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The moment I look up, as if summoned by my thoughts, I see her.
My own personal temptation,
Only the back of her head, strawberry blonde and pin straight, falling down her back in a sleek, shiny fall that begs for me to run my fingers through it. She could be anyone, I suppose, any petite woman with that color hair in New York, but I know it’s her.
Sasha Federova.
The only woman in the world who has ever made me wish that I hadn’t taken those vows.
I know plenty would say it doesn’t matter. That I broke one, so why not the others? I’m no longer a priest in truth, no longer ordained. I’ve been stripped of all of it–or rather, I chose to walk away from it, in one night of blood and violence that I wouldn’t take back, not even if it meant my soul.
But in penance for that rainy, blood-soaked night, I’ve kept the rest of those vows all these years. I live as simply as I’m able. I do good and provide priestly help and advice where I’m able. And I stay chaste.
I haven’t touched a woman since the day I left for seminary. For a long time, I barely even thought about it. Even after my vow was broken and my priesthood lost, I still didn’t seek out the pleasures of the flesh. I didn’t fantasize about what could be.
Until I met her.
It has tormented me every day since–and Sasha, of all women, is the one I should never touch, should never evendreamabout touching.
I should walk away, but over time, since she came to live at Viktor and Caterina’s house, we’ve become friends. I tell myself there’s nothing wrong with talking to her. It’s not as if I could avoid her–we often live in the same house, and that would be worse than being friendly. I’ve tried, in that time, to be an ear for her, a shoulder to cry on, to give her what I can of myself without breaking my vows. To be hers in the ways that I can justify.
But it still feels a little wrong, every time, just because of how she makes me feel.
I know that I shouldn’t even be having these thoughts, that after so long, it borders on obsession–but I can’t ever get her out of my mind completely. It doesn’t matter that she deserves more than a man with a past filled with violence when she’s endured so much, that I could never ask her to risk the dangers that follow me, even if it weren’t for my vows. It doesn’t matter that being with her the way I want would break everything I’ve striven so hard to keep these past years.
I can’tnotthink about her.
She doesn’t hear me at first, as I sit down behind her. She smells like coffee and warmth, her hair so lovely that I ache to reach out and touch it.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Sasha.”
She blushes as she looks at me, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know. I don’t find it comforting, exactly–but I was passing by and wanted to come in. I can’t really explain it.”
If I were still a priest, this would be the time when I would mouth some platitudes about God’s plan–but all I can think of is that she’s here because it made her think of me, because she missed me. I’ve been gone for a few weeks, and though I’m loathe to admit it, I thought of her for every single day that I was gone. I’d seen her at Niall and Isabella’s wedding, and stayed back in Boston even after she and Caterina and the rest of the family had gone home.
“I missed you.” She says it aloud, as if she read my thoughts, and then she blushes deeper. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean–it’s just…nice having you around. It’s nice to have a friend.”
“Of course.” I don’t touch her, though I’m aching to touch her hand, to reassure her in some way. Just being near her, smelling the light scent of her perfume and her skin, is turning me on. I can feel my cock twitching with an arousal that was unfamiliar to me before her, forgotten, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to ignore it. I can’t let myself think of the things that she makes me imagine, of taking her here, in a place where I shouldn’t even imagine such a thing. Filthy thoughts, thoughts that make me harder still, because they’re beyond forbidden. “I missed you, too.”
I shouldn’t have said that, but the way her face lights up is enough to make me glad that I did. “Oh,” she says softly, her cheeks still pink. “Well, I’m glad. I should be getting back–” she stands awkwardly, looking uncertain. “Caterina always gives me the day off, but I know she’s going to need help, and–” She licks her lips nervously, and my cock hardens even more, an uncomfortable ridge in my trousers. “I’ll see you at home!”
She can’t possibly know what those words do to me, how they make me think not of Caterina and Viktor’s home, where we both stay, but a home that I could have with her, if things were different.
I’d come here to talk to Father Donahue about something, but it’s forgotten as I watch her leave, my mind muddled with heated thoughts of a woman that I don’t deserve and can never, ever have.
I feel ashamed of my arousal, ashamed of what I feel when I’m around her. I do my best to ignore it, all the way back to the small guest house on Viktor’s property that I’ve made into my home here, but as I walk in and throw my keys on the entryway table, my cock is still hard to the point of pain.
Fuck.I strip down for a shower, trying to push Sasha out of my head. Sometimes it works, but more often lately it doesn’t, and today seems to be one of those days. I think of her back home, in the main house, so close. I think of how I could go to her, say the things in my head, and my cock throbs as I step into the shower. It aches with the need for release, and I grit my teeth.
I wasn’t a virgin when I left for seminary. I had experiences in high school, fumbling ones, a hot summer night where I ended up with a girl in the backseat of her brother’s car. It was over in minutes. Two weeks later, I left for the priesthood, and vows of celibacy.
Vows that I’ve kept, even when it comes to myself.
I reach down, aching to touch my cock. Even one stroke would feel good, a little release, a little pleasure. Something to keep me from feeling as if I’m going mad from wanting her.
I yank my hand away, a different vision filling my head, one of a rainy night in an alleyway, a man scrambling backwards under a neon sign, a gun in my hand pointed at him.
Please.Please, no!
