Page 53 of Of Angels & Absolution

“Didn’t it feel good?”

“Yes,” I admit in a rush of breath. “But… But it’s wrong. Right?”

I dare to lift my gaze to his, and I find his eyes on fire with a dark heat behind his glasses.

“You know my answer to that,” he says, turning his hand over, offering it to me. I stare at his palm, his fingers, wondering how I never noticed how huge his hands are. His fingers must be four or five inches, thick and long, strong and calloused.

“You promise?” I ask, lifting my hand to his but stopping just short of taking it. I hesitate, searching his gaze, praying I can trust him.

“You’ve been taught your whole life not to trust the answers inside you,” he says. “It takes time to unlearn that. But you will, lamb.”

I slide forward off the seat, onto the kneeler, and let my hand sink into his. His strong fingers close around mine. I gaspwith shock at the hot, roughness of his palm against my soft, cold one, the way his hand engulfs mine like a father’s hand enveloping his child’s.

“Your body is holy, Mercy,” he says gently. “It is no sin to give it what it needs.”

I nod, staring at our hands.

“Did it feel like a sin when you knelt for your brother?” he asks, his voice a sultry rumble.

I hesitate only a moment. “No.”

“How did it feel?”

“It felt… In the moment, I felt powerful,” I admit, the admission making me squirm.

“You are powerful.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t feel powerful now, Father. I feel… Disposable. Everyone throws me away.”

I force my eyes to his, force myself to admit this deepest, most vulnerable fear while I face him, only inches between us.

“Perhaps it’s not you at all, but their own desires that push them away. People are often uncomfortable facing their own desires. You know this misplaced shame firsthand.”

“Who desires me?” I whisper.

“Do you have to ask?”

“Yes.”

I hate myself for needing him to say it, for even wanting him to. He’s a priest.

But he’s someone.

“I think you know the answer to this question, too,” he says gently.

“I don’t,” I say, my voice catching. “Even after what I did, Saint said I was repulsive to him. Maybe because of what I did. And Heath—he wants to hurt me, Father. Maybe he wants to kill me, like Eternity.”

“Is there anyone else who might?”

My heart is beating so hard I can’t hear my own whisper of breath when I dare to ask the most forbidden question of all. “You?”

“I am not allowed the luxury.”

“Of course,” I blurt, the heat of shame in my cheeks unbearable. “Forgive me for asking, Father.”

I try to draw my hand away, but he holds on, his grip firm, commanding.

“Your turn,” he says. “What do you desire, lamb?”

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