Page 5 of Lust

“Well don’t keep me hanging.” Blake winks.

I lean forward just enough for only Blake to hear my words and feel my breath along the shell of his ear. “Oh, but you know how much I love keeping you on the edge.” I hear his sharp inhale before moving back. His hazel eyes have darkened, and he licks his lip, pausing to run his tongue over the ring through the centre of his bottom lip. An image of that tongue swiping along the rim of my cock flashes through my mind before I continue. “I think they need a reminder of the sins of the flesh.” I finish off my drink and pick up the second one, swallowing half of it as Blake laughs beside me.

“If only they knew.”

“Hmm, if only.”

“I’ve always wanted to fuck in a church,” Blake says, his tone layered with excitement at the idea, grabbing at his crutch to adjust himself as he shifts on the stool.

“Fucking depraved.” I state, unable to stop the smile pulling at my mouth, nor the blood rushing to my own dick as the idea takes root in my head.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” Blake replies, and he’s not wrong.

I spendSaturday at the church, making myself available for anyone wishing to confess, which amounts to a young lad who has a crush on his female teacher and a woman in her late thirties who had wrongly judged a work colleague. After advising on how to avoid further sins and offering them a prayer, they happily went on their way.

My sins, by this point, are beyond forgiveness, and even if it were an option, I’d need to show remorse and regret. I have neither. Nobody lives a life without sin. In this world, it’s a physical impossibility. The difference between me and those who come to church are I own my perceived sins and the way I choose to live. God sure hasn’t helped me in the past, and I don’t believe he can now.

The organist arrives just after me on Sunday morning, quickly followed by Sydney Kincaid. She breezes in looking angelic with no idea she’s stepped into the devil’s lair. Her low heels click-clack on the stone floor as she sashays down the aisle, bidding a good morning to Prudence, the organist. Her eyes scan the nave, seeking the man her father has assigned in his absence, but I remain hidden in the shadows at the back, watching as she places her handbag on the front pew then proceeds to remove her coat before moving to a small cupboard behind the lectern, which houses bibles and hymn books. Gathering asmall collection of books, she walks down each row sorting and replacing missing bibles and hymn books as she goes.

Her dark shoulder length hair is tied back in a ponytail that showcases her slender neck, and the dark trousers she wears hug her body. Her top half is covered in a cream long-sleeved blouse with a high collar, falling beautifully over the swell of her breasts.

As she exits the row beside my hiding spot, I slip out from the shadows, startling her.

“Oh sh…sugar,” she exclaims, a hand going to her chest. “Roman, what…” Her words trail off as she takes in my outfit and white collar. Her eyes narrow a little as she puts two and two together. “You’re Reverend Stone?” she asks accusingly.

“I am. Nice to see you again, Sydney.” I keep my tone level of any inflection and my face blank of expression. “Your father mentioned you would be here to assist me today, should I require it.”

“I’m here every Sunday.” There is a small hint of offence in her response, like that isn’t the case. “I have placed bibles and hymn books out, replacing any missing ones. Is there anything else you would like help with?”

I sense nervousness in her words, and I like the way she obviously feels uncomfortable around me. My dick twitches, letting me know he could use a hand…literally!

Pushing the thought away, I say, “I think that is all for now. Will you be staying for the service?” Against my better judgement I step forward and stop in front of her, slipping my hands inside the pockets of my black trousers.

This close she has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact. “Of course.” Her tone is husky, and I’m unsure if it’s the angle or an indication of something else.

Either way, I refuse to act on it. Made a little harder when I’m hit with her scent. Something tropical, sweet, with a hint ofcoconut. It’s the same scent I smelt the first day I met her, and one that stayed with me for the rest of the day, clinging to my clothes where her hands touched me.

She smiles, stepping back. “Okay, well… Tea!” she blurts out. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “I’m going to make a cup of tea. Would you like one?” She points a thumb over her shoulder in some indication of the small kitchen out the back.

“That would be lovely. Thank you.” She nods, then spins on her heel and hurries away.

I let the smile I was holding back at her fumbled words break free. I’ve barely taken two steps when she reappears. Before she can ask, I say, “White with one sugar, please.”

“Okay,” she mutters, vanishing from sight again.

I’m going over my service notes when she brings my tea. Placing it on the pew beside me, I thank her without looking up. She hesitates momentarily like she has something to say but changes her mind, moving to her handbag a couple of pews in front of me. Placing her own cup down, she retrieves a phone and sits, crossing her legs. My notes forgotten, I watch as she becomes heavily invested in whatever she’s looking at, swinging her leg and biting her lip.

I suppress a groan and instead grab my cup, bringing it to my lips for a sip. The hot liquid burns, but I swallow it down, angry at her ability to hold my attention so easily. I shouldn’t be interested in her given who her father is. But I can’t seem to help myself. My eyes—and other parts of my body—disagree.

Gathering my notes, I push to my feet and slip out, needing a moment before people arrive. I’m sure Sydney can handle any members of the congregation arriving early. I dump my cup in the kitchen sink. Resting my hands on the counter, I hang my head and breathe in deeply.

Getting myself under control, I push away from the counter, straighten my clothes and prepare to give the performance ofmy life. I have to be convincing or all of this will have been for nothing.

Blake slips in midway through my service, taking a seat beside an elderly couple in the last pew, and smiling widely at me. Sydney doesn’t miss his entrance. Her eyes follow him and remain on him a minute longer once he’s seated. I catch her gaze sliding to Blake then me several times during the rest of the service, but I keep my attention on everyone but her.

Once the service is over, I take up position outside the door saying goodbye and stopping to chat with people as they leave. Several ask where Reverend Kincaid is, but most are interested in me. Who I am, where have I moved from. My favourite is if I’m married, particularly among the young women. It never ceases to amaze me how fucking nosy people are, especially given God’s condemnation of gossip.

Yeah, I did my homework. Growing up in a religious house helped, of course. That was until they discovered I like cock. I didn’t stick around to explain that I don’t mind a decent bit of pussy on occasion. Not that it would have changed anything. My parents are the epitome of homophobic and why I’ve not seen or spoken to them in years. My sexuality isn’t the only reason. No, being here is the other.

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