Priest (Priest, #1)

by Sierra Simone

“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.”

“My dear boy, you do realize this is perfectly natural. What was the homily you preached your first month here? That part of healing would be celebrating normal, consensual, Godly sex?”

I could do this. There was life after fucking up, after all, even for those who lived without fucking.

Please help her find guidance and peace. Please help her heal from her past.

And please please please help us behave.

If I was forgiven, why hadn’t God also removed this temptation from me? Or given me more strength to bear it? To resist it? I knew it wasn’t fair to hope that Poppy would move away or become a Baptist or something, but why couldn’t God eliminate my attraction to her? Deaden my senses to the way she’d felt under my blessing…deaden my eyes to those red lips and bright hazel eyes?

And there’s something about the rituals that brings me back to God every time, no matter how foul my mood is, no matter how badly I’ve sinned.

“But I know how dangerous a man can be when he wants a woman he can’t have.”

mentally chastised my groin, which refused to heel and instead kept sending these painfully vivid sense memories back to my brain, like how it had felt to grope Poppy’s tits when she was bent over the church piano.

Be good be good be good, I told myself as I approached her. Don’t jump her bones. Don’t fantasize about fucking her tits. Be a good priest.

Cunt. Clit. Cock. Come.

“I shouldn’t put you over my lap and spank your ass for being a brazen little slut and coming here without a bra,”

“I shouldn’t twist ropes around your wrists and ankles until your cunt is exposed and then screw you until you can’t walk anymore. I shouldn’t flip you over and fuck your ass until your eyes water. I shouldn’t drive you down to the strip club and fuck you in the back room, so that you’ll forget all about Sterling and the only name you’ll remember to say is mine.” I lightly bit her nipple again. “Or God’s.”

Her mouth was greedy, but mine was greedier, and we fought each other, who would devour whom the fastest, who could take what they wanted first, who could take the most, and before long, she was a writhing form of smooth muscle and soft curves, her hips jerking against mine and her hands fisting my hair and scratching my back.

“I want to be inside you,” I said. “Just a little. Just to feel it.” “Oh God,” she breathed. “Please. It’s all I’ve thought about since we’ve met.” “You have to hold really, really still,” I warned her. “Will you behave?”

Both of us just stared down at it, this impossible sight: me inside of her, a priest tasting the forbidden fruit and barely able to keep himself from eating it all.

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

“Stay the fuck still, or I’m going to come before I want to, and if that happens, then I will take you over my knee and spank your ass until you learn how to listen,”

It was possibly the hottest thing I’d ever done too, and I’d done a lifetime’s worth of hot things to many hot women—but none of them had been like Poppy.

“Filthy girl,” I whispered. “So dirty to let me stick it inside of you. Do you like this,

being spread open and used this way? I bet you like being called dirty names too.”

“Please what, lamb?” She could barely talk now, her head lolling back against the cabinets, her arched back shoving her breasts closer to me. “Names,” she got out. “I like…the names…”

Fuck. She was really going to kill me. Death by turn-on. Death by perpetual erection.

“Are you a slut,...

“You’re sure acting like a slut, making me act this way. You’re making me break all sorts of rules, and I hate breaking rules.”

“I want to see it spilling out around you. I want it where it belongs—in me. Please, Tyler. If this is the last time, give me this one thing.”

God, I needed to pump. Needed to thrust. Needed to fuck.

“So I’ll see you at Mass tomorrow?” she said. “Poppy—”

Stepping away felt like stepping onto shards of glass, and I couldn’t help myself, she was so wide-eyed and so open to my love, and it was instinct more than anything else that led to trace a small cross on her forehead. A blessing. And hopefully a promise to do better.

Stop, I begged him silently. Please stop.

So why did I feel like my sins were still haunting me? Still dogging my steps? Because you haven’t confessed them, Tyler.

I wanted to tell her that right now I’d give her anything; I’d give her everything, so long as we could stay in this peaceful bubble of early autumn forever, just the two of us and the leaves and the green warmth that made it so easy to feel loved by God.

“Tonight,” I said. “After the men’s group. Come find me and we’ll work on it.”

Why would God bring Poppy here if I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her?

And was it so wrong to want both? I wanted to lead this church, I wanted to help people find God. But dammit, I wanted Poppy too, and I didn’t think it was fair that I had to choose. God didn’t answer. Whatever magic had been lingering in the sanctuary these past couple weeks hid itself from me, and in a way, that was its own answer. I was meant to figure this out on my own.

“The altar,” she murmured. “Am I your sacrifice tonight?” “Are you offering?”

“You are truly beautiful,” I said, running a finger down her jaw. And then I reached for her hand, lacing my fingers through hers. “Whatever happens after this, I just want you to know that this was worth it. You were worth it. You were worth everything.”

It was perfect, and I was fucking that perfection, and I didn’t give a fuck about anything else but it and my dick and filling this woman with my cum, and why the hell did damnation feel so fucking good?

Deeper, I had to get deeper even though I knew there was no actual physical way

I could be deeper, and then I took her mouth, kissing her with something violent and furious and worshipful.

yes, this is why the Church wanted marriage and sex to go hand in hand because I felt as married to her right now as a man could be married to a woman.

Except I wasn’t. Because more than the transformative sex that we’d just had, this moment was worth sinning for. This moment where she was curled in my arms, her head on my chest, breathing contentedly against me. Where the altar cloth covered her in long, draping folds, but slips of pale skin still showed through.

I followed her over the edge, chanting her name like a prayer and pumping the whole time, as if I could fuck the future and its horrible choices away.

“Part of it is probably that it’s taboo and therefore dirty, so it turns me on.

She made me feel like every sin and punishment was worth it just to hear one of her husky little laughs, and what I needed to do right now was triage this mess that I called my life and figure things out. Embracing this distance was prudence and sexual continence and the first scrap of wisdom I’d exhibited since I met her.

Worry is a sin, even I know that, yet I am more than just a lily of the field. I’m a lily that’s been plucked from the ground and laid at your feet. When it comes to you, I’m rootless and helpless and at your mercy for sunshine and water. And I’m not even supposed to be yours. How can I not worry?

So here’s my final confession. I knelt on my bedroom floor like I was going to pray, but instead

of praying, I spread my legs and fucked myself with my fingers, pretending it was you. And when I climaxed, I hoped to God that you would be able to hear me calling your name.

The whole time, I stroked her legs and back and rubbed her clit, I told her what a good girl she was, such a good little slut for letting me fuck her sweet ass, my own obedient little slut, and she belonged to me, wasn’t that right? She only wanted me inside her; she only wanted my dick and my fingers and my mouth.

“I don’t know what you call it when you fuck someone’s ass raw, Father Bell, but that’s what I call it.”