I rolled to the side as I lay on my bed, still lost in thought, Father Chris's words from yesterday echoing inside my head like a sinful prayer I couldn't escape.
"You look like a good girl… but something tells me you don't dream like one."
I buried my face under the covers, screaming inwardly until my chest hurt. God help me. He was right.
"That's right, Father," I whispered into the darkness of my sheets. "I don't dream like a good girl. I dream about you, over me, tasting me, looking at me with those piercing eyes."
The shame of it made me groan, dragging both hands into my hair in frustration. I sat up abruptly, tugging at the roots. My body burned just from thinking of him.
Then, knock knock.
I jumped, startled, clutching the sheets around me. My mother's voice rang through the door.
"Dianne, honey, aren't you prepared already for church? It's seven a.m."
My head whipped toward the alarm clock on my nightstand. Exactly seven, the red numbers glaring back at me. It had woken me at six, but I had wasted an hour lying in bed, replaying every second with Father Chris, every word, every glance.
"I'm after you, Mum! I'll take the bus!" I called back, swinging my feet onto the cold marble floor, tying my hair quickly behind my back.
"Okay, honey, I'm out," she answered, her heels clicking across the floor. I didn't even need to look to know she was wearing her favorite white pair. "Don't forget to lock the door when you're leaving the house!"
Of course. I had forgotten too many times before.
"Okay, Mum!" I called again, thankful for her reminder.
As the house fell quiet, I sat at my desk and grabbed my phone, dialing Tasha, my blonde neighbor and the one I usually went to church with whenever I didn't want to go alone. Her mother, Ms. Adrianna, was close to mine since we all attended the same church.
No answer. I tried again. Still nothing. Third time, flat. No answer.
I groaned, tossing my phone onto the desk. Restless, I walked to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me in my loose white pajamas. Without thinking, my hand slipped beneath the oversized fabric until it cupped my left breast. At twenty, my breasts were fuller, heavier, than most girls my age.
A low sigh escaped my lips. "Father Chris…"
The sound of his name spilling out of me snapped me awake.
"Oh, shit." My hand flew out from under my clothes as if burned. I slapped myself lightly on the forehead. What was wrong with me? I was still a virgin, and the last thing I should be doing was imagining losing it to a man of God. He had sworn celibacy until death. He was untouchable. Forbidden.
And yet, my body trembled at the thought of him.
I stripped out of my pajamas quickly and dashed into the bathroom. The clock on the wall mocked me, time was running out. Almost mass. And God help me, I couldn't deny it… I was looking forward to seeing him.
I slipped into a pleated red dress that matched the fiery tone of my hair and slid my feet into comfortable white sandals. I twirled once in front of the mirror, the picture of innocence, though I knew the truth simmered just beneath my skin. My lips curled bitterly. Only I knew how wild I really was.
By 8:30 a.m., thirty minutes before mass, I was out the door. Halfway through the neighborhood, my steps faltered.
Tasha.
My neighbor was inside a parked car, kissing a man old enough to be her father. My eyes narrowed as I squinted at the scandal unfolding in broad daylight.
"Interesting. On a Sunday morning?" I muttered.
So this was why she hadn't answered my calls. She was straddling him now, his hands tugging at her back, unhooking her bra. In one swift motion, he flung it across the seat. The car seat slid backward, and she disappeared from view, though I already knew what was happening.
"Wow," I whispered, my lips curling. So much for Ms. Adrianna's perfect, pure daughter. If only she knew. Wasn't that her colleague from the office? The man looked familiar. But I shook my head, quickening my pace toward the road to hail a taxi.
By the time I reached the church, I was late.
I slipped inside quietly, walking with soft, cautious steps to the back pew to avoid stares, though some eyes still followed me. Making the sign of the cross, I lifted my gaze.
There he was.
Father Chris sat on the altar, his profile illuminated as the priest preached about holiness. His eyes roamed the church, searching.
Searching for me.
My cheeks flamed instantly, the memory of his words clawing at my chest. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, heat prickling everywhere.
I glanced to the side. My mother was paying rapt attention to the sermon, seated right beside Ms. Adrianna, who looked as holy and righteous as ever. If only she knew what her daughter was doing this very morning…
The priest announced communion. I remained seated. I had come too late.
But my eyes, my eyes stayed locked on Father Chris. I watched him give out communion, his gaze scanning the congregation again and again, as if expecting me to rise.
My heartbeat thundered. My sinful dream replayed vividly in my mind: his lips on mine, his hands sliding down my waist, tugging at my pants. The heat pooled low in my belly.
I coughed softly, trying to banish the thought, but with him standing there, so close yet untouchable, it was impossible.
After mass, I slipped away to the restroom. When I emerged, I spotted my mother, standing with Father Chris.
"Dianne, dear! Come," she called, waving.
My heart did somersaults. My steps slowed, each one heavier than the last. I forced my lips into a polite smile, though my pulse betrayed me.
"Good morning, Father Chris," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the floor.
"Father Chris was asking if you could stay back. He has something important to tell you after," my mother explained, her face glowing with smiles.
Something important? My chest tightened. My mind spun. What could he possibly want to say that couldn't be said here?
I dared to glance up, and froze under his piercing stare. My throat went dry.
"Okay," I heard myself whisper.
"Oh, my phone, five missed calls from your dad. Excuse me!" My mother hurried away, leaving me alone. With him.
The silence thickened. My pulse echoed in my ears.
He smirked, the faintest, most dangerous curve of his lips.
I swallowed hard. "What is so important that you want to say to me, Father?" My voice trembled, betraying me. I couldn't hold his gaze for long. He was too handsome, too intoxicating.
For a moment, he didn't answer. Then his deep, smooth voice broke the silence, sinking straight into my bones.
"I'll explain this evening," he said slowly. "At the church. Eight p.m. Will you come?"
Eight p.m.? My mother would never allow it. I shouldn't. I couldn't.
And yet…
"Yes, Father Chris," I breathed, the words slipping from me before I could stop them.
His eyes locked with mine, molten brown and burning.
"See you then," he murmured. And then, I swear—I saw him wink.
My knees nearly gave out. My body felt molten, trembling under the weight of his gaze.
And then, his voice dropped lower, meant only for me.
"You won't regret it," he whispered, his lips curving in sinful promise. "Because tonight, I'll show you what even saints dream of."