I hurried through the night toward St. Joseph's. It was already 7:30, and I wanted to arrive by eight, just as Father Chris had asked. He promised he would explain what was so important if I came tonight.
Luckily, Mum had left earlier to pick up Dad at the airport. They were staying overnight in the city, so I was free.
My body tingled with nerves as I rushed along. I wore no bra beneath my nightgown, it was late, and I hated the discomfort of bras at night. The gown wasn't tight, but it was enough to show my curves. Every step reminded me how exposed I was.
When I reached the compound, the place was silent. Empty. No mass. No people moving around.
My heart thudded wildly as I slipped inside the church.
I glanced at the altar and did the sign of the cross before searching the pews.
There he was.
Father Chris, dressed in white robes, sitting alone.
His head lifted. His eyes met mine.
My heart slammed against my ribs as his words from earlier echoed in my mind:
You won't regret it. Because tonight, I'll show you what even saints dream of.
I froze under his gaze. His eyes dipped down my body, lingering, before rising again. And then, he smiled.
Slowly, he stood. His every step toward me felt deliberate, consuming. When he reached me, he stopped just close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath.
"You came," he said smoothly.
I swallowed, forcing myself to nod. "Yes. What's so important that you wanted to tell me?"
Danger flickered in his smile. "What I want to tell you is…" His hand rose, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His cologne wrapped around me, intoxicating. My lips burned with the need to kiss him. "…that you look very tempting to me. Just like food I crave to taste. I want you."
The words stole my breath. My ears roared. Because God help me, I wanted him too.
"Do you want me?" he asked.
My head moved before I could stop it. A nod.
I leaned forward, desperate, but my mind screamed, Not here. Not in God's house. This is wrong.
And then his hand gripped my neck, pulling me into him. My lips crashed into his.
Father Chris kissed like sin itself. Deep, hot, irresistible. His tongue slid into my mouth, and I sucked, helpless, surrendering. My arms wound around his neck as his mouth claimed me, stole me. I forgot the church, forgot God. There was only him.
His hands moved, pulling me closer. His lips trailed down my throat, to my collarbone. I sighed in forbidden bliss as his mouth marked me, his face buried against my breasts, my nipples hard and aching beneath the thin gown.
I moaned, trembling as his lips returned to mine. Every kiss dragged me deeper into a fire I couldn't put out.
He lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the front pew. His hands slid inside my gown, and I gasped as he cupped my breast, pulling it free.
I offered myself to him, shameless, feeding him my hardened nipple. His tongue wrapped around it, sucking, biting, sending sparks of sinful pleasure through my body.
"God, yes," I whimpered, eyes rolling back.
I gave him the other breast, begging him silently to take more of me, to ruin me completely. He bit down on my pink nipple, his hand squeezing harder, and the pain melted into unbearable pleasure.
My thighs closed tight around him.
His other hand roamed my thighs, caressing, claiming. His lips found mine again, tongue plunging deep as though he wanted to devour me.
I was gone. Lost. My body burned with want, desperate for more. I tugged at his priest's robe, searching for his belt. I wanted him inside me, wanted to taste him, I wanted his cum—on my tongue, on my face, inside me, everywhere, to ride him right here in the church.
But suddenly, he pulled back. "No."
My eyes flew open. His finger traced down my cheek, gentle, teasing. "Not here. Not now."
Tears burned in my eyes. "I want you…" I whispered, broken. I was ruined by the ache between my legs, by the taste of him still on my tongue.
"I know," he smirked, pressing a kiss to my swollen breast. "I want you too. But not here. Soon." His voice was plush, sinful, promising. "I'll have all of you. Just the way I've imagined."
Shivers ran through me. I couldn't wait. I slipped off my panties, the red fabric falling to the floor.
His eyes darkened as I lifted my gown, revealing my glistening desire. My cheeks burned as I guided his finger to me. "See? I'm wet.. Why can't I have you now?" I begged.
A groan ripped from his chest as he slid a finger inside me. I gasped, moaning his name. His other hand kneaded my breast, his mouth swallowing my cries as we kissed, desperate, sinful.
"Dianne," he whispered hoarsely. "What have you done to me?"
After a minute, I swallowed hard, my voice trembling with desperate need. "Can I hold you… even if it's just for a minute? Please…"
My plea made his lips curve into a dark, knowing smirk. He didn't answer. Instead, his hand found mine, guiding it beneath his garment with slow, dangerous intent. The sound of his belt unbuckling filled the empty church.
My palm wrapped around him, thick and hot, and Father Chris let out a deep sigh, half relief, half desire.
My breath caught. "You… came?" I whispered when my fingers felt the wetness that had already stained his trousers.
He only gave a slow nod, his eyes heavy with lust.
I rubbed and stroked my hand over the slick hard big head, my pulse racing, and when I pulled back to see the fluid glistening on my hand, temptation won. I brought it to my lips and licked it, my tongue savoring the forbidden taste.
"It tastes like…" My voice was soft, trembling with both shame and desire. "…sex."
The look on Father Chris's face was dangerous, impressed, as though my sin had only pulled him deeper into his own.
His eyes blazed. "Many bad things I want to do to you, my angel."
He bent me forward, smacking my naked ass. I gasped, pleasure bursting through me as the echo rang in the holy silence of the church. My body ached for him, every nerve screaming yes.
My backside brushing against the hard length pressing beneath his garment. He grabbed my hair, yanking it back gently as his palm continued smacking me, again and again.
Hours slipped by until his belt was buckled again, his robe straightened, while my chest rose and fell in ragged gasps.
"I have your number. I'll text you," he said.
I didn't even ask how he had it.
But then—
"I didn't know you were here, Father Chris."
The voice froze us both.
We turned to the door. The parish priest stood there, older, a Bible in his hand, his eyes falling on me.
My blood ran cold.
I bolted, rushing past him, not daring to look back.