Priest (Priest, #1)

by Sierra Simone

I’d been assigned to this parish because of its painful past…and my own. Moving past that would take more than a facelift for the building, but I wanted to show my parishioners that the church was able to change. To grow. To move into the future.

“Stop,” I said and then was shocked at myself. I never gave orders like that. Well, not anymore.

Well, there goes my mental image. What are you wearing, then?” “A long-sleeved black shirt with a white collar. You know the kind. The kind you see on TV. And jeans.” “Jeans?” “Is that so shocking?” I heard her lean against the side of the booth. “A little. It’s like you’re a real person.” “Only on weekdays, between the hours of nine and five.” “Good. I’m glad they don’t put you in a crisper between Sundays or something.” “They tried that. Too much condensation.” I paused. “And if it helps, I normally wear slacks.”

“You may not ever be able to get out of bed in the morning with that security. That moment of okay may never come. All you can do is try to find a new balance, a new starting point. Find whatever love is left in your life and hold on to it tightly. And one day, things will have gotten less gray, less dull. One day, you might find that you have a life again. A life that makes you happy.”

Celibacy had become a controversial tenant of the priesthood these last few years, but I still abided carefully by it. Especially in light of what had happened to my sister. And what had happened to this parish before I came.

Oh, and I spend a lot of time on The Walking Dead Reddit. Too much time. Last night I stayed up until two a.m. arguing with some neckbeard about whether or not you could kill a zombie with another zombie’s spinal column. Which you can’t, obviously, given the rate of bone decay among the walkers.

Her voice was sexy. Her laugh was even sexier. But neither held a candle to her. She had long dark hair, almost black, and pale, pale skin, highlighted by the bright red lipstick she wore. Her face was delicate, fine cheekbones and large eyes, the kind of face that peered out of fashion magazine covers. But it was her mouth that drew me in, lush lips that were slightly parted, letting me see that her two front teeth were ever so slightly larger than the rest, an imperfection that for some reason made her all the sexier.

“And what about an unbelievably hot priest? Is that a sound reason for exploring the Church?”

I groaned. “You’re going to hell.” “Tyler!” Dad said. “No telling your brother he’s going to hell.” He still didn’t look up from his phone.

“I rejected that entire reality,” she confessed. “The Wharton life. I didn’t want to do it. I couldn’t do it.” Of course, she couldn’t. She was so far above that life. Could she see that about herself? Could she sense it, even if she couldn’t see it? Because I barely knew her, and even I knew that she was the kind of woman who couldn’t live without meaning, powerful and real meaning, in her life.

We sat in silence for a while, jostling shoulders with dead girls and disapproving parents and tragedies that lingered like the smell of old leaves in a forest.

I knelt down behind her and spread her legs, spread them so that her cunt was gloriously bared to me. “My little lamb,” I whispered. “You are so very, very wet right now.”

“I’ve always said that you were too young and too handsome to lock your life away. ‘Trouble will come of it,’ I said. ‘Mark my words.’ And nobody marked my words.”

I stayed up late reading the Bible, perusing every passage about sin that I knew of until my tired eyes refused to focus on the words any longer, sliding over them like two magnets with the same charge.

Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me. Even Jesus had said those words. Not that they had worked out so well for him… Why was God so willing to leave bad cups all over the place?

if I did go to her, what else was I risking? More importantly, was I risking it because I wanted to risk it? Was I only telling myself I cared about her spiritual development, so that I could be near her? No, I decided. That for sure wasn’t true. It was just that the actual truth was so much worse. I cared about her as a person, as a soul, and I wanted to fuck her, and that was the recipe for something much worse than carnal sin. It was a recipe for falling in love.

“Stop it, Father, I’m being serious. Are you sure that it isn’t because I’m a smart, attractive, advantaged woman that you don’t feel that way?” What? No! I had been one class short of a women’s studies minor in college! “I⁠—”

Pursue righteousness, the author of Timothy said. But did righteousness carry a bottle of Macallan 12 in her hand? Because Poppy did.

I liked being dressed when I fucked, I always had; there was no bigger turn-on than having a naked woman climbing all over you, purring at your feet and squealing in your lap, all while you were fully dressed. (And yes, I recognize that’s also fucked up in terms of feminism and all that. I’m sorry.)

One and a half inches of damnation, and all I could think about was sinking deeper into hell.

Could a vow be not all the way broken? Could a sin be not all the way committed?

it does feel like a lot.” “Okay, it does look like a lot, but really, I promise it won’t be. Especially with me doing the setup—all you’ll have to do is be charming and square-jawed for the cameras.” Millie patted my arm appreciatively. “He’s good at that. He’s our secret weapon.”

“I don’t think you’re capable of asking a stupid question, Ms. Danforth.” “You should reserve judgment until I ask, Father,” she said in a voice that was half-laugh, half-sigh. “I’m Catholic. Judging is my thing.”

this moment somehow felt more intimate, more vulnerable, than anything we’d yet shared. Everything else had happened while I pretended God wasn’t watching, but this—there was no pretending now. Sacred and profane were blending and blurring together, fusing and welding themselves into something new and whole and singular, and if this was what love was, then I didn’t know how anyone could bear the weight of it.

She filled me with awe. She made me see the world with a new sense of wonder, every tree greener, every angle sharper, every face more pleasant and delightful to help.

I made quick work of knotting the white rope around her wrists and hands, thinking of the prayer priests were supposed to say as they tied their cinctures. Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of lust… Wrapped around her wrists, binding this woman to my desires, the cincture was doing the exact opposite of its purpose, quenching nothing. My entire body was on fire for hers, flames already licking every inch of my skin, and the only way to douse them was to sink balls deep into her sweet cunt. I should feel bad about that. I should.

The Church said everything about her and me was wrong. It was lust and fornication. It was lying. It was betrayal. But the Church also talked about the kind of love that transcended any and all boundaries, and the Bible was filled with stories of people who carried out God’s will and had very human desires. I mean, what even was sin? Who was being hurt by Poppy and me loving each other?

“St. Margaret’s needs her, Father Bell. I certainly hope you don’t plan on fucking that up.” “Millie.” “What?” she asked, picking up her quilted handbag. “An old lady can’t swear? Catch up with the times, Father.”

“Dating?” My voice came out too eager, too excited. I cleared my throat. “I mean, we’re dating?” “I don’t know what you call it when you fuck someone’s ass raw, Father Bell, but that’s what I call it.”

I was so prepared to fight dirty, and yet I suspect I won’t have to fight at all.” “It’s not a fight,” I said. “It’s a person.” “It’s a woman, Father.” Sterling flashed me a white, wide grin. “Soon to be my woman.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the celibacy gene,” I said more to myself than to her. “Maybe it’s just that I was always waiting for you.”

But why did this snake of anger still slither in my belly? I hated myself for feeling it, but I couldn’t chase it out, couldn’t dig it out. It slunk through my veins, tickling the inside of my fingertips with the urge to—to what? Spank her ass for spending time with her ex without my permission? Fuck her until she grunted, until my cock was the only thing she knew? God, I was such a fucking Philistine.

And those lips like a gorgeous red halo around my dick…it was the only halo I ever wanted again, a circle of wicked wants and devilish delights.

maybe it was fucked up to feel like God was here with us in the back room of a strip club, but I did, like He was bearing witness to this moment where Poppy opened herself to the worst of me and erased it with her love, just like God did for us sinners every moment of every day.

How was this not marriage? How was this not more binding and more intimate, us bare with each other in the presence of God? At the very least, this was a betrothal, a promise, an oath.

“God is bigger than our sins. God wants you as you are—stumbling, sinning, confused. All He asks of us is love—love for Him, love for others, and love for ourselves. He asks us to lay down our lives—not to live like ascetics, devoid of any pleasure or joy, but to give Him our lives so that He may increase our joy and increase our love.”

we were helping people. In the kind of direct, physical—sometimes intimate—ways that Jesus had helped people. Healing the sick with his hands, curing the blind with mud and saliva. Getting his hands dirty, his sandals dusty. That was one of the real differences between Jesus and the Pharisees, wasn’t it? One went out among the people and the others stayed indoors, arguing over yellowing scrolls while their people were casually brutalized by an indifferent empire.

“Si vis amari, ama,” you tell me. If you wish to be loved, love. Words we exchanged what feels like a million years ago. It was your love that brought us back together, your unflagging love that lasted through my deception and my seclusion. I’d thought I was making the right sacrifices for you to be with God, but I was wrong the whole time. Now we are both with God and we are together, giving up our individual lives today to fuse into one eternal soul.