Page 34 of For I Have Sinned

Eventually, Celine was deep in the back of my mind. That was until I noticed she wasn’t at dinner. I checked the library to see if she was still working, but Sister Greta told me Celine had left an hour earlier.

Knowing that she’d be in her room, I made up a plate for her and went to deliver it. The hall was quiet, given that all the women were eating in the dining hall, and when I stood outside her door, I could hear the labored breathing and soft moans leaving her mouth.

Celine tried to be quiet as she touched herself, but with how silent it was where I stood, it felt like I was in the room with her. It was wrong of me to stand out there for so long, listening to the noises she made.

My dick awoke again, jealous that he wasn’t the one to be between her legs in that moment to provide her the pleasure she was chasing.

I had to shut my eyes and even my breathing to attempt to calm myself. I almost had myself under control until I heard my name. There wasn’t anyone behind me calling for me, trying to get my attention. No. It came from that beautiful mouth on the other side of the door.

She was thinking of me as she touched herself. The thought alone drove me crazy, and I should have walked away. I should have turned around, disposed of her food, and gone back to my room, but I knocked on her door. There was a brief moment of silence, and then I heard her shuffling off the bed.

When she opened the door, her cheeks were red, and her hair was a mess. Her dishevelment only made me grow harder. I was thankful I was wearing all black, so she wouldn’t notice the reaction I was having. But if she really looked, she’d see the effect she was having on me.

She lied, saying she was working out, and I pretended to believe her. I handed her the food, and as she took it from me, her hand brushed along mine. Celine didn’t notice at all since she was in her head, but my jaw tightened when I felt the wetness from her fingers glide across my skin.

I held my composure for the rest of our conversation and walked away. Unlike earlier, when she uttered my name, I rushed to my room without running into anyone.

With the door shut behind me, I ripped off my shirt with my clean hand, ready to discipline myself, and paced around the room, staring at her arousal on my finger.

The devil and angel on my shoulders were fighting for my attention. The angel told me to wash my hands. To rid my body of her temptation. The devil, however, was telling me to lick her clean. That one taste wouldn’t be so bad.

For once in my life since I became a priest, I listened to the devil.

After making the decision, I couldn’t get my finger into my mouth fast enough. Her arousal tasted so sweet against my tongue. I was tempted to take my cock out and stroke myself as I cleaned her off me, but that was the temptation I wouldn’t give in to.

Her taste still lingers on my tongue today, but I try to ignore it as the burning sensation grows in my back. The pain becomes too much. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my teeth. My breathing has become rapid, and it causes Sister Agnus to sigh.

“I won’t do it again,” I promise her.

“I don’t like seeing you in pain, Father Alexander,” she says with hurt in her voice. “Whatever it is that is troubling you, maybe you can confide in Father Keaton.”

She is trying to be kind with her suggestion, but there is no way in hell I’m talking to Father Keaton about this. Sure, I could keep Celine’s name out of it and confess the thoughts I’ve been having in a way that doesn’t mention her at all. But I won’t do that. I’m already ashamed of these temptations and think less of myself.

I don’t need Father Keaton to look at me differently, too.

“I’ll think about it,” I lie.

She places a fresh piece of gauze on my back and tells me to put my shirt on. Instead of telling me to come back for her to clean it later tonight, she sends me on my way with a tube of ointment.

In the hall, I blow out a breath as I navigate my way toward my office. My notes are in there, and I need to discuss a few questions I have with Father Keaton about Sunday.

When I have my papers and knock on his office door, there is no answer. I check my watch to make sure I got the time right. It’s the exact time we’re supposed to meet, and he said he’d be in his office.

After a couple more seconds, the door handle turns, and I’m met with Joanna and Father Keaton. She offers me a soft smile and greets me with a hello before stepping out of the office and walking down the hall.

“Sorry about that,” Father Keaton says, moving a bit to let me come in. “Joanna wanted to speak about some concerns she’s been having. She didn’t want to wait until confessional.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask as I step into the office.

“Nothing a prayer won’t fix.” He pats me on the back, and I have to hide my wince from the pain. “What can I help you with?”

“We were going to go over my words for the service on Sunday.”

“Yes, of course!” He sits in the chair behind his desk. “Let me see what you have.”

I take my seat, sliding the papers to him. As he reads over my words, my eyes wander around his office. I’ve been in here multiple times, but never really looked around.

On the shelves behind him, there are only books and a variety of Bibles. There are no photos of him with his family—no sign of life outside the convent.