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The thrill of sleeping around, alcohol, and pills all gave me the high I was chasing. I needed to feel alive one way or another. I missed feeling something, anything, after my da passed away. That’s why I used and abused whatever I could back then.
Regrouping myself from memories of my past, I get to work making a new set of wooden bowls. Something easy to just be out of my house and clear my head. Trying to escape once more, only this time from thoughts of my Goldie girl.
I know we both felt the temptation in my office, but surely, she must understand I can’t act on this attraction between us. It’s not just because I’m a priest and really fucking shouldn’t. It’s for her own good more than mine.
I need to learn more about the elusive Avery Matheson. This attraction is consuming my every thought, yet I really don’t know much about who she is.
That’s it.
I need to look into Avery, her husband, and her actual life and see it for myself. Then I’ll see the real reason why I should stay away. I can’t mess up her life because of my sick desires.
Tomorrow, I’ll look her up in the parish system and get her address. Maybe we’ll have more details on who she is.
As her priest, it is my responsibility to put these thoughts aside and help her. Guide her. Give her what she needs and not what she wants… even if we both want each other.
I won’t give into temptation.
Chapter 8
“Everything is lawful for me,” but not everything is beneficial. “Everything is lawful for me,” but I will not let myself be dominated by anything.
1 Corinthians 6:12
The next day, I go into the office early. I have to give the daily Mass and need to get to work right away, finding out details on Avery before then.
After settling into my desk, with my black coffee in tow, I log into the church donor system and pull up her family file.
Avery is twenty-eight years old, and her husband, Kevin, is forty-two. That’s an age gap. She and I are much closer in age than that. Six years, that’s not even considered an age gap, not really, at least.
Fuck. No. Stop thinking like this.
If she were my wife, she would understand that I knew what was best for her, always. I would want my cum dripping between her thighs as a reminder of whom she belonged to each and every day and how fucking happy she was with me.
She wouldn’t even be attracted to another man who found her tempting because she would know she was mine. Only mine. She would know that if she broke, I would be there to pick up the pieces and put her back together. It would all be my doing anyway. Everything would be to show her that she belongs to me.
It’s becoming harder to reconcile who I am with the version of myself coming out because of Avery. This attraction feels different than just desiring someone. It’s a dangerous feeling of hoping for something more.
I check the internet next. There has to be a lot on here about the Mathesons. More than what our donor system stores.
That’s it—here we go—dozens of webpages are listed for me to look through.
Kevin’s company is based out of Charleston as Greg mentioned, but several employees work remotely from other parts of the country.
From the way she looked at me, I can tell Kevin takes her for granted. If she were happy at home, she wouldn’t be looking at me with lust and longing in her eyes. He’s an asshole for treating her this way. Who wouldn’t want someone as beautiful as my Goldie girl every day forever?
A fucking pussy, that’s who. Actually, I take that back.
A pussy can take a pounding.
He’s a fucking pair of balls. Can’t take shit.
That’s the picture I have of him now. I’m never going to change my mind about him, even if I read that he saves orphans or the whales.
The rest of what I find online is all superficial. Nothing out of the ordinary for what you would expect to find on a prominent local couple. My beautiful girl leads a meaningless society life. Every time Avery looked at me, she had these big doe eyes that begged for something different.
She needs more but is trapped in a life of despair. I have to learn more about her marriage to Kevin and confirm my suspicions.
It is the priestly thing to do, after all.
