Sweetest Sin(73)
“I…” I pointed past him. “I was going.”
“Why?”
“It’s not important.”
He took my hand, squeezing over my palm with a burning authority and firm grip. He tugged me into his office, closing the door behind us.
I breathed deep as he passed. He was richly drenched in the sandalwood incense from today’s Mass. So regal and sensual. How could a man smell so important?
He guided me to the chair before his desk, but I didn’t sit. I stared at him—his lips, his eyes, the way his collar shone so bright.
“You, above all others, know my office is always open.”
“I know, Father.”
“You’re nervous.”
I licked my lip, a twitch more than an invitation, but he leaned in for a kiss. I closed my eyes as his tongue flicked over mine.
Wine.
He tasted of wine.
Or was it my imagination? My guilt?
His hand brushed my cheek. How could the world and all its mysteries make sense during a kiss but shatter as soon as our lips parted?
“I haven’t seen you since that night,” he whispered. “I was worried.”
“Why?”
Father Raphael moved the collar of my shirt to the side, touching the rosaries. I’d slept in them. Held them. Kept them as close to my heart as I could.
“I thought I frightened you away,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
He hummed, low. “We’ll see, won’t we, my angel?”
It pained me to hear the defeat in his voice. He carried a burden of sorrow, so secret inside him. I wished he’d explain it, but that aspect of his life was truly forbidden. It existed in his obsession with me—fierce and intense. Why did he punish himself so much?
“You know you didn’t hurt me, right?” I said. “Just the opposite.”
“Not all wounds are physical.”
He released me, and I couldn’t imagine what he saw with his stare. He looked at me as if I really were an angel. He was wrong. I wasn’t even that good of a person.
But he told me I’d be his salvation.
What was I saving him from?
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?”
He averted his eyes, studying the crucifix on his wall. “That night…you helped me to indulge in something dark and dangerous. It was a terrible desire, and I let myself fall. I explored a part of me I usually suppressed because I knew you wouldn’t run away when I revealed it.” He sucked in a breath. “But you should have run, Honor.”
Never. “It wasn’t frightening, Father. Yes, it was very wrong, but it connected us—”
“It corrupted you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I dominated you.”
“Yes,” I said. “And I surrendered to you.”
He didn’t listen. “I used you. I lost myself that night. When I thought I controlled my lust, I suffered from pride. You tried to warn me, but I thought I could contain it. Then…I faltered.”
“We both did.”
“I think I meant to do it,” he admitted. “I sinned because I wanted to destroy myself.” His gaze fell over me, just as stoic and strong as ever. “I won’t have you defend me or any of the pain I caused you.”
“I’m not in pain, Father,” I said. “Not physically. Not emotionally. I don’t know what to do about my spirit, but that’s my sin to bear, not yours.”
“I was supposed to protect you.”
“Stop—”
“The thoughts I had of you…the things I wanted to do.” His smile turned cold. “I pinned you beneath me and plunged into you, and if my body hadn’t betrayed me in exhaustion, I’d still be rutting you. You wouldn’t have left that altar. I’d have taken my fill of your innocence and left you…broken.”
“You can’t break me.”
He snorted. “I sacrificed your virtue.”
“I gave it willingly.”
“I desecrated your body.”
“We took our pleasure, Father.”
“I fucked you like a whore!”
I flinched, but he wouldn’t win this fight.
“That night meant more to me than you realize,” I said. “Not all sin is born of hatred or because we turned on the Lord. Sometimes we think we’re unforgiveable, but we’re forced to look past the shame to see why we led ourselves into darkness. You taught me that, Father. You’ve preached that one simple truth. Look deeper. Confess the cause, not just the sin.”
“I told you my reasons,” he said.
“And they’re wrong. We sinned together, but not because we wanted to fall from grace. We were together because we’re looking for something beautiful.”