Sweetest Sin(36)

My fingers groped over her hips, searching for the waistband, the button, the zipper containing those beautiful curves.

“Father Raphael.”

Honor gripped my hand. She squeezed, protecting the button.

Protecting us both.

I sucked in a ravenous breath and hauled myself from her. She immediately turned, her hands covering her face.

What had happened?

We sweated, panted, ached as though we’d rolled on the floor for hours.

Too close.

Much too close.

“Father…” She swallowed. “I’m sorry, I…”

I held up a hand, surprised that the rosaries were still clenched between my fingers. “I know my limitations now.”

“Good?” She cleared her throat. “So do I. You are my limitation.”

“It’ll become easier.”

She eased away from my desk. “And if it doesn’t?”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

Because I no longer trusted myself.

Honor pressed a hand to her cheek. She appeared panicked. Desperate.

Poor thing.

“We passed the test.” I faked a smile. “Go now. Set up for the meeting. I’ll…step out. Pick up the pizzas.”

“And I’ll…” She laughed, a surrender in itself. “Splash water on my face.”

She deserved only the holiest of waters. Consecrated and cool.

She retreated from the room, her hands raised. “And I promise to behave.”

It did nothing for my cock, but it gave me confidence. “So do I.”

The door closed behind her, and I fell into my chair, uncomfortable and pained. My body betrayed had me.

This was a punishment from God—a warning that I had gone too far.

Nothing would ease that ache, especially as I had a full night of meetings and groups to attend. Thank Christ for busy schedules.

I doubted it would help.

I prayed—Latin, the entire Rosary. Twenty full minutes of intense, soul-wracking prayer.

And my erection hadn’t diminished.

My penance would be this discomfort. My ache, my shame.

At least it was a just punishment.





Chapter Nine – Honor




I added more hours to my rotation at the food pantry.

It wasn’t a magnanimous donation of my time. Guilt motivated me to work, and I had to do something to save my thoughts and my soul.

Not like my antics with Father Raphael would help me.

I’d been bent over a desk by a priest. We fought the temptation and won, but it hadn’t shielded me from a wicked curiosity. The sneaking, unrelenting What ifs plagued me.

What if he had unbuttoned my jeans?

What if we had touched?

What if we surrendered, just for the briefest, most amazing, most fulfilling of moments?

And I knew the answer to that. I felt the hellfire a little closely.

So I added another shift to the food pantry, and I volunteered to help make the flyers for the festival. It was the least I could do, especially as every time I tried to pray—even my rosaries—I thought only of Father Raphael.

The pantry received a large, monthly delivery from the diocese’s county collection program. The rest of the goods—cereals, canned products, and household supplies—were donated from the parish and from collections. Most of the boxes had yet to be unloaded. I looked forward to doing the inventory, stocking the shelves, and filling out the spreadsheets.

It was all good busy work that prevented my mind from wandering. Especially since I wielded an X-acto knife to open the delivered boxes. The last thing I needed was to get distracted with the blade and come out of my shift looking like I endured the Stigmata.

The older ladies who ran the pantry weren’t the kind of Catholics who liked that joke. I was willing to bet Father Raphael would laugh though.

And he had a wonderful laugh.

The shift passed quickly. It took an hour before the little bell rang in the reception area. Judy manned the sign-in sheet out front, but she called for me to join her, a slight catch in her voice.

“Honor!” She peeked into the shelves. “Your…mother is here.”

What in the world?

I dropped the box and snuck to the front, my heart stopping as Mom picked up the sign in form and jotted down her name in huge, bold script. She grinned and waved her hands to gather me in a hug.

“There’s my busy little bee! I feel like I never get to see my baby anymore.”

It might have been deliberate. The more hours I had with the church and classes, the less time I had to spend in the apartment.

I greeted her with a forced smile. “Mom, what are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?”

I prayed she meant she was volunteering. “Um, you’re…”

“Shopping, silly!”

Judy grabbed her cell. She twisted a finger through her devil-red hair, just waiting for the gossip to spread through her rumor-mill phone tree. I took the clipboard from Mom and smiled politely to Judy.