Unacceptable. I hated that she was uncomfortable.
“Honor…” Her named tasted sweet. “Look at me.”
“Father, we should get to the meeting—”
“Look at me.”
Her thick, dark lashes fluttered, and her hazelnut eyes met my gaze so fiercely, so intently, I couldn’t contain the heat within me. I wasn’t prepared for her beauty, and sin immediately hardened me.
I chastised myself. Benjamin was right. I should have prayed. For control. For stability.
For my cock to stop throbbing so near this beautiful, amazing woman.
And yet, she suffered too. She licked her quivering lip.
Did she mean to speak…or to bait me into another kiss? Could I be so bold when my body was already wracked with its own perverse shudders?
It was a test. One of many to come.
And, for the first time, I feared what might happen if I were to fail.
“Are you afraid, my angel?” I lowered my voice. It had the desired effect, trapping her in devout attention to my words, my mood, my will.
“No, Father. I’m just nervous.”
“Why?”
“You have a very…overwhelming presence.”
She meant intimidating. That hardened me more, shattering my control and straining my cock within the confines of my clothing. My saving grace was a fashion style encouraged from the Vatican. I should never have doubted the wisdom of two thousand years of celibate men wearing cassocks.
“Do you have something you wish to confess?” I teased.
Honor bit her lip, but her coy smile remained. She shook her head only once, a proud movement.
“No, Father Rafe. Nothing to confess.”
Really? I wasn’t so convinced.
“Nothing?” I asked. “Not a touch?”
“No, Father.”
My perfect angel, doing as I commanded, doing as our faiths required.
And yet...sin worked in more devious ways, and temptation lingered even when the body obeyed.
I held her gaze, stilling her breath and earning a secret shudder. “Have you indulged in impure thoughts?”
“Father—”
“Answer me, Honor.”
She twisted in her seat. Not uncomfortable, but desperate. She arched to wiggle a greater pressure against the sacred secret I imagined in my darkest, most perverse of sins.
“Yes, Father.” Her whispered words pulsed in my cock. “I’ve had impure thoughts.”
“How many?”
“Does it matter?”
“Contrition requires specificity, so that a priest may better grant you the forgiveness for your transgressions.”
“Okay…once.”
That wasn’t true. I arched an eyebrow. “Just once, my angel?”
Her eyes drifted lower, staring at the snow-pure white of my collar. “Just once, Father. Because every thought of you I have is impure—from the first time I met you until this very moment, I’ve suffered through a continuous desire. One thought, one fantasy after another. I sleep, and I dream of you. I wake, and I think of you.”
I swallowed, my mouth dry.
Was it possible to envy my angel for her sins?
I no longer had impure thoughts. The images of my lust didn’t take a recognizable form. They centered inside me, manifesting as the surge of blood from my veins to my cock, as the involuntary clenching that twitched my shaft.
Instinct overruled sanity. I wrapped my rosaries tight in my palm and squeezed.
It didn’t quell the desire to rut. To thrust. To overpower.
Heaven help me.
“Tell me,” I ordered.
Honor watched with wide eyes as I stood. She clutched the chair, panting a quiet breath. Embarrassed? She would be, revealing those naughty thoughts about a man who could not lust.
“Father, I thought priests didn’t need specifics.”
But where was the torment in that? “Tell me, Honor. Unburden your soul. What sin do you fantasize about the most?”
I stalked to her chair, circling behind her so she could not see me unless she turned. I doubted she would be brave enough to face me as she described in detail what dark secrets tangled her mind.
“I can’t speak them out loud,” she said.
“Afraid it might come true?” I drifted close.
“I know it won’t.”
“Then speak these evils so we can cast them from our minds. Confront this temptation, Honor. Tell me what it is you dream about, and we will fight it together.”
Or lose ourselves trying.
She trembled as I helped her from the chair. I stood her before my desk, facing the crucifix hanging on my wall. She stared ahead.
My gaze never left her.
I prayed, but I glorified her—the bobbing curls of her hair, the elegant slope of her shoulders, the perfect curve of her hips. Every inch of her was worth worshipping. She licked her lips.