Page 11 of Forgive Me, Father

“Gabe,” I moan, clutching at him. It feels sinful to call him Gabe, not Father Thorne, and it only makes me want to do it again. Over and over. Like his name is a delicious, forbidden secret.

He holds me up with one arm—oh, God, that’s hot—while his free hand cups my breast through my coat. I arch into his touch, my nipples hard and aching in a way I didn’t know was possible. He groans as he touches me, his thumb brushing over my nipple. I gasp and arch into him. Even through my coat, the touch sends a jolt of pleasure through me, like a lightning bolt from my nipple to my clit.

“You feel so good, angel,” he rasps against my neck. “I’ve thought about touching you like this a thousand times.”

His words send a thrill through me, like I’m on the world’s best rollercoaster. I’ve dreamed of this, fantasized about it, but the reality is so much more intense. I’m already addicted to the feeling of his hands on my body, his mouth on my skin.

“I don’t care if I burn in hell for this,” he pants. “I need you to be mine.”

Tears prick at my eyes. He’s risking his soul for this. For me.

For a year, we’ve been silently pining for each other, thinking we were alone in our longing. But we were never alone. Just separated by circumstance.

Gabe carries me to the bed as though I weigh nothing and sets me down gently, my breath coming in ragged pants. I’m wet, restless, achy. The intensity in Gabe’s eyes makes my breath stutter in my lungs.

This still doesn’t feel real, but I’m not going to waste precious seconds questioning it.

He kneels above me on the bed, his gaze devouring every inch of me as he slowly opens my coat. His hands shake slightly, and our eyes meet. Desire pulses between us, a tangible thing. The gravity of what we’re doing isn’t lost on me. He’s breaking his vow of celibacy. For me.

A girl who just sold her virginity on a black market auction site.

We’ll burn together.

He undoes the belt of my coat and works the buttons free, slowly opening it and revealing the lacy, white lingerie I’m wearing. The bra is completely sheer, leaving my nipples visible, and the panties are the tiniest pair of underwear I’ve ever owned. Gabe’s eyes go molten and he stares at me like I’m something sacred. Like I’m forbidden fruit he’s about to devour.

“God forgive me,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I’ve dreamed of this.”

His touch is gentle, reverent as he traces the line of my jaw, the curve of my throat. His fingers dip lower, skimming the tops of my breasts, then down to my stomach. Every touch sends electricity coursing through me, making me arch into him, wanting more. So much more.

He pulls his T-shirt off over his head, revealing his broad chest and the hard muscles of his stomach. A dusting of dark hair covers his pecs and arrows down his stomach, disappearing into his jeans. The sight of him, all hard muscles and skin, makes my mouth water. Gabe isn’t a boy. He’s a man, in every single sense, and that makes me feel safe. I reach up, tracing the lines of his abs, then up his arms. His biceps are impossibly hard. He shudders under my touch, his breathing ragged.

“Olivia,” he says, his voice a growl. “If we do this, there’s no going back. You know that, right?”

I meet his gaze, my throat constricting at the torment and desire warring in his eyes. I know what he’s asking. What he’s offering. This isn’t just sex. It’s a line we’re crossing. It’s a point of no return.

“I’m sure,” I say, my voice steady. “Knowing that you want me as much as I want you…there’s no going back from that for me. You’re the only man I’ve ever wanted, Gabe.” I bite my lip. “I’m not the one breaking a sacred vow.”

“You let me worry about that, angel.” He leans down and captures my mouth in a fierce kiss. He slowly eases his weight on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. His hands are everywhere, as though he can’t decide where he wants to touch me most. I moan against his mouth, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my mouth. “You’re mine, now.” It’s a possessive statement that has my toes curling. “Mine to protect. Mine to cherish. Mine to love.”

Love.

That word seems to amplify the electricity sparking in the air.

“Yes,” I say shakily. “Yours. I’ve been yours from the day we met.”

He groans and starts kissing my neck, trailing kisses over my sensitive skin as his hands cup my breasts. I arch into his touch, moaning loudly as he thumbs my nipples through the sheer lace of my bra. The sensation is exquisite, a mix of pleasure and pain that makes me ache for more.

“Gabe,” I moan, winding my arms and legs around him. “Please.”

He looks down at me, eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want, angel,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me what you need.”

“I…” I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.” A thought occurs to me. “Wait. Have you?”

He chuckles softly, still teasing my nipples. “It’s been a long time, but yes. I have. I had a few girlfriends before I entered the seminary. I’m not a virgin.”

I nod, completely irrational jealousy making my stomach churn. “I don’t even know how old you are.”

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