Priest (Priest, #1)

by Sierra Simone

I was supposed to be a shepherd of the flock, not the wolf. Not the wolf who had woken up this morning grinding his hips into the mattress because he’d had a very intense dream with Poppy and her carnal sins in a starring role.

Ok, what the actual fuck? Lol

Guilt is a sign from your conscience that you’ve strayed from the Lord. Confess your sin to God openly and sincerely. Ask for forgiveness and the strength to overcome the temptation should it arise again. And lastly, remove yourself from the temptation altogether.

Dude is literally firmly set in the "do as I say, not what I do" frame of mind.

just didn’t peg you for a Britney Spears fan,” she said, pointing to where my iPhone was strapped to my bicep and clearly displaying the cover of Oops!…I Did It Again. “Retro Britney too.” If I hadn’t already been roasting from the run and the heat, I would have flushed. I reached for my phone and tried to subtly change the song. She laughed. “It’s okay. I’ll just pretend I saw you listening to—what is it that men of God listen to when they run? Hymns? No, don’t tell me. Chanting monks.”

Is this banter?

“And what about an unbelievably hot priest? Is that a sound reason for exploring the Church?” I must have looked horrified—mostly because her words were nipping at my strained self-control—and she laughed. The sound was almost stupidly bright and pleasant, the kind of laugh bred to echo across ballrooms or next to a pool in the Hamptons.

I don't know why this makes me annoyed, but it does

“She’s with God now,” I murmured, half-priest, half-son, some chimera of both. “God has her, I promise.”

That splice is so real. two sides of the same coin.

Her touch, her words, that smile—was she flirting? But then her smile widened, and I saw that she was just teasing, in that safe, playful way that girls do with their gay friends. She saw me as safe, and why shouldn’t she? I was a man of the cloth, after all, bound by God to be a caregiver of his flock. Of course, she would assume that she could tease me, touch me, without bothering my priestly composure. How could she know what her words and voice did to me? How could she know that her hand was currently searing its outline onto my chest?

The use of "girl" and "man" in the same paragraph gives me the ick

“Okay, well, I’m not sure where to start, so I guess I should start at the beginning?”

Not me thinking about The Sound of Music

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. And she wouldn’t have found it on the other side of that Dartmouth stage.

This trope of "I don't know her but I KNOW her" drives me nuts.

My hand stilled and my breathing slowed and reality came crashing back down. Here I was, dick in hand, cum all over my liturgical desk calendar, and a picture of St. Augustine looking at me reproachfully from the wall.

Bro chose the wrong profession

But then her face lit up and my stomach constricted at the sight. Because she was beautiful all the time, but happy? Happy, she was fucking radiant.

But the trade-off for my self-respect was a cold bed and an overused vibrator, and it was starting to wear thin. Not to mention all the things I just talked about—the husband and the kids and all that.

She starts too many sentences with "But".

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.

This chick is nuts lmao The constant reminders of religious barriers aren't deep, just pointless

“I have to fuck you,” I managed between kisses. It was a statement of fact. A warning. I slipped a hand down and found that once again, she was without underwear. “Filthy,” I said. “Fucking filthy.”

I need a word count for the use of the word "fuck" in this book

“Do you know what this is, Poppy?” I asked. She shook her head against her arms. “It’s a sacramental oil. It’s used for baptisms and ordinations. It’s even used to anoint the walls of a church when it’s built.” I ran a hand down the smooth, firm slope of her back, feeling her sigh against my touch, and at that moment, sliding a finger inside. She gasped. “I’m anointing you now,” I informed her. “I’m sanctifying you from the inside out. You feel that? That’s my finger fucking your ass. And in just a minute, it will be my cock. It will be my cock consecrating you. No, don’t touch yourself, sweetheart. We’re going to get there together.”

What the fuck? lmao

“Tyler,” Poppy said, looking back at me. “I’ve done this before. But never with someone your size.”

Eye roll x 1000

“Oh, lamb,

I haaaate that nickname

And I could tell from the way she smiled to herself, the way she closed her eyes every now and again as if to push back tears, that this was something Sterling had never done. He’d never checked in with her after sex, he’d never petted her and praised her and rewarded her.

His obsession with Sterling is pathetic

I realized now, as I cradled Lizzy’s rosary in my palm, that Lizzy was the reason for a lot of things. She was the reason for everything. Her death was a weight I carried with me always, a wrong I had to avenge. But what if I could change that? What if I could trade vengeance for love? That was what Christians were called to do, after all: choose love above all else.

How is he avenging his sister by becoming a priest who breaks his celibacy? That makes no sense.

Dartmouth—bachelor of economics, summa cum laude. Tuck School of Business at Dartmouth—master of business administration, summa cum laude.

Of course summa cum laude

This is love, I thought dizzily, wondrously. This is what laying down a cross feels like. This is what taking up a new life feels like…it feels like Poppy Danforth. And as I intoned the final words of the rosary, I almost forgot whom I was praying to.

“Are you going to let me confess?” I demanded. “No.” “Why the fuck not?” “Because,” Jordan said deliberately, bracing his elbows on his desk and leaning forward, “you aren’t ready to stop. You’re not ready to give her up, and until you are, there’s no point in me absolving you.”

Finally, someone with sense

What if it didn’t have to end? What if I called the bishop tomorrow and told him I wanted to quit? That I wanted to be defrocked and made into a normal man again? Laicized. That was the word for it. From the late Latin laicus, meaning layperson. To be made into a layperson.

“Then give me your ass,” I growled in her ear. “Give it to me and then I won’t have to take it.”

he says he cares about what happened to Lizzy then says that sht...

I wanted her to be my bride.

This guy has no idea what a priest is all about lol

Is this Your will for me? Am I giving in to lust? Or am I finally realizing Your plan for my life?

“I think the answer is that we follow this call from Mark to live righteously, but the caveat being that we have to redefine righteousness for ourselves. What is a righteous life? It is a life where you love God and love your neighbor. Jesus tells us how to love in the Gospel of Saint John—there is no greater love than to lay your life for your friends. And Jesus showed us that love when He laid down His own life. For us. His friends.”

“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.”

I was done being a priest.

Thank God