Saint (Priest, #3)

by Sierra Simone

“Aiden,” he whispers as I kiss his neck. His stubble stings my lips. When I lift my head, I see that his pupils have dilated nearly to the edge of his irises. His mouth is parted, but his jaw is tight. “So you are in chastity.” “Yeah,” I say, shuddering as his long fingers curl around my caged bulge. “I have to be.” “Why?” he asks breathlessly. “I think of you too much.” We can’t stop looking at each other, frozen but not actually frozen—mouths swollen and chests heaving and hips pressing—but we’re not kissing and my arms are still braced against the wall on either side of his head. His hand still curls possessively over my cock. “You think of me too much,” he echoes. “You’ve been thinking of me.” This somehow feels more dangerous than kissing—it’s a more sinful sin than pressing against each other. No longer a mere violation of celibacy, but a flickering threat to my devotion to God. To what is supposed to be a singular and whole offering of my heart. This feels like admitting my heart wasn’t mine to offer God in the first place. After a long moment, I speak. “Yes,” I say. “Not just after you came back. Since I came here.”