Father Raphael shuddered. His words were dark.
“It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse.”
“No…” My mouth watered. “It’s beautiful.”
I squeezed it, watching as this powerful, intimidating man flexed his hips. The motion drove the shaft deeper into my hand.
“You’ve made your point, Honor,” he warned.
“I haven’t.” Was it pride or selfishness speaking now? “Not until you feel the same desperation I suffered yesterday.”
“Every day I experience that ache, my angel.”
“And what if I relieved it for you, like you did for me?”
“I won’t allow it.”
“Why?”
His cock hardened. The head, thick and pulsing, begged for the same attention he’d offered me.
“I’m protecting myself. My vows. My calling. My morals.” Father Raphael met my gaze. “Take your pick of all or any.”
“Don’t you think I suffered the same conflicts yesterday?” I asked.
“I know you did.”
“Then what’s the difference between us?”
He leaned back, watching as my fingers timidly squeezed over his flesh.
“I can stop myself,” he said.
“Are you so sure?”
He waved a hand, so subtle and quick had I not been staring at this amazingly frustrating man, I’d have missed his permission.
His challenge.
He’d regret that arrogance.
I licked my lips before bringing him to my mouth. We both tensed, but a surge of desire stole my words and thoughts. I captured him between my lips and welcomed his hot, pulsing head upon my tongue.
How could something so hard, so rigid, so intimidating, have such velvet skin?
Father Raphael closed his eyes. His head struck the confessional wall.
His body trembled.
He clutched his bible.
The clatter of rosaries captured between the bench and his fingers.
And I drew him into my mouth, deeper and deeper, swallowing as much of his length as I could take while still delivering him the pleasure he deserved.
This was a sin—though technically everything outside of marriage and without the express desire for procreation was a sin. Still, this felt worse. Bad.
I teased a priest. I pleasured a priest. I took him in my mouth and flicked my tongue over his thick, hardening shaft.
This was wrong.
So why didn’t I stop?
I hummed in pleasure as he caressed my cheek, his rosaries clenched in his fingers. He tasted of salt, smelled of delicious incense, and grunted the harsh breath of a pleased man. I sucked and swallowed, pulled him from my mouth to kiss the tip and lash my tongue over the thick vein which pulsed so desperately for me.
Every movement, every motion, every leisurely lick twisted his hand in my hair.
He wanted me.
He loved this.
And I savored the salty rush of his desire. A little dollop of his excitement escaped as a prelude to his greatest sin.
His lips moved in a quiet prayer. Latin.
He had to pray in Latin to protect himself from the pleasure I created.
I’d never felt so confident. So powerful.
So amazed that I could create this type of sensation in another person—
The door to the sanctuary crashed open, and the frantic click of heels rushed to the confessional.
Oh God. Someone was here.
I lurched back. Father Raphael adjusted the screen, nearly slamming it closed as the woman collapsed into the bench on the other side of the thin wall. Her purse clattered to the ground, and she ended her phone conversation with a hushed promise to return the call.
I pulled away from Father Raphael, but he captured my hair in his fist. He pinned me against his body, head down in his lap and still. His rosaries tangled in my hair, but I didn’t move, didn’t speak.
Could she hear me? Did she know I was there?
Could she see how thick, hard, and vulgar Father Raphael’s cock glistened? He exposed himself, but the sight was obscured by the screen and the darkness of the church.
At least, I prayed it was.
“I’m not too late, am I, Father?” The woman asked.
I bit my lip.
Judy?
Why did it have to be Judy?
“Perhaps for tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Would you rather come back tomorrow, when it isn’t so late?”
“It’s only a small, teeny weeny sin. Five minutes, Father?”
He clutched my hair tighter. I leaned close to his cock, staring in wonder as his body had yet to soften.
“Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll never refuse any who wish to confess to me.”
He meant it for me, still demanding my repentance. He was one to talk, especially as his hardness twitched so near my lips.
“Bless me, Father, it’s been a week since my last confession, and since then I have just been an absolute witch to my husband.”