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The worst sin is that I enjoyed it. Both times. I enjoyed the screams, the blood, and the revenge. I enjoyed theirfear. Every sinful, bloody desire a man can have for those who have wronged him and others, I indulged in. And I have never once regretted it. Nor will I, no matter whether I burn for it in the next life or not.
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’ve never so much as touched a woman before. For a long time, I barely even thought about it. Even after my vow was broken and my priesthood was lost, I still didn’t seek out the pleasures of the flesh. I didn’t fantasize about what could be.
Until I met Sasha.
Those desires have tormented me every day and night since,especiallythe night–and Sasha, of all women, is the one I should never touch, should never evendreamabout touching.
I should have always walked away from her every time she came near. I should have kept our conversation to a minimum, formal and brief. But over time, since she came to live at Viktor and Caterina’s house, we’ve become friends. I’ve told myself over and over that there’s nothing wrong with talking to her. It’s not as if I could avoid her–we live on the same property and are often in the same house, and that would be worse than being friendly. I’ve tried, in the time that we’ve known each other, 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 I know what she’s been through; I know she deserves a sweet and gentle man, a simple, unhurried life. 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. I can’tnotwish for it, dream of it, in the darkest hours of the night, when all my defenses start to fall and the whispers of what could be, enter my mind.
There has never been a temptation like Sasha, and there never could be again.
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 don’t, of course. If I touched her even once, I don’t know how I could stop. I would kiss her, here in this place, where it would be even more of a sin, in the shadow of the saints and the stained glass, until she begged me for more. If I touched her, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from giving her that.
From giving hereverything.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Sasha.”
She blushes as she looks back at me, tucking her hair behind her ear as she turns in the pew. “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.” She purses her lips lightly, looking around, and a flush of sinful heat fills me. Her lips are soft and full, rosy and bare, and I want to kiss them red and swollen. I’ve imagined it so many times, and just looking at her makes the desire to find out how it would feel in reality nearly painful.
“I never liked churches as a child,” she says softly. “All the orphans would have to come every week, and it was always cold, and the services felt so long. My foster families weren’t much better. A lot of the time, it felt like an excuse to punish us if we weren’t quiet or didn’t behave just right. But since I’ve been here—” she shrugs lightly, glancing back at me. “I haven’t minded it so much. It feels warmer here. Different. Almost—very close to comforting. I don’t know why.”
If I were still a priest, this would be the time when I would mouth some platitudes to her 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 loathed 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. I have Caterina, of course, but--” She bites her lip, trailing off, as if she knows she’s said something she shouldn’t. That need in me grows, the desire to reach for her, to tell her that I know how she feels. That there’s a connection between us that defies explanation, and that I’ve felt it, too, since the first day I met her.
“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 go further, to imagine taking her here, in a place where I shouldn’t even think of 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.
If I hadn’t taken those vows. But if I hadn’t—would I even have met her? I’ve never thought about what path my life might have taken otherwise, because it was never really a choice. But watching Sasha walk away, her strawberry blonde hair swinging behind her, my hands aching to outline her perfect shape, I want to let myself go down that road. To imagine where I might have ended up, if I’d said no.
If I’d said, I didn’t want to be a priest. If I’d been the rebellious one. The one who didn’t do as he was told.
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 as I drive all the way back to the small guest house on Viktor’s property that I’ve made into my home here. However, 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 was a virgin when I left for seminary. I’d had chances before then in high school–what feels like far more than a decade ago now–a girl who very much wanted to get me into the backseat of her brother’s car that she often drove, who tried to kiss me one night after graduation. She’d been soft and warm and smelled of vanilla, and I’d ached for her. I’d ached to find out what soft lips, soft hands, and a soft body would feel like against mine. But I’d also known that once I tasted it, it would be that much harder to give it up forever.
I’d turned her away. Two weeks later, I left for seminary and the vows of the priesthood.
Vows that I’ve kept, even when it comes to myself. As a teenager, I’d pleasured myself, hot and embarrassed in the shower or the privacy of my room, but when I’d left home, I’d told myself I’d leave that behind. It felt foolish to give in to urges I could never see through beyond that. I told myself that if I stopped allowing myself to seek out even self-pleasure, if I ignored my body’s urges, I would stop wanting it.
For the most part, I was right. Until Sasha. Until I met her, and Iwantedmore than I ever knew it was fucking possible to want.
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. My fingers hover over my throbbing length, the shaft jerking up, slapping my palm. Even that small touch of flesh on flesh is enough to make me groan, the pleasure rippling through me as my hand starts to clench, envisioning Sasha’s lips, so soft and pink and full–
