Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (3 page)

I didn’t renounce
my faith, and I couldn’t destroy my soul, but every moment I denied that most
inescapable fault of my wicked flesh, I ached in absolute agony.

He ordered it from
me. He listened. He watched. He waited.

And I surrendered
to sin.

I needed nothing
more than the circle of my fingers over the soft cotton of my panties. His
soft, hushed breathing fueled me. I brushed hard against myself, pinching my
eyes shut so I could hide from the confessional, the Bible, the bench where I
should have knelt before my priest and begged for forgiveness.

Instead of begging
for him.

I didn’t say the
words, the prayer never touched my lips, but I thought it.

I wanted it.

Every flick and
circle and strike of that sensitive, overwhelmed secret cradled me in a
pleasure and fear and a
hope
that once I had succumbed, I could be free
of this. I could have my deliverance. Forgiveness.

Pleasure.

Passion.

Desire.

I didn’t mean to
whimper, but Father Raphael soothed my quiet mew with a soft and comforting
hush—so confident and commanding I would have silenced forever if it meant
earning another moment of pleasure within his shadow.

My body tensed
without the shackles of morality. I surrendered to his scent of sandalwood, the
quiet authority in his voice, and his perfectly still,
vigilant
silhouette watching as I bucked against my fingers.

I wasn’t practiced
at this, but my hips arched and instinct overwhelmed me. A shudder struck me.
Then another. The heat crippled my body, and I held my breath as everything
silenced in my own moment of weakness.

“Now, my angel.”

I came.

Panting. Silent.

Shaking.

What had I done? I
shifted, the heat coursing through me in a release of all tension and pain.

Except one.

Shame
.

Father Raphael
spoke with a grave authority. “Honor, I will forgive this moment, but you must—”

“
No
.”

I couldn’t stand.
My legs trembled, weak and wobbly. I crashed against the confessional door. The
door slammed against the wooden frame, and the echo clattered through the empty
sanctuary.

I burst into the
pews, my sweat turning to chills. What precious relief I stole was now bathed
in dread.

He followed. I knew
he would. I felt him approach.

“Honor.” Father
Raphael called to me, strict and severe.

I wasn’t prepared
to face him. I stared away, down, at anything but the black cassock that draped
his form. He stood in that perfect, holy darkness, unbroken in black robes save
for the hint of white at his collar.

I didn’t dare look
at his face, share his stare, or stay within his presence.

“Honor, you
will
be absolved,” he said. “It is my decision, my choice to forgive you for the
sins I have caused.”

“You don’t
understand.”

I backed away from
him, still clenched, still
aching
from a relief I could no longer give
myself.

Not when it wanted
more.

Not when my body
craved
him.

“My angel, I will
lead you from this temptation.”

“You can’t.”

Father Raphael
stepped too close. I pushed from him, stepping away, blinking tears and hating the
truth of why I came here tonight.

It wasn’t to
absolve myself.

Just the opposite.

“Father, I didn’t
confess because I had impure thoughts…” I whispered. “I confessed because I
liked
them. Because I
want
to have them. Because I want you in those
fantasies.”

“Honor—”

“Forgive me,
Father.”

I didn’t let him
reach for me.

I ran from the church.

His imagined
shadow followed me home and lingered in my thoughts, my heart.

And in my bed.

No temptation has
overtaken you that is not common to man - 1 Corinthians 10:13.

I
breathed
the passage, lived the scripture, and revered it as truth.

Those words were
the only reason I hadn’t succumbed to temptation long ago, to forces less
dangerous and more unworthy than Honor Thomas.

I hadn’t slept.
Hadn’t eaten. My cold shower did little to alleviate the
strain
which
shook my body and nearly destroyed my vows.

I closed my eyes. I
still saw her, heard her,
felt
her.

Honor’s beauty was
not simply found in the sable richness of her skin, though I imagined she was as
lovely as Solomon’s dark
Shulamite woman. My angel was worthy of
song and praise, poem and touch, from
the ebony twist of her curls to the feminine tease of her hips. Her silken skin
hid within modest skirts and blouses, and the innocence of her eyes widened the
almond roundness into the playful glimmer of something more…something virginal.

And so very dangerous.

I’d left the
confessional after she ran from the church, but I’d stayed all night in the
sanctuary to pray. It hadn’t helped. I ached to hear the twisted and forbidden
words which reluctantly tumbled from her lips…lips which deserved the grace of
a kiss, not the foul venom of sin.

I’d prayed for
her. I’d prayed for me.

And now I prayed
for the strength to stand without…revealing how dramatically her confession still
stirred me.

All animals
suffered from temptation. Restraint was the only trait which separated a man
from beast when words whispered soft, breaths panted, and a body’s heat
threatened to burn the confessional in a sinner’s desire.

But I was neither
man nor beast. I was a priest.

And I’d nearly
destroyed myself. I’d failed Honor.

The devil sent an
angel to tempt me. I didn’t fear it. I’d overcome those weaknesses so I could
protect her, prove she could resist the darkness, the confusion…

I’d ensure she was
strong enough to resist me.

The day passed in
a blur of prayer, frustrations, and headaches. I finally slipped from the
church in the late afternoon, and I came to the one man who might have helped.

But he needed no
more burdens.

I twisted my
rosaries, but I stumbled over the Hail Mary. I never could concentrate in the
hospital. Nurses hurried through the halls, pushing carts and checking on
patients. It wasn’t a place of rest, and the industrial lighting and
disinfectant in the air set me on edge.

When I was
ordained five years ago, I looked upon hospitals as a place of great hope. The
sick were healed, the doctors’ earned the Lord’s grace, and lives were saved.

I didn’t believe
that anymore. Then again, I didn’t wait within the hospital wing. They had moved
Bishop Benjamin Polito to the hospice.

That was a different
place entirely—a purgatory of morphine and muted televisions, weeping families,
and exhausted men, women, and children waiting for the end. Here, the sick
didn’t fear the priest roaming the halls. They eagerly awaited him. They were
ready to go.

“Father Rafe?”

Anne worked most
afternoons. She wasn’t Catholic, but she respected me and the man she looked
after during his final days. Her smile was kind, and her voice bubbly, even to
those who hadn’t had a reason to hope for a long time. Benjamin liked her as
his nurse. So did I.

“He’s awake now.”
She gestured for me to follow, though I knew the way. I appreciated her support.
Most days, her job wasn’t simply to comfort the patients. She helped those who
walked a half-step behind her, hesitating to enter the rooms. “There’s been no
change in his condition, but…”

I knew what to
expect. “Thank you, Anne.”

“Just call if he
needs anything.”

She left me. I
waited at the door.

It was supposed to
be easier than this—confronting those who were soon to die. I taught and
believed that this life became the next, and paradise awaited those with a
clean soul.

And yet I
hesitated outside his room, preparing myself for what I would find.

That was twice I had
faltered—first with the innocent angel who had needed me, and now for the old
friend who laughed at me from his bed.

“Rafe, get in
here…did you bring that case
again
?”

Bishop Benjamin
Polito was once a man of life, vitality, and one pepperoni pizza too many. He’d
always joked that it would be heart disease that finally
got
him. The
pancreatic cancer surprised most of the diocese. It surprised me.

Benjamin waved an
unfamiliar, skinny arm towards the empty chair at his bedside. The IV clanked
against the bed’s rails, and he muttered under his breath. His laugh rasped
into a cough, and he tugged the saline drip.

“Had to make sure
it was just the IV…” He winked. “I got tubes coming out of places that’d make
Mother Mary blush, if you catch my drift.”

Everyone…everywhere…understood
Benjamin.

I sat at his side.
“Father, are you feeling…”

“One, don’t call
me
Father
unless you mean it. We don’t need any formality here, Rafe.
Second…you know the answer to that question.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Not at the moment…though
a rough tug on that other wire might finally get me walking again.” The chemo had
taken his hair, but it hadn’t claimed his smile. He batted at me, too tired to
reach my arm. “Oh, laugh once in a while, Rafe. It won’t kill you. Now cancer…that’ll
do it.”

A laugh felt like
sacrilege given the events of last night and how miserable it was to watch my
mentor waste away in a hospice bed. But a priest wasn’t selfish. Benjamin had
taught me that. The collar bound the man inside, and the priest offered himself
to the world, his parish, and those he meant to serve.

I stood and
unbuckled the case.

“You’re anointing
me
again
?” Benjamin coughed.

“Yes.”

“There comes a
point in a man’s life when he is ready to pass, Rafe.”

“I’m doing what I
can.”

“If you had it
your way, you’d grease me up and slip me through the bars of the Pearly Gates.”
Benjamin grinned. “Got news for you, son. I’m gonna be dead soon. I don’t mind
waiting for my invitation on the inside.”

The vials and
books clanked in the case. While away from their desk, most men carried their
laptop and files from work. I did too, but I also secured holy water and oils,
wine and wafers with Velcro to the interior of my briefcase. Mobile Mass, the
parish called it. Efficiency in times of need.

“Don’t you do it.”
Benjamin pointed at me. “Put the stole down.”

I held the silk
vestment with a frown. “You
don’t
want to be blessed?”

“Not for the
third
time since I came to the hospice.”

“It’s a comfort.”

“For whom?” He let
the question hang and then offered a wave. “All right, all right. Come on then.
Let’s do it.”

I’d faked a smile,
and he indulged the blessing. It was the only kindness we could offer each
other now, no matter how ineffective it felt.

I bowed at his
bedside, beginning the prayers. Benjamin crossed himself with me, murmuring the
words.

“In the name of
the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit…”

Benjamin knew the
process, but he listened intently, smiling as I spoke.

Proud
.

My chest
tightened. He was always so proud of everything I’d done, and I hoped he
realized it was all because of him. Though the words of the Anointing asked for
the Lord to save the sick one’s soul, it was Benjamin who had saved mine.

I sprinkled holy
water and bowed my head. “Do you have anything you wish to confess?”

“Not since the
last time you asked me,” Ben said. “Not much cause to sin now. It’s not even
good entertainment.”

I knew he took the
sacrament seriously—when I was a teenager, he had forced me to scrub the steps outside
the church with a toothbrush for a similarly flippant answer. He appreciated
and welcomed the anointing, but he tried so hard to keep my spirits up.

I wished that one
day, I’d be as great a man as he was. It’d never happen, but I could wish.

We prayed, and I
anointed him with the oil. Even that extra prayer taxed him. He took communion
though his hand trembled to cross himself.  The nurses waited as long as they
could before they interrupted to place the oxygen at his nose.

Death was ugly and
terrible, but my friend, mentor, brother, father met it with every grace a man
of God could hope to achieve.

“Thank you,” he
said. The nurses left us again, and he patted my hand. “Rafe, why are you here
at my bedside? You have better, more important work at the parish. I know for a
fact you owe a day at the diocese’s office too.”

“Part of my duties
are to attend the sick. I’m attending.”

“You are not. You’re
looking for guidance.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“Depends if you’re
receptive to the words of a dying man.”

“I’ve always
listened to you, Fath—Ben.”

He laughed. Not
the scratchy, joyful laugh I remembered, but one only a man facing his
mortality could gloat over his closest friend and surrogate son.

“Hardly. You know
we have different paths to righteousness. Yours is…” Ben shook his head. “A
self-inflicted difficulty.”

“Not to me,” I
said, sinking into the chair after I replaced my oils and stole in the case.

“
Especially
to you. You make it so hard on yourself, and you’ve made it harder every day of
your life. Save some room on the cross, Rafe. He died to make this
easier
for you.”

“You sure you’re
getting enough pain-killers?” I asked.

“You sure you
don’t want to anoint me again?” He snickered. “Tell me, son. What is it
you
wish to confess?”

I didn’t react.
“Who says I’m here to confess?”

“Right. I’ve only
been a priest for fifty years. What do I know?”

I didn’t answer.
Benjamin learned his patience during his years at the parish, and most of it
was my fault. His temper had cooled as he endured my foolishness, stubbornness,
and reckless interpretation of right, wrong, good, evil, and the failures of
man.

I was not one who willingly
sinned, nor was I a man who harbored it. I strived to confront that darkness
and expose it in every aspect of my soul, no matter the earthly consequences. But
now?

I never
hid
from temptation. I’d always sought it out. Studied it.
Learned
from it.
The only way I could face the light of Heaven was to burn myself on the flames
of Hell.

I never met a
temptation I couldn’t defy.

Until last night.

Until her.

Until her
admission, her whispered confession, and the moment of stolen peace, earned
from her trembling fingers
.

I had instructed
her to sin.

I should have confessed
then. Benjamin was the only priest who wouldn’t have immediately condemned me
to Hell for destroying the precious bond between Confessor and Priest.

But to reveal that
wicked misdeed, I’d have to share everything
else
.
How it felt
when she spoke my name. How my heart raced, blood boiled, and cock hardened
with her every baited whisper.

That was my sin,
and it was also my delight. The secret wickedness was meant only for me, and that
soft, forsaken mew she whimpered within the confessional would forever belong
to my soul.

And it was my
fault.

If I wanted to
save Honor, I had to first master the desires which burned through me.
Unfortunately, I had no earthly or heavenly idea how to protect myself from
such terrible beauty.

“Father…” This
sort of talk necessitated formality, titles, and respect. “You’ve had a long
life in the clergy.”

“Yes.”

“How did you learn
to deny temptations?”

Benjamin took a
deep breath. “Is such a thing possible?”

I was beginning to
think
no
. “It must be.”

“Each man is
different, Rafe.”

“I know. I thought
I understood what made me unique—my personal strengths and weaknesses.”

“Which are?”

“Faith.”

He smiled. “Faith
is both your strength and weakness?”

“My faith in the
Lord is my greatest strength…but I have no faith in man.”

“Or yourself?”

“I am a man.”