Page 3 of Unholy Obsession

Not, like, Jesus-clean. Just… brain-clean. Soul-clean.

Something-clean.

I scan the front of the church, looking for the little booth that Catholic churches always have, but there’s nothing. No tiny wooden box to tuck myself inside with a little sliding panel between me and salvation.

I chew my lip, debating. Maybe I can make my confession to the priest face-to-face? Is that a thing?

Why does he have to be so goddamn hot? How am I supposed to confess my sins to a priest Iwant to climb? Especially when the sins I need to confess are all about fucking?

I get in the line, still not sure what I’m going to do. Maybe just slip out the door and chalk this up as another ridiculous one-off impulse?

I scratch at my wrist in the spot that’s already raw. But it’s nothing compared to the itch that’s inside me. Ever since Friday when that crazy hot new dom made me comesohard after not being able to come for months, I’ve been itching like mad. But nothing else will do it. Believe me, I spent all weekend wearing out every vibrator I’ve got to recreate the feeling.

Me not being able to come is like the sun not rising. Sex is my failsafe. My one sure escape. But no matter how many men I fuck or fancy vibrators I try, it doesn’t matter. I’ve been fucking broken ever since last year when?—

I shake my head, scratching harder at my wrist.

But thenhewalked into the club like a fucking god. So dark and sexy and mysterious in that skull mask, commanding my body in a way no one ever has before. Bringing me back to life. Talk aboutresurrection.

Then he didn’t show up on Saturday.

God, I’ve been dying for his touch ever since, and what’s worse, I don’t know when or if I’ll ever get it again. I couldn’t sleep last night. So I drove to the club this morning, planning to wait until they opened tonight, praying the mysterious dom would appear again.

But once I got to the club, I realized how ridiculous it was to just sit in my car for twelve hours like some kind of desperate stalker. So I got out. Started walking. And when I heard the organ music, something inside me just?—

I don’t know. Snapped.

I mean, I’m not generally given to introspection, but this weekend, everything has felt tougher than usual.

Something’s got to change.

Ihave to change.

It’s time. It’sbeyondtime. I just don’t know how.

So, for the first time in years, I wandered through the doors of a church.

Not that I’ve got any actual hope for help. After last year, betraying my brother in the deepest way possible, even if I didn’t mean to?—

“What are you doing here?”

I startle at the question, blinking up at the priest.Holy shit.Up close, he’s even more devastating. Sharp jaw, dark eyes, lips that look like they were made for sin instead of sermons.

“I need to confess,” I blurt.

His expression doesn’t change. But his eyes…

“We don’t do confession like that here.” His voice is even and unreadable.

I falter. “But—I thought?—”

“That’s Catholicism,” he says. “Episcopalians don’t do confession like that.”

I should leave. Apologize for wasting his time. But my body feels glued in place, buzzing with something I don’t understand.

Then his gaze drops to my wrist, where I’m still scratching.

“We might not do confession like you’re used to,” he says, voice low, eyes intense, “but I can still listen. Tell me what troubles you.”

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