Last Rites

With a sigh, Faith smoothed her dress over her knees and waited for the priest on duty to enter the other side of the confessional. She couldn’t stop the aberrant thoughts of Father Mark. He didn't look much older than her but she'd never been good at guessing people's ages. In his position he would be several years older, perhaps five or ten years her senior. That would place him at twenty-five, or maybe as old as thirty. She tossed those thoughts aside; it didn't matter to her if he was twenty years older . . . he drew her like a moth to a flame. Does he have any idea how much I want to touch him; how much I want to love him? She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip. Maybe penance would help. She should be punished for her evil lust.

Since the day she'd been commissioned to do the alterations on his vestments she had imagined his hair slipping through her fingers like silk. Guilt over her uncontrollable thoughts made her cheeks flame. This attraction she felt for Father Mark had never been in her plans.

When Uncle James came to her and asked her to watch the new priest she should have said no.

"I recognize this guy's type. He's too smooth, too charming," he'd said. "Something's not right here." Uncle James had been one of the FBI's best agents in his day, so she'd agreed, despite her misgivings. Despite the way Father Mark made her stomach clench when she looked at him. Uncle James was family and she never turned her back on family when they needed help.

The claustrophobic walls closed in, overwhelming her with thoughts of what it would feel like to be held in his arms. She shook herself when she began to imagine his lips on hers and a warm rush of desire washed through her. The panel separating the tiny cubicles slid open.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she whispered.

“Go on my child," the priest said, his voice muffled. "What has such an innocent done that could be so bad?”

“I-I have had impure thoughts about someone," she said. She cringed; this would be a lot harder than she'd anticipated.

"Ah, and who have these thoughts been about?" the priest asked.

She opened her mouth to say Mark's name but the longing for him choked her voice and the word got stuck in her throat.

"Come, child, is it someone you know? Someone you've seen in the neighborhood, or perhaps a celebrity?" he asked.

Faith shook her head even though she knew her confessor couldn't see her.

"No," she managed at last with a loud sniff.

"It is quite common to be attracted to people who are pleasant to look at, my child. I cannot determine your penance unless you tell me everything," he said.

Oh Lord, he wants me to name Father Mark. If I give his name to this priest will he find out? She couldn't stand the thought of him being offended by her fantasizing about him.

"No, child?" the priest next to her prompted.

"No, Father, my thoughts have been about the new priest.” She spoke in a rush.

"The new priest, Father Mark?" he asked. The tone of his voice changed, growing darker, not as patient or forgiving.

"Yes," she choked out, squeezing her eyes shut against her mixed feelings of lust and shame. The priest hearing her confession must think her the lowest of creatures. He didn't say anything for what felt like forever.

“What kind of thoughts, child?” he asked, breaking his silence at last.

“I have imagined his arms around me and . . . and other things.”

“I see,” he said. Heat rushed up her neck and into her cheeks. “And these other things . . . are they of a sexual nature?” His stern voice gave her pause. She blinked back tears.

“Yes,” she whispered again, and wondered if he heard her. Mortified, she forced herself to continue, hoping the confession would ease her guilt.

“I see. And have you let such thoughts control you? Have you lain in your bed at night, in the dark, and acted upon these thoughts, dreams, to . . . .”

“Yes,” she said, choking back tears. She waited for her penance. The punishment would be harsh; touching her body while she laid in her bed at night seemed bad enough, but fantasizing about a priest while doing so had to broach on the unpardonable.

She heard the priest leave the booth and blotted her eyes with a damp handkerchief. Knowing the epitome of evil lurked in the confessional, doubtless he had gone to summon the other priests to excommunicate her. The door of the confessional opened, startling her. She looked up and her breath left her lungs like she'd been gut punched. She crossed herself.

Father Mark stood before her. She felt the blood drain from her face. He'd heard her confession and now he knew. She'd never be able to show her face in church again. Silhouetted by the dim light of the church candles, he appeared silent and intimidating. A shiver coursed through her. He reached out for her hand, pulling her to her feet when he stepped into the booth, and shut the door. More wild thoughts flashed through her mind and she found herself shaking with her need for him.

She couldn't breathe and pressed her damp handkerchief to her mouth. He stepped closer and she moved her hand to his chest. Now she knew what he felt like . . . firm and muscular, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. Her shyness had insured she'd stayed a virgin, waiting for some romantic knight in shining armor, but she didn't want to wait anymore. She'd found her knight in the black-clad priest standing in the closeness of the confessional with her. She wanted him to take her, wanted to melt against him and let him still the trembling inside her.

Evil, evil thoughts, but something in her nature made her long to submit to him, to have him master her.

“I’ve been thinking about you too.” He slipped his arms around her, pulled her against his body and lowered his mouth to hers.

As he parted her lips with his tongue, she couldn’t help but think their first kiss tasted like sparkling wine. His embrace was every bit as strong as she'd imagined, and the decadent heat of his body engulfed her. He slid his hands over her body, exploring her curves and pushing her back against the wall of the confessional booth.

He rolled his hips against hers, his soft sounds of desire sending shockwaves through her. His musky scent mingled with the church incense, melting her like candle wax. The closeness and heat of his hands and body made her weak.

She’d never seen such beauty—the thin film of sweat over his skin shimmered in the candlelight. He kissed the hollow of her throat and slipped his hand down to the buttons on her blouse, unbuttoning each one with care. He folded the fabric of her dress back to reveal her breasts encased by the thin white lace of her bra. Brushing his fingers over her nipples, he pushed the material back and eased her breast free.

She gasped, bit her bottom lip, and clung to his black robe when his hot, wet mouth covered her hardened nipple. Dizzy and grateful for his strong arm holding her steady she whimpered, breathless. He moved his attention to her other breast. In her fantasies it never felt this good. He slid his hand down and gathered the skirt of her dress, raising it to her waist.

“Father, please. Wait. What if someone should—?”

“Shh,” he whispered. “No one will know.”

He knelt, moving his hand down her sweat-damp stomach, stopping to trace around her navel in a feather-light touch before pushing his finger into it with a stirring motion, making her stomach clench. She arched her back toward him and he knelt, lowering his mouth to kiss her navel, probing and swirling his tongue into it. She couldn’t stop the moan from falling from her lips.

“Hush now, we don’t want anyone to interrupt us,” he said, his voice husky yet full of authority.

Lord help her, he meant to take her here, in the confessional. Excitement and fear mingled with desire.

His fingers branded her with fire between her legs, and her knees turned to water. She slid down the wall of the confessional.

His touch excited her in ways that all the backseat fumblings of the guys she'd gone out with never had. Always before she'd been able to pull back. Not this time. She wanted Father Mark to fuck her and she didn't care how he did it.

In the back of her mind she heard her Uncle telling her the man causing her body such incredible pleasure wasn’t what he seemed. She pushed the warning away, refusing to believe Father Mark could be anything worse than a priest who had not been able to keep his vows. The idea that he couldn't resist the temptation she presented gave her a funny little thrill of power she'd never experienced before.

She gazed down at him on his knees before her and touched his hair. His expression when he looked up at her stole her breath away.