Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 127(@200wpm)___ 102(@250wpm)___ 85(@300wpm)
I look away while the Monsignor crosses the room to examine the crotch of my pants, my temper stirring at the indignity.
He hums in his throat. “It appears you passed the first test, Father McDaniel.” He splits an ominous look between the two of us. “The next one will not be so easy.”
Chapter Six
Farrah
I’m a whore.
I sit on a stone bench overlooking the green valley surrounding the cathedral, watching the sun lighten the sky. It’s a beautiful sight. One I rarely have a chance to witness from inside the high walls of the village, but I cannot fully enjoy the splendor, because I am accepting my true self.
I’m not a good person who was simply born into bad circumstances.
I’m the kind of woman who easily lies to a priest. A monsignor, no less.
I enjoy sexual acts. To a degree that I fear is unnatural.
When I woke up this morning, I sank my teeth into the feather down of my pillow, remembering Rune’s thickness against my panties. How I bucked and ground myself so shamelessly on his lap in nothing but a pair of underwear. How much I loved the fullness of Rune’s stiff, heavy sex in my mouth, how rewarding it was to elicit his climax, taste the salty wash of him down my throat.
Hide my sin down deep in your tummy.
I press my hands to my cheeks, feeling them burn. But the redness is not from humiliation. It’s from the horror of what I learned about myself. I’m a whore. I’m a woman who wants Father McDaniel to lie on top of me, to rut me. Despite the consequences.
Daddy.
That word continues to whisper through my mind, making my palms clammy, my pulse inconstant. Low and syrupy one minute, pounding the next.
I want to whimper that name in his ear while his big shaft stretches me from the inside. I want to sit with him in the stillness, have him to stroke my hair lovingly and call himself that name. She’s a good girl for her Daddy.
Something must be wrong with me.
Who gets paid to tempt a priest from his calling?
Who wants that priest to touch her naked body in reverence and praise her?
A whore.
A swallow gets stuck in my throat, the horizon blurring in front of me—
“Farrah,” says a voice, coming from behind me.
Rune.
I swipe the moisture from my eyes, turning my head to look up at him and…oh my, he’s incredible in the morning light, his vivid green eyes serious, his hair being pulled this way and that in the wind, his extra-large hands folded in front of him, a rosary twining through his fingers. He’s wearing a black robe this morning, that white collar resting against his jugular.
The picture of holiness. And all I can think about are his kisses.
How they made me feel like I’d been set on fire. How happily I’d perish in that blaze.
“Farrah,” he says, frowning. “You’re upset.”
“The sunrise is just so beautiful,” I say, haltingly.
A beat passes. “You’re crying over the sunrise?”
He sounds skeptical and honestly, I don’t have the strength right now to lie. Not after the whoppers I told last night. So I simply stare straight ahead, letting the wind dry my face, trying desperately to keep my breathing even when Rune takes a seat on the bench beside me, his attention zeroed in on me. “Now tell me the truth.”
“The truth from me?” I say with muffled sarcasm. “That would be a first.”
Rune’s head tips forward briefly. “You regret our actions last night. That’s why you’re crying.”
“No,” I whisper, fussing with the hem of my worn, mint green morning dress. “I’m crying because I don’t regret them.”
He attempts to take a slow, measured breath, but it’s as rocky as I feel. “Continue.”
I close my eyes, because looking at him makes me feel achy between my thighs, in the furthest down regions of my belly. In the middle of my chest. “After my parents died from an illness when I was a toddler, my aunt raised me. She did as fine a job as possible, considering her limited resources. She taught me to read and write. The difference between right and wrong. We’ve stolen to eat on occasion and found ways to make coin that some would consider lowly. But through all of it, I managed to believe I was…good. But I’m not. I’m not good at all.”
“What?” He’s visibly perplexed. Maybe even outraged. “Not…good? Farrah—”
“One time, Mr. Tandy said my hair is red for a reason. I was born to be a man’s plaything. After last night, I’m starting to wonder if he was right.”
“He was not right, that bastard. You are better than good, Farrah. Your spirit is a wild and beautiful thing.” He slams a fist to his chest. “It’s me who has corrupted you.”
“You were fine being pious and celibate until I came along.”