Sweetest Sin(52)

Among others.

I hated myself for the thought. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be pleasuring him. I wasn’t supposed to be hearing this.

I held my breath, praying that my pounding heart wouldn’t tear itself apart as Judy began her confession. I clenched my eyes shut, but I still only saw his thick cock in my mind.

Hard and waiting.

Eager for the return of my lips.

No wonder I had responded in such a way last night. My body had slickened so shamefully I didn’t understand what such wetness could be for. Now I understood. It’d be impossible to take a man as large as him into me if I weren’t so prepared.

And I wanted to feel him.

So terribly. Horribly. Achingly.

I wanted all of him in me. Over me. Around me. I couldn’t imagine how full I’d feel, especially when I’d come from a single finger thrust within me. My knees had weakened, my body fell limp, and my very soul burst and shredded against the pleasure of that sin.

And now, to see what I had missed?

What I would miss?

How could I lament a sin I’d never commit?

Judy whispered her confession, and Father Raphael’s hand gripped me. I held my breath, eyes wide as he pulled me closer to him. Back to my knees. Rising up?

He pushed me into his lap.

My lips touched his cock once more.

This wasn’t happening.

I couldn’t pleasure him in the confessional. Not with someone so close. Not when we might have been discovered.

Ruined.

The panic chilled me, but even those goose bumps became a torment. My stomach twisted. Was I terrified or excited?

I moved without any rational understanding. I took his cock in my mouth once more, knowing every flick of my tongue, kiss of my lips, and leisurely bob of my head drew him closer to that peak sin.

We’d never escape this darkness.

And yet it wetted me.

It destroyed my conscience. This was sin. All morals, all humanity faded from me, leaving only an insatiable and unrelenting desire to taste his ultimate pleasure.

Judy spoke in a rush, listing sins and accepting prayers so quickly she hardly needed to end her phone call. Father Raphael prayed over her, ordering a few Hail Marys and a conversation with her husband to examine the cause of her argument.

Judy thanked him and was on her phone before she left the confessional.

I stilled, listening for the doors to slam shut once more. I left his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the head. He twitched, hard and furious. His rosaries pressed against me.

I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

He rasped his words as he seized my hair. “Heaven forgive me.”

I gasped as his hips flexed. He thrust upwards, filling my mouth with his ravenous flesh. He pleasured himself—quickly, remorselessly, using my mouth to deliver him faster to that forbidden peak...

I welcomed him and gasped in quiet and overwhelmed awe as a man this strong and fierce could control my body with my own pleasure and my surrender to his will. He tensed. His cock pulsed.

Once.

Twice.

Three fierce strokes within my mouth, upon my lips. I readied for his release.

But he pulled away with a fierce groan. I tumbled to the floor of the confessional, waiting at his feet for the moment he’d reward us both with the casting of his seed.

It didn’t happen.

Father Raphael gritted his jaw, poised on the threat of oblivion. He didn’t touch his flesh. Didn’t stroke. Didn’t tug.

He did nothing but let the agony strike him in villainous shudders.

He denied himself.

He cast himself to the edge of amazement, oblivion, and damnation…and he retreated.

His breathing edged hard, gasped breaths that might have forged profanities in any other man. He prayed Latin words I didn’t understand. After a long minute, he finally took his cock in his hand. I longed for him to stroke it. Instead, he forced it in his pants and covered himself with the cassock once more.

I hadn’t moved.

He sat above me, staring at me in that intense, unflinching righteousness that had shamed me once before.

Now he shamed me again.

“Why didn’t you…” I whispered. “Why wouldn’t you take that gift?”

“Faith is my gift, and I’d sacrifice anything for it,” he said. “I told you I’d defeat this sin, Honor. And I have.”

His victory didn’t please him. His voice edged too harsh. Angry. Frustrated.

Proud.

“I can defeat our temptations,” he said.

I hated the implication. “And I can’t?”

“No.”

It was the first time I felt truly filthy, and it wasn’t a pleasant or wicked feeling. That tarnished, sullied, darkness allowed him to pity me.

And I had been pitied enough in my lifetime.

And shamed.

And lost.

I didn’t need it from him—even if he was right.