Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51427 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 171(@300wpm)
“Gabe, these last three nights have been incredible,” I begin.
“They have,” he says, tightening his grip on my hand.
“And I’ve had some trust issues with guys. A lot of trust issues, to be honest. I’ve picked poorly before, like I told you. But it’s different with you.”
A small smile forms on his lips. “Yeah?”
I nod. “I trust you so much,” I say, and finally, this feels right.
This admission is scary.
But it’s true, and it’s something I want him to know. “I feel safe with you, Gabe. At first, I didn’t know the reason—I just felt it. Safety.”
“Good. I want you to.”
“But now I know why,” I say, giddy with understanding.
“Tell me.”
“Because of how you treat me out of bed. You treat me like a queen,” I say, holding his gaze. “And that’s why I feel safe with you. I’ve always been fascinated with my own limits,” I say, and I’m not scared anymore. It’s a thrill to tell him my truth. It’s freeing to share my desires with a man who wants me to feel safe all the time, in and out of bed. “And there’s one more thing I’ve been wanting to try,” I say.
“Anything. Tell me anything,” he says, desperate.
I take a beat, run a hand down his arm. “I’ll tell you…in confession.”
21
FORGIVE ME, FATHER
Gabe
Her heels click against the white tiled floor, then the sound muffles when she comes into my bedroom, the plush carpet absorbing the noise. She must have brought those shoes with her. She wore sandals at the park. She packed for this scene, and that excites me.
Seated in a high-back chair on one side of the open closet door, I’m wearing a black button-down and slacks. My priest costume.
There’s a chair on the other side of the door.
“Good evening, Father,” she says, in a soft voice.
“Good evening,” I say as she sits.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she begins, her tone contrite. “It’s been…oh gosh. Oh no.” She sounds so terribly worried. “Actually, I don’t know how long it’s been since my last confession.” She lets out a shuddery breath. “I can’t focus though. I can’t think.”
This wasn’t scripted. But fuck it. She’s always been the director of our scenes, throwing me for loops. She makes the choices. I just roll with them. “Why can’t you think, my child?”
“Because…Father,” she says, her tone a little trembly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
It comes out borderline sensual.
“I’m new,” I improvise.
“Ohh. That’s good to know,” she says, breathy, almost a purr.
This woman is going to push all my buttons tonight. When Ellie role-plays, she fucking plays. She is all in. And I have to hold my own. Adjust to her character. Clearing my throat, I adopt a stern voice. Tonight, I’ll be the merciless priest.
“Why don’t you start by confessing your biggest sins,” I command.
There’s a rustle of clothes. The sound of movement. She’s fidgeting with something, maybe that new necklace she’s wearing tonight. “Gosh, there are so many, Father. I don’t know where to begin. I’ve had such a busy week.”
Me fucking too.
I tug on my collar, like that’ll turn down the temperature that’s rising in me. “Start with your sins from the last week, my child.”
“Are you sure? I was pretty bad. Do you want them all?” There’s a teasing lilt to her words.
“Yes, I want them all,” I say crisply, matching her vixen with my domination. “Start now.”
I can’t see her face, but I can see her legs. She crosses those toned calves, one heel resting on the other.
My breath races along with my thoughts. Those legs spread-eagled on my bed. Those heels on my shoulders. Her standing in front of the bathroom mirror.
It’s like she can read my mind, the way she rubs the red toe of her shoe against the inside of her calf. “I had impure thoughts about a man,” she begins, like she regrets her dirty mind.
“Just thoughts? Tell the truth, my child,” I order.
I can hear her swallow nervously. “Fine. They were more than thoughts.”
I sit up straighter. “Tell me what you did. Don’t leave out a single, salacious detail,” I tell her. “This is your penance. You must confess every filthy, lascivious tidbit.”
She lets out a nervous breath. “He spanked me, Father. And I liked it. I liked it so much when he hit me, and he marked me, and he made me hiss,” she coos in a rush.
And the temperature hits Death Valley levels or higher. The admission that she likes it—even though I know, I fucking know, I was there—cranks my engine.
I adjust myself in my seat, then hiss out in a mean voice, “You’ll need penance for that, but I can’t give it to you until you finish describing all of your grievous sexual sins to me.”
She gasps. “As you wish, Father.”