Beauty and the Blitz (35 page)

And her sweetness beguiled and enchanted every twist of my heart and throb of my cock.

Honor’s moan turned to song.

My lips were once cast in prayer. Now they formed sacred words eager to draw her uttered gasp of glory.

My tongue was once used to spread the divine mysteries. Now it explored the depths of hers.

My words were once meant to preach. In my silence, I offered the blessing of her pleasure to us both.

“Father, please…” Honor couldn’t breathe. Her body wracked with a pained shudder that threatened our very faith. “This is too much.”

I feasted upon her, savoring the slickness as I lured more pleasure and pain from her. I shared her anguish.

This suffering
must
have been holy. The denial of our body, our needs, our desires tortured our instincts. I ached for mercy. I throbbed in my own masochistic delight.

My worthless body demanded that I toss her upon the very ground we walked. If I let it control me, I’d have rutted through that innocence for my own perverted satisfaction. I’d have taken her as an animal. Rolled and sweated and coated her in wicked seed.

Ruined her.

Damned her.

Joined her.

I suckled upon that nub of power. She liked that. Or maybe she didn’t. Her hips arched in pleasure and bucked in panic. She tightened and begged against my mouth.

Pity I buried my tongue within her, or I might have eased her with a gentle word.

“Father Rafe.” Honor’s fingers tangled in my hair. I no longer knew if she pulled me away or pushed me into her secret beauty. “
I’m too close
…”

The power surged through me. I wanted to destroy her, and she’d have begged me to do it.

And that was the reason I pulled away. Despite my own groan, despite losing myself within her sweetness and tasting upon the most blessed and perfect pleasure, I retreated.

Defeated my temptation.

Overcame my desire.

And the pride surged through me as my own release.

But Honor tumbled to the floor. Quivering.
Weeping
.

She gripped the hem of my cassock and shuddered.

“Please. Please. Please.” Her words rasped into broken begging. “Father…I can’t…it’s too much. Please.”

“My angel—”

“Just once.” Her voice hardened. “If you don’t, I will.”

Three times I had denied her. Was I cruel enough for a fourth?

Why did the sight of a naked woman, stricken with lust, so please me? It was as if I knew she would fail this test. Somehow, in my own wicked sin, I’d planned to wrench this submission from her.

And that was my sin. Not lust. Not adultery.

I hardened because she submitted to me. I
made
her submit to me. I drove her into sin, and I used her weakness to strengthen my own resolve.

It wasn’t fair to leave the poor creature in pain.

I pulled her to her feet, pinned between the counter and my body. Her nudity pressed against the black robes, the eternal and ever vigilant armor I wore to protect me from moments like these, temptations like her.

She cried in relief as my fingers snaked back to her slit. I touched her again.

Her wetness guided me, and I used a single finger to tease before finally sinking into her heated core.

Honor immediately clenched around me.

Nothing prepared me for that singular bliss. Her tightness yielded to my finger and brought such pleasure from her breathless form. She arched into me, crying out as my thumb struck her swollen, desperate nub.
There
was a temptation, the way it so secretly and lovingly tucked within her folds. It was a lure, a bait. My lips had captured it, and she rewarded me with a sweet cream.

If only I had tasted more—where my finger now buried.

If only I might have come with her.

“Once, Honor,” I ordered. “Just once. And then you will repent for it.”

Honor came in sobbing relief. She gripped my body, my cassock, anything and everything which grounded her to earth and not the heavens above or the hells below.

Her core clenched my finger, pulsing with sensual, painful contractions of her body as the sin imprisoned her within desire.

Or maybe it wasn’t sin.

Honor surrendered to something beautiful. The gratitude she uttered, her shudders, and the sobbing pleasure didn’t create anything dark and unholy.

She came, and the curves of her skin bathed in a rich heat. Her silken delight pulsed and wetted as a halo of comfort cradled her.

Beautiful.

Was that how it would feel?

Heaven on earth? A quiet peace between two people?

Or was it a dark shame of submission, aggression, and conquering?

I didn’t trust her to stand on her own. I set her upon the counter once more, covering her shivering body with the dress I so carelessly tossed away. She swallowed, her eyes glassy and relaxed.

“Forgive me, Father.” She tugged the hem low. “I…”

“This is why you were sent to me.” I didn’t let her speak, wouldn’t let her feel ashamed of that most wondrous and amazing moment that transformed her before me. “I am meant to care for you, Honor. I will teach you to control this desire…and you will help to defeat mine.”

“How?”

I had no idea. I could think no farther, no deeper, than my own lust. My cock strained, envious of my hand for bringing her to that angelic peak.

“We pray,” I whispered. “So that we go no further than this.”

“And if we can’t resist?”

“Then I will resist for us, my angel.”

Because I could. Because I had no choice.

Because our souls depended on me.

And that responsibility, that
pride
, hardened me as much as my name whispered upon her lips.

T
he confessional was
both a loathsome and amazing place.

Most people misunderstood its purpose—here was where we confessed our sins to a priest, a man afforded the same blessings as Christ offered his disciples. With his help and guidance, we were forgiven and our souls cleansed.

But I still never liked it. Not when I was a child confessing to simple annoyances, and not when I became a woman and first admitted my desires for an untouchable man.

What should have been a cherished moment of spirituality was tarnished with the mortal complication of shame.

But I understood why Father Raphael wanted to meet in the safety of the confessional. It was a good place to talk. Private.

Father Raphael had extended the reconciliation hours, but no one came to take advantage of the sacrament. I waited in the vestibule until I was certain we’d be alone. This was not a conversation others needed to hear.

I nudged the sanctuary door closed as I passed. It clattered shut; the hinges squealing as the lumbering door groaned against the frame.

He waited for me inside the booth. I crossed myself by habit and sat on the bench instead of the kneeler.

Father Raphael waited, silent and overwhelming, as always.

His stillness waged war with my thoughts, and the quiet muffled my voice. I shivered, a good and wicked shiver, as if his touch still lingered on my body.

I’d missed his kiss.

“Hi.” I greeted him in a whisper, licking my lips though my mouth had gone dry. I breathed deep just to tease myself with his scent. “I got your message.”

“Honor.” His voice retained a seriousness. No smiles from my priest today. “I’m glad you came.”

So was I, but I doubted he meant it in the vulgar way my mind corrupted his words. I tucked my hand in my lap.

“I’m not sure what to say to you,” I said. “I didn’t know what to do with myself today.”

“Why?”

“After what happened last night…” I cleared my throat. “We needed to talk.”

“I agree.”

“Don’t get me wrong. Last night was something amazing.” I loathed the word, but why lie after committing other sins? “I got home, and I hadn’t slept that well in months.”

“Honor.”

I figured he’d be stern with me, but I knew what I had done and how terrible it was. I bowed my head. “I’ll guard myself better next time, Father.”

“Of course you will.” His words brimmed with praise, and I let them hum over me, delighting me in the electric tickles of his warmth. “I’ll hear your confession now.”

The warmth dissipated, and a cold shock nearly snapped my spine.

“
What
?”

Father Raphael didn’t apologize. “Your confession, Honor. Let me hear it, we’ll pray, and then we’ll begin again.”

“Are you…? Oh my God. You’re serious.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Like
that
was the problem now. “You want me to
confess
?”

“Sit, Honor,” he ordered. I ignored it. “This was my fault. I led you into that sin, and I encouraged the lust that controlled you. Once you confess, you’ll be forgiven, and we’ll work harder next time. I
will
protect you.”

Shame was a gut-punch, but this knocked me out. Nothing was more dehumanizing than apologizing for my desire.

Except him assuming I needed some sort of guardian.

“Do you really think you have to
protect
me?”

“Yes.”

“You think I can’t resist temptation on my own?”

He was silent. I gritted my teeth.

“Father, what happened last night was not a failure of my
faith
or
spirit
. It was a natural reaction of my body. I couldn’t have stopped it.”

“You asked for it, Honor.” I heard the curled edge of his words, whispered in a proud smirk.

“And
you
gave in. You didn’t stop. You helped me.”

“I am not your enemy.”

“I never said you were.”

“Why are you upset? I’m here to help you.”

Then why did he sound so…

Smug
.

“Why do you want me to confess? Do you want to hear me beg for forgiveness like I begged to—”

I couldn’t say the word.

Father Raphael sighed. “Consider this your…second original sin. I will cleanse it, and you’ll learn from me how to combat these urges.”

“Because
you
fought them last night.”

“Yes.”

“And that wasn’t your kiss last night?” I hissed the words. “That wasn’t you hand-feeding me cake? Tasting me. Pleasuring me?”

“It was, yet I resisted the urge to take you.”

“You were ready too, Father. Ready and panting and just as desperate as me.”

“But I didn’t lose control.”

Again, that tone. A sanctimonious arrogance shadowed his words in a false halo of purity.

I knew what this was now. Why he invited me to the confessional. Why he twisted my words and prided himself when I failed to combat my desires.

“You think you’re stronger than me,” I said. “You think you’re
better
at this—like either of us have any idea what we’re doing together.”

“Honor—”

I heard the amusement that time. Father Raphael took
pleasure
in his game.

And it ended now.

I slid from the bench and burst from the confessional, but I didn’t leave the church. I aimed for the compartment where he waited for me. I yanked the door open.

“Strictly speaking…” Father Raphael gestured to his side of the confessional. “You aren’t supposed to be in here.”

“Then I’ll have to confess for that too, won’t I?”

The door slammed behind me, and I stared at this man in the dark and quiet. He placed his Bible on the bench beside him. His eyes flashed, and his brow furrowed. Stubble darkened his chin, the strength of his jaw.

Why was a man this handsome a priest?

And why did a priest control so much of my desire?

Why wasn’t he as desperate and destroyed as me?

“Say it,” I said. “Tell me you think you’re
better
than me.”

“I never said that.”

“Then what is it you believe?”

He shrugged, but even the lift of his shoulders accompanied some twisted delight.

“We’re playing a dangerous game,” he said.

“I thought it was a test of our faith.”

“It is. The greatest test.”

I frowned. “And I failed?”

“Isn’t that why you confessed your feelings and desires here only a few weeks ago?”

My neck prickled, the hair raising in impatient fury. “Don’t pretend you weren’t suffering too.”

“I’m in control of my desires, Honor.”

“It’s easy when you aren’t being challenged.”

He smiled, and the flick of his lips both tormented and teased me. “My angel, you were naked, quivering, and begging for me last night. We embraced in the privacy of my home, where I might have taken you, ruined you, and sated myself. I am a priest, but I’m also a man. Believe me. That was my greatest challenge.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His words were calm and infuriating.

“It’s okay to feel confused, Honor.”

“Don’t you
dare
patronize me.”

I should have left then. Should have wadded up what was left of my pride and stormed out until my wounds healed and I learned from my horrible mistakes.

Instead, like a fool, I faced the man who caused every shiver, every weakness, every doubt in my soul.

“If the roles had been reversed,
Father
, do you think you’d have resisted me?” I asked. “If I fell to my knees here, right now, and pleasured you the way you pleasured me—hands and mouth, lips and tongue—can you
honestly
say you wouldn’t have committed same
sins
as I did?”

His expression shifted, and the sculpted angles of his face were lost to the shadow of the confessional. He stiffened, in more ways than one.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said. “You’ve proved your point.”

“But I haven’t. You won’t understand until you realize how impossible it is to resist someone who
wants
to give you pleasure.
You
did this to me last night, and you deserve to see how it feels when someone chastises you for it.”

“Now you want…retribution?” He laughed. “Revenge?”

I didn’t know what possessed me. I dropped to my knees right there in the confessional. My breath hitched as I struck the wood, but his wide eyes encouraged me.

“You wanted to prove we could resist temptation,” I said. “I want to prove neither of us have any control over it.”

His voice lowered. “And how will you prove this?”

“The same way you did it to me.”

He watched with amusement as I cursed the insane amount of buttons securing his cassock, but he chuckled and helped to move aside the bulky robe. I stared at the pants beneath. Of
course
he’d shield himself in another layer of material.

I had no idea what I was doing, and the few instincts I possessed were the ones which had so humiliated me last night. I’d practically begged for a man who took more joy in the desperation he caused than the pleasure he offered.

Sadist. Villain.

Beautiful, forbidden man.

I knew how a man would like to be pleased. It didn’t take experience, only dedication. Attention.

Adoration.

I reached for his trousers, unfastening the button and drawing the zipper down. We tensed, amazed by how close I knelt to that dark and powerful part of him. I met his gaze. Unafraid.

I wasn’t confessing until he sinned as well. I wouldn’t beg for absolution until he realized whatever
control
he possessed was no more powerful, no more righteous than mine.

And yet, I wasn’t prepared for him.

I pulled his hardness from his pants and nearly crossed myself.

God, be merciful to me, a sinner…

I couldn’t grip the entire width of his shaft. A timid tug on his flesh didn’t measure him in estimated inches but stunned amazement. I blamed my virginity for not knowing, not realizing, how
impressive
he could be.

This wasn’t his
manhood
.

This was a
cock
.

Thick and rigid and pulsing in my hand with a rugged heat which might have scorched my skin.

For so long, I thought the collar around his neck made his decisions and guided his life. Had I realized the collar was simply a way to bind the animalistic aspect of him, I might’ve respected the cassock more.

“Oh, God, Father. Why did you join the
clergy
?”

Father Raphael shuddered. His words were dark.

“It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse.”

“No…” My mouth watered. “It’s beautiful.”

I squeezed it, watching as this powerful, intimidating man flexed his hips. The motion drove the shaft deeper into my hand.

“You’ve made your point, Honor,” he warned.

“I haven’t.” Was it pride or selfishness speaking now? “Not until you feel the same desperation I suffered yesterday.”

“Every day I experience that ache, my angel.”

“And what if I relieved it for you, like you did for me?”

“I won’t allow it.”

“Why?”

His cock hardened. The head, thick and pulsing, begged for the same attention he’d offered me.

“I’m protecting myself. My vows. My calling. My morals.” Father Raphael met my gaze. “Take your pick of all or any.”

“Don’t you think I suffered the same conflicts yesterday?” I asked.

“I know you did.”

“Then what’s the difference between us?”

He leaned back, watching as my fingers timidly squeezed over his flesh.

“I can stop myself,” he said.

“Are you so sure?”

He waved a hand, so subtle and quick had I not been staring at this amazingly frustrating man, I’d have missed his permission.

His
challenge
.

He’d regret that arrogance.

I licked my lips before bringing him to my mouth. We both tensed, but a surge of desire stole my words and thoughts. I captured him between my lips and welcomed his hot, pulsing head upon my tongue.

How could something so hard, so rigid, so
intimidating,
have such velvet skin?

Father Raphael closed his eyes. His head struck the confessional wall.

His body trembled.

He clutched his bible.

The clatter of rosaries captured between the bench and his fingers.

And I drew him into my mouth, deeper and deeper, swallowing as much of his length as I could take while still delivering him the pleasure he deserved.

This was a sin—though technically everything outside of marriage and without the express desire for procreation was a sin. Still, this felt worse. Bad.

I teased a priest. I
pleasured
a priest. I took him in my mouth and flicked my tongue over his thick, hardening shaft.

This was
wrong
.

So why didn’t I stop?

I hummed in pleasure as he caressed my cheek, his rosaries clenched in his fingers. He tasted of salt, smelled of delicious incense, and grunted the harsh breath of a pleased man. I sucked and swallowed, pulled him from my mouth to kiss the tip and lash my tongue over the thick vein which pulsed so desperately for me.

Every movement, every motion, every leisurely lick twisted his hand in my hair.

He wanted me.

He
loved
this.

And I savored the salty rush of his desire. A little dollop of his excitement escaped as a prelude to his greatest sin.

His lips moved in a quiet prayer. Latin.

He had to pray in
Latin
to protect himself from the pleasure I created.

I’d never felt so confident. So powerful.

So amazed that I could create this type of sensation in another person—

The door to the sanctuary crashed open, and the frantic click of heels rushed to the confessional.

Oh God. Someone was
here
.

I lurched back. Father Raphael adjusted the screen, nearly slamming it closed as the woman collapsed into the bench on the other side of the thin wall. Her purse clattered to the ground, and she ended her phone conversation with a hushed promise to return the call.