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“Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you… Wesley?” she purrs my name, and I feel it below my waist.
“Yes.” My voice comes out husky, so I clear my throat. “Actually, there is something you can do for me. Go home, Jersey.”
Her bottom lip sticks out into a cute pout, and the sudden urge to sink my teeth into that plump lip shocks me. Before I became a priest, I slept with my fair share of women. More than my fair share actually. Especially the last couple of years leading up to me giving my life to God. Out of everything I gave up to enter the priesthood, it was the touch of a woman’s body that was the hardest to let go. But once I committed to that decision, I never once wished I could go back. As I sit here in the darkness of my SUV with Jersey leaning against the door, giving me tantalizing glimpses of her cleavage, I can’t help but wonder what she would feel like under my hands. What she would smell like if I buried my face between her breasts. How her body would move if I trailed my fingertips along the curve of her hip. How tight she would be wrapped around my dick.
Becoming a priest doesn’t mean we no longer have sinful thoughts of the flesh. It just means we have to work harder at banishing those thoughts. And we fruitlessly pray they leave us and never return. I’ve had more desirous thoughts in the last ten minutes thinking of Jersey than I have in the last twelve years since I started studying to become a priest.
“Fine.” Jersey sighs. “But you need to leave first.”
“Not until I know you’re safe.”
“Sorry, Father, but I’m not leaving until you do. I don’t want you following me home.”
She says the last sentence with a note of vulnerability in her eyes, and the whole mystery of Jersey piques my curiosity even more. I honestly can’t say I wouldn’t follow her, so she has a right to be leery.
I grab a piece of paper from my glove box and scrawl down my number before handing it over to her.
“I’ll leave, but I want you to text me when you get home, so I’ll know you’re safe.”
She eyes the paper critically. “And then you’ll have my number.”
“Yes, but there’s nothing I can do with just your number.” I look at her earnestly. “Just please do this for me.”
She thinks for a moment then nods. “Okay.” Her eyes linger on the features of my face before a small smile lifts her lips. “See you around, Father.”
I watch as she goes back to the sidewalk. Everything in me demands I don’t leave her on this street, but the sooner I leave, the sooner she’ll be off the streets. I keep her in my rearview mirror as I pull away until I can no longer see her. I’m tense the rest of the drive back to the church and my eyes keep moving to my cell phone sitting in the cup holder.
I’m walking into the church when my phone finally chirps. I quickly glance at the screen.
Unknown: You’ll be happy to know I’ve safely arrived home. Sweet dreams, Father.
It’s not until then that the weight on my chest deflates.
Chapter 6
WESLEY
Confessional booths are kept dark for a reason. It gives the confessor a sense of security because between the screen separating the two rooms and the low light, it’s almost impossible to see who’s on the other side. Even so, more times than not, I know who the person is just from their voice. Many of them come to my weekly sermons. I always make it a point to get to know my congregation, so I’ve spoken to them all outside of confession. When they do come to confession, I ignore the recognition and give them advice and offer penance based solely on their transgressions.
That’s what I’m doing right now. Or I will be once the next person enters the booth and reveals their sins. I sit and wait patiently, a rosary clasped tightly in my hands. The door to the room next to mine clicks open and a pinch of light filters through the slats of the screen. I keep my eyes pointed forward, and a second later, the door clicks closed.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’m ashamed to admit, this is my first time visiting confession.”
I recognize the voice right away, and both my mind and body reacts. Two nights ago, after I left Jersey, I spent an hour kneeling before the cross, asking God for forgiveness. The next day, I confessed my own sins to a fellow priest, and he offered penance. I lose all of my progress with just the sound of her voice. My shaft is already growing in my slacks, and my mind is conjuring up scenarios. Ones in which I’ll be once again praying to cleanse.
Why does this girl affect me so much? What is it about her that takes me off my righteous path?
I shake those thoughts away and come back to the moment. Jersey is here for a reason, and despite my sinful thoughts, my purpose here is to help people.
“What has brought you to confession for the first time?”
“Well, it’s kind of embarrassing,” Jersey says. “I’m kind of nervous to tell you.”
I look over at the screen, barely making out her shadow, and wishing I could see more. Would her cheeks be pink with embarrassment? Is she nervously twisting her hands in her lap? Is she biting her lip like she did two nights ago?”
“I’m not here to judge you. Only God has that right. I’m merely here to offer guidance and a chance to repent.”
She stays quiet for several long minutes, in which time I work at trying to calm down the appendage in my slacks.
