Page 21 of Forgive Me, Father

He leans in, kissing me slow and deep. His lips are warm and gentle, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes my heart flutter, my stomach dance with excited butterflies. When he pulls back, there’s an intensity in his blue eyes. “I’ve never felt more right than I did inside you,” he whispers.

I’m still crying, but they’re tears of happiness now. Of joy. I let out a shaky breath, resting my forehead against his. He wraps his arms around me, holding me against him. I can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. He strokes my hair, his touch comforting. Soothing.

“I’m your home now, Olivia, and you’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but intense. “Being a priest was my past. Being with you is my future. Being with you is everything.”

And then we’re kissing again, so wrapped up in each other that we don’t even notice when the water starts to go cold.

Ten

Gabriel

I take a deep breath and then splash a bit of cold water on my face from the sink in the church bathroom. It’s been a long day, busy with work, and I’ve been distracted by thoughts of Olivia and missing her. It’s only been about thirty-six hours since we left that hotel suite, but I feel her absence like a physical ache. We’ve texted and talked on the phone, but she’s been busy with work and taking care of Alessandro’s debts, and so have I with figuring out my next steps and planning Sunday’s mass, which will be my last here at St. Michael’s. But knowing I’ll get to see her at tonight’s Bible study has kept me going today.

I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, my attention snagging on the white collar at my throat. I trace my fingers over it, wondering if it always felt this tight, or I’m just so much more aware of it now.

One thing’s for certain: this isn’t who I am anymore. I used to feel incomplete if I wasn’t wearing it. Now, I’m counting down the hours until I can take it off.

I’ve already drafted my letter requesting laicization. It’s a formal request to be dismissed from the priesthood and to live as a lay person. I’ve also requested a dispensation for my vow of celibacy (already broken, but what the bishop doesn’t know won’t hurt him) because of my desire to marry and have a family. I’m optimistic that it’ll go through smoothly, but it could be months or even years before I’m free to marry Olivia. That hasn’t stopped me from looking at rings, though. I’ll have to save up, having spent so much money on the auction, but I have no regrets. She’s worth it. I’d do it over and over again.

I haven’t told anyone else that I’m leaving, yet. I’m planning to share that news with both my colleagues and my parishioners on Sunday.

I don’t regret becoming a priest. It was who I was for over a decade. But life is taking me in another direction, and I feel called to follow it. It’s time to move on and into a future that’s bigger and brighter than anything I could’ve imagined.

I dry my face and then head back into the church basement hallway. I stop by a storage closet, grabbing a few boxes of cookies, and then push through the swinging doors into the church’s dated but clean kitchen.

I go very still.

Olivia stands at the worn laminate counter, knife in hand as she cuts the tops off of fresh, ripe strawberries. Her long hair is swept up into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing a mint green dress covered in a print of tiny white flowers. She looks up, her pretty gray eyes meeting mine, and blood rushes to my cock. For several seconds, we just stare. It’s like time stops. The world around us vanishes.

All I can see is her. Even in the ugly fluorescent lighting of the kitchen, she’s glowing. Ethereal.

Mine.

I take a couple of slow steps toward her, and her lips curve up in a smile. I grin back, keeping my eyes on her face. If I let myself look at the hint of cleavage peeking out of her dress, I’ll lose it. I can’t be thinking about her luscious tits and how fucking good her nipple feels in my mouth right now. I can’t let my eyes slip slower, down to her round, spankable ass that I want to sink my teeth into.

“Father,” she says, her voice sweet, her gaze demure, jostling me out of my filthy thoughts. Despite the hint of shyness in her voice, her eyes sparkle with awareness, and I know she’s right there with me. Is she thinking about how good I felt as I moved inside her? How hard she came on my fingers, my tongue, my cock?

Her cheeks go pink, and my grin widens.

My sweet, dirty girl.

Her gaze drops briefly down to my throat—my collar—and then back up to mine. Electric warmth races down my spine and straight to my heavy balls.

I clear my throat. “Olivia,” I say, tilting my head as I set the boxes of cookies on the counter. “It’s…nice to see you.” We’re alone, but someone else could walk in at any second. One of the other members of the Bible study, or a church staff member. For now, we have to be careful. Not for my sake, but for hers. I don’t care what happens to me. But I won’t have her become the subject of ruthless church gossip and scorn.

She swallows and slices another strawberry. “You too,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder. “You know I never miss a Bible study.”

I move closer, standing only a foot behind her. “Yes. You’ve always been very…devout.”

Her breath hitches. “I’d love to show you just how devout, Father. Maybe on my knees in the confessional?”

“An excellent idea,” I manage, brushing against her as I reach into the cupboard above her for plates. I hear her soft moan at our brief contact, the sound going straight to my aching cock. Moving away, I set the plates down and then get out the large serving platter, arranging cookies in neat rows. I glance over at her, catching her looking at me before she ducks her head down, returning her attention to the fruit. Her cheeks are pink, and the bodice of her dress is fitted enough that I can see how quickly she’s breathing.

We work in silence for several moments, sneaking glances at each other like two smitten teenagers, biting back smiles. The clack of her knife against the cutting board, the rattling of the church’s old air conditioning system and the hum of the fridge are the only sounds in the room, but I can barely hear them around my drumming heart. It’s as though every particle of me is charged and drawn to her, and every time she moves, I feel it, deep in my gut. Every glance, every sigh, every small shift.

Fucking hell, I need to be inside her. I want to live inside her. I thought I was obsessed with her before, but now that I know what she feels like, tastes like, what she sounds like as she calls me Daddy and asks me to make her come…I’m consumed. I can’t breathe without thinking of her.

Unable to help myself, I move the tray of cookies aside and prop my hip on the counter beside where she’s working. I pick up a strawberry from her cutting board, examining it.

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