Page 4 of Forgive Me, Father

When I look up, I meet his gaze through the screen. His eyes are filled with an intensity I’ve never seen before.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to drag you into my problems. I just…I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“No, you did right coming to me.” He leans forward, pressing his forehead to the screen. I do the same, needing the connection. “Don’t do it,” he whispers, his voice rough. “I’ll findanother way. Just…don’t give yourself to a stranger. You deserve better than that, angel.”

My throat goes thick and achy with emotion, and more tears spill down my cheeks.

“No one’s ever said that to me. That I deserve better than…what I’ve been given.”

Our eyes meet, and his piercing blues are fierce. “We’ll find another way.”

I shake my head sadly. “There is no other way, Father. Believe me, I wish there was.”

“I can make this disappear, Olivia. You don’t have to do this. Just say the word, and I’ll help you.”

Another silence hangs between us, heavy with things both said and unsaid.

“What’s my penance?” I ask quietly, and he shakes his head.

“I think you’re more than sorry enough to satisfy God. Just…don’t do it. Please.”

I shake my head. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, and I’m not sure who I’m talking to—God, or Father Thorne. Both, I guess. “Thank you.”

I slip out of the booth without waiting for him to absolve me of my sins.

Two

Gabriel

I’m shaking. My breaths saw in and out of my chest like I’ve just run a 5K. I feel like I’ve been punched in the sternum. That there’s a hole where my heart used to be. A black, festering wound.

I’m horrified at what Olivia’s going to do.

My cock, however, is hard as steel.

I wrap my fingers around the edge of the confessional bench, squeezing so hard that my knuckles go white.

I throb in my pants, straining against the zipper. She’s so pure. So sweet and innocent. So achingly lovely. She is light, and beauty, and kindness.

How would she react if she knew those sexual thoughts I have are always about her? They have been since she walked into my church a year ago.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw her. She’d come early to mass and was sitting in a pew not far from the front. The sun was shining, streaming in through the stained-glass windows and bathing her in golden light.

She’d looked like an angel. My angel.

And then, as I’d gotten to know her, my interest—my obsession—had only grown. And for months, I tried to deny it. Tried to ignore what I felt, how my body responded to being around her. How my heart would slam against my ribs every time I laid eyes on her.

I’m a priest who’s in love with his parishioner.

It’s my deepest, darkest secret, one I haven’t shared with anyone, not even my confessor. I’ve kept my attraction to Olivia, my utter devotion to her between me and God.

I lean back against the bench and rake a hand through my hair, trying to get myself together. I’m alone for the time being, and I need to collect my thoughts. The church is quiet, save for the distant, murmured conversation between two older men and the rain on the roof.

My cock is still throbbing. It’s a relentless, aching pulse I can’t ignore.

Olivia. Her name seems to hum through my blood. I can’t stop myself from closing my eyes and picturing her face. Her huge, innocent, gray eyes, her small upturned nose, her full lips. The way she goes from pretty to stunning when she smiles. Her flawless olive skin. She’s short—at least a foot shorter than me—and built with curves that make my palms tingle. Full, round breasts. Flared hips. A peachy ass I’d die to sink my teeth into.

I’m going to hell.

---