Could I do this?
A woman was meant to take a man.
Eve was created to submit to Adam, and we knew what happened as a result.
How could I trust in God to protect me from this pleasure when it was darkness which controlled our lust? Sin fed our arousal, and yet I offered my silken slickness to his hardening cock?
Father Raphael gripped my hips with a deliberation that belonged in prayer. Every touch sanctified me. His stare, his whispered devotions, forged something holy inside me. He didn’t lean over me. He readied himself on his knees. Another prayer. Another sacrilege.
He guided my hips to him, and he lowered his cock to my quivering slit.
Every nerve in my body shocked me to my core. My blood pumped hard. My vision haloed.
And the softness of his skin blended with the fierceness of his hardened length.
I was to be made his.
And I arched to feel that damning, beautiful connection.
His every breath rattled the strength of his body. A raw heat entwined his movements. He tensed. I stared as the muscles of his arms, his chest popped and rippled.
This was a man who denied his instincts. Abandoned his urges. Deprived himself of the pleasures of the flesh to achieve a different type of salvation.
It pained him, just as it ached in me.
He fought his desires to take me, to rut me, to destroy me in pleasure and lose himself within my heat.
No longer.
I closed my eyes. The submission came easily. My fingers entwined with his. The rosaries clenched tightly in his fist as he trembled on the brink of immorality. I knew how to soothe him. I tucked my hand within his and tangled the beads over our fingers. Our touch was as sweet as the apple’s crisp bite.
It was all he needed. He prayed—Latin, a beautiful verse begging forgiveness—and pushed within me.
We lost Heaven in that first union of our bodies.
We found paradise in the first breath we took as one.
I expected pain. So did he. He thrust completely, tearing through what might have resisted our desire. The fullness stole my breath, and I whimpered a shocked gasp, more overwhelmed than frightened.
He leaned over me and stroked my cheek.
So sweetly.
So gently.
So reverently.
I gasped over him, squeezing his hand and shuddering as the thickness, the overwhelming presence of him, fractured my faith and rebuilt it in his name.
“My angel…” His words warmed me. A comfort. As beautiful and confident as any he delivered in prayer before our altar. “This is no temptation.”
No. This was something beautiful.
Something shared.
A devotion of flesh. A gift of a sanctified moment when the world stopped, the fears faded, and the only evils we committed were lost in the regret of not offering our bodies before this moment.
His movements began slow. Deliberately. Every withdrawal tested our faith. His size challenged us to stop, to turn away, to return to a world of fear and uncertainty. But his thrusts connected us once more. Together.
Cast from Eden to explore the world’s pleasure.
The rosaries bit our hands, but I clenched his tightly, squeezing my eyes shut as a bursting, crushing curtain of pleasure threatened to overwhelm me in that sinful darkness. His voice whispered within me, around me, through me.
“No, angel. Not yet.”
Pleasure turned to pain. Relief to frustration. I twisted, but the length of his cock invaded me, punctured me, pinned me to him and this moment and this sin. I couldn’t escape.
How was I supposed to fight the most natural submission in the world while his body covered mine, rose over mine, buried within mine?
“Please…” I licked my lips. It teased him, and he seized my kiss to silence me. “Father…”
His hips pushed onto mine, sheathing himself completely to hear my squeal. “You will wait.”
“How?” I didn’t understand much about my body, my desire, the building tangle of confusion and pleasure that heated my blood. “Can’t…you’re so…”
Big.
Powerful.
Everywhere.
Omniscient in this pleasure.
My world faded into him in that moment. His scent. His hands. The crash of his breath and the crush of his weight. His thickness invaded and pressed and forced through my core, dragging every blitzing spark of excitement through me.
I clutched at his hands. His movements shattered my mind, forcing me into the bed, against the sheets, under his strength.
He was right.
Sex was power. Sex was invasion. It was desire and surrender and giving of myself for another.
But it tore through both of us. His eyes widened, staring at me. He studied my face and kissed the desperation from my lips.
He trembled as I did. Strained as I did. Begged of me the same mercy I asked of him and crashed in breathless amazements as our bodies slammed together.
Harder. Faster.