Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52190 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
“Just, breathe,” I mutter into the steam. “Think of something…” I’m not sure if self-talk is the way to go right now, but I already know what’s coming next.
Where my dirty mind is headed.
Yes, Father. I have sinned.
That’s the ticket. A swelling burst of shuddering wonder stutters my breath, flexing whatever muscles that connect to the gathering delight in my core.
That’s it. Right there.
Do all clits look the same? Or, are they like…dicks? Not that I’ve seen any in person, just the pictures my friends would flash at me from their phones and from what I’ve gathered, there is a wide variety. But clits?
I’ve never been a porn girl, and the worst my dad had tucked in his nightstand was an ancient Playboy so there was plenty of bush in the 80’s but none of the inner workings, so to speak, were on display.
I’m working myself out with the tips of my fingers and it’s easy to find. As the pleasure gathers, it gets harder, a little longer, longer than—for whatever reason—I think is normal, but, gah, can I quit critiquing myself right now? I’m the only one here, who the fuck cares what my clit looks like?
That single jet of hot water is dangerously close to the apex of growing tension between my legs and I swivel my butt on the wet marble, making a weird squeak sort of farting sound where I’m stuck until I manage to maneuver myself into the perfect position.
“Oh shit.” The back of my head bounces on the stone wall as I spin my fingers on my slick open folds while the tiny jets of water dance just below.
He’s there in my mind’s eye as clear as if he was standing under the water with me. His darkness surrounded by light. Jawline square as he stares down at me, spread for him. Wide, depraved, a temptress.
“You would tempt Jesus himself into the flames of hell, Kitten? One taste and I’ll fall from grace, is that what you want?”
“Yes.” I answer into the shower spray. “I mean, no.” I mumble, steamy air thick with every breath as I imagine Father Martin’s touch, his lips, lower, down, down… “Maybe?”
“I’ve prayed on my knees many times.” The vision spins, takes flight, his black robe dropping from his shoulders, exposing a torso thick with tension, flat lines of muscle covered with swirls and thick letters.
Sinner is inscribed in the shape of a smile on his upper chest, in ornate script with a crucifix centered on his sternum as his hands come to my knees and he lowers himself in front of me.
“But you, you are the altar upon which I will break my vows. Crush my commitment to God. To the Church. Replace them with my vows and commitment to you, my Kitten. Now, close your eyes, and pray with me…”
“Our father…” I begin, imagining his voice, low and dark, vibrating with mine as we say the words together, my brains turning to scrambled eggs. “Who art in heaven…hallowed—”
Fuck.
My fantasy spins with his tongue lapping at my clit, his prayer muffled by the ministrations of his mouth on my sex. Giving, offering, taking, commanding…
“Finish the prayer, my child.”
“Be.” Oh my God.
“Thy.” Yes, yes, please, there, right there.
“Name.” I scream, this is it. It’s happening, it’s a miracle right here at Saint Margaret’s home for wayward girls…
My body takes flight. Fingers and water and moans and calls for my Father.
Not the one in heaven.
My father.
Father Martin.
Who, without his knowledge or consent, just delivered me from evil.
Or, delivered me into its hands.
CHAPTER 7
Martin
When I return to my room after taking two of my parishioner’s confessions this morning, I brace my arms on my desk, battling the urges that have rooted inside me. The control I’ve exercised over my demons and my physical urges is cracking.
I’ve never failed a test. Academic, spiritual or otherwise.
I am, if nothing else, stubborn and tenacious to my own detriment.
Those qualities have no power here. No power against the sweet, dimple-cheeked sin that’s upended my life.
Kitty.
She fell asleep on my shoulder last night, watching that damn Chocolat movie. I refused to get up and change the DVD and disturb her. Listening to her soft breathing, the way her hand moved in her sleep to rest on top of my pulsing cock, no fucking way was I ending that sooner than necessary.
I prayed while I imagined the soft heat of her body curling under me as I gave myself to her and took what’s mine, binding us forever. My back was in spasm from not moving for almost three hours, my shoulders knotted, when she finally blinked herself awake, looking around then up at me with those meadow green eyes that have me questioning every vow I’ve made to the church and God.
“What time is it?” she asked, tugging her hand from my lap as I salivated for a taste of her. The TV flickered in the darkness of the common room where we sat on the sofa, ate pizza and drank grape soda. She said that’s her favorite, so I paid my driver extra to find it for her, bring it back with the pizza, then disappear for the rest of the night.