad day. They were being polite. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t shaved, and he lost weight since I last saw him.

In becoming a priest, we didn’t just take a vow of celibacy. We sacrificed the opportunity to begin a family. While we gained the love of a community and inspiration from the church, when it came time to pass—we’d have no wife at our side, no children, no grandchildren.

Yes, there was a Godliness in suffering, but this man had served his Lord. He lived his life for the church and even took in a runaway teenage boy who needed a home.

And he gave me more than a home.

He gave me the priesthood.

He rescued me.

And I would not have him die, bedridden and useless, sucking on oxygen alone—even if he had the comfort of Christ. The Lord loved him, but so did I.

I wasn’t ready to let him go.

“This festival…” Benjamin waved a hand over the papers I’d spread across his bed. “What are you doing with this monstrosity, Rafe?”

God only knew. I didn’t have an answer.

I rubbed my forehead, narrowly missing my eye with the pen. That might have woken me up.

I was exhausted. I hadn’t slept well the past few days. Or at all.

Men were instructed to face their fears.

But facing temptation? That took courage, strength, and mental fortitude. On Saturday, I’d worked hand-in-hand with Honor, breathing her scent and brushing her fingers, all while the women’s group, youth group, and church volunteers helped to prepare for the festival.