Sweetest Sin(70)

And Honor groaned for me. She clutched the altar. Her breasts. My hands.

It didn’t hurt her. She liked this.

I gripped her thighs and positioned her where I could slam myself inside her, where every undulating squeeze of her softness rolled me in pleasure, panic. So tight. So perfect.

I lost my soul, but it escaped only to be trapped between us. In her. The only place safe enough, wicked enough, primal enough for it.

She bit her lip. Hard. Her eyes closed, and the curls of hair haloed behind her. Every thrust bounced her body for me, and her cries pitched high and pleading as I slapped against her.

How could something so dark and sinful feel so beautiful and raw? My natural desire was to take, to seize, to own. But my sins were corrupted into something even more insidious.

Every thrust indebted me to her. It saved me from darkness.

She let me do this to her.

She took pleasure from what I did to her.

And her soft mews, too timid to even whisper in the church I defiled, called for me.

Deliriously. Passionately.

I grabbed the rosaries and pulled her to me. The beads acted as a leash, and I stole a kiss as I pinned her under me. I took her deeper than before, punishing her in pleasure.

“Father…” Her eyes closed. “Rafe…”

I stiffened. She begged for a release—from my hands, my demands, and the pleasure I thrust within her.

And so did I.

It built with every slam of my body against hers. The dark, forbidden passion boiled inside me. Sparks of ecstasy centered in the worst shadows of my soul.

And yet, her pleasure shuddered as a beautiful, vibrant gift. She offered it to me. Drew closer, held my hand over the rosaries that I clutched in my trembling fingers.

I took her harder. Kissed her.

My words rasped. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“I already have, Father.”

Her breathing shuddered. Every sharp gasp a song of songs.

I had no defense against her. She stripped me bare, even as I yet wore the cassock and collar. Though I destroyed everything I once adored, she cleansed my soul. She understood. She soothed me. Comforted me.

Honor came for me with a sweet innocence, and in that moment, I realized I never had any control over her. Any punishment I feared I inflicted faded. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t lost.

She came and came and came, breathing pure pleasure and calling for my release with hers. Her body tensed too hard, but my hands guided her through the ache and into that pure bliss so forbidden to me.

Beautiful.

I groaned as the passion swept through me, lashing me as sharp as the barbs of a whip and as sweetly as the caress of an angel.

I buried myself in her. Every loathsome jet of heat should’ve scalded her, poisoned her. Instead she arched to take more of my seed. She moaned with me. Accepted everything I was and would be and defied our temptation with a need purer and more honest than my committed sins.

I collapsed over her, panting on the altar, over her body.

Honor laid back and closed her eyes. Goose bumps rose over her soft curves, though she sweated too, a delicate sheen that purified her as we rested.

She reached for the rosaries, but I stilled her hand.

“They’re yours,” I said. “I used them for strength, to prevent me from doing this. I have no need of them anymore.”

“But Father—”

“Nothing can save me now.”





Chapter Seventeen – Honor




Sin wasn’t easy, despite what people said.

It was hard to commit. Hard to confront.

Harder to stop.

I knew what I did was wrong. I tried to live a life of faith and integrity, and I had failed.

But, for the first time since I burned myself on desire, I sang at Mass with an honest heart.

I was guilty. I had sinned. And Father Raphael needed my help.

He suffered because of our night together—erotic, sensual, and blasphemous. I knew what I had to do. No matter my sins, I had to return Father Raphael to a state of grace.

But first, I had to convince him that he deserved that forgiveness.

I’d texted him, but he had a meeting immediately following Mass. I wouldn’t be able to talk with him until the festival prep later. That meant I had the afternoon…

Off?

No work. No classes or homework. No volunteer hours. I could go home and relax.

With Mom.

The thought twisted me, and I hated myself for it. Why did I look for any excuse to leave the apartment? Avoiding my mother shamed me more than anything I had done with Father Raphael.

Mom hadn’t stopped talking since the church, and I doubted even she could remember what she chattered. She dropped her purse in the entry and prattled in the kitchen. I hung her bag over the back of the chair before the strap was soaked in a puddle by the door.

“Do you want coffee? I want some coffee.” Mom hummed to herself and fished in the cupboard for the grounds.