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It was blasphemous. You weren’t sure why you were doing it.
Yet here you were.
You let your feet drag, intending to be the last person to confess. It was easy, really. No one wanted to be the last person left with the priest when confession was done. Well, almost no one. You just hoped today was the right day. You couldn’t imagine the shame that would come with confessing to the wrong priest, though perhaps then your sins could truly be erased.
He had caught your eye immediately. Young and sharp, with a calm yet demanding presence. Soft brown eyes that caught yours across the room. An incessant curl on his forehead that refused to cooperate with his styling techniques. The dotted freckles across his face that you could only imagine spanned over the rest of his body. God truly picked the best soldiers to do his work. You chuckle to yourself, gathering looks from the other members of the church. You know you shouldn’t be laughing, but your impact on this church is negligible; you’ll be gone tomorrow.
The priest – Father Connor, as he had introduced himself to the funeral attendees – was in training. Working below Father John (such a religious name, you noted) was his final step in his journey to work in his own parish. You weren’t too familiar with the Catholic Church and its requirements anymore. It had been at least a decade and a half since you last attended church – perhaps leaving too much room for all the sins you’ve been committing.
Your uncle’s passing had been sudden. You weren’t particularly close these days, certainly not now, but he had written you into the will and you felt obligated to attend the funeral. That’s when you spotted the priest-in-training.
He had taken the reins, performing the service without help from Father John. It was a beautiful service, not a cloud in the sky to match your dry eyes. You were thankful the lack of rain had kept your hair in place. Looking around, you were dressed as well as everyone else, if not a little more racy. Scandalous. Your dress was a sleek black that caught your eye as soon as you hit the shops, flattering to your figure and with sleeves that gently caught the wind as a breeze flowed through the service. It gave you the confidence that you sought and the attention of a certain priest that you so desired.
Father Connor would never have given his attention over to you so willingly, in another life. In the world you know he had so desperately dreamed of, he never met you. But here you were, chatting mindlessly with old family members you hadn’t seen in ages and eating hors d’oeuvres. But you knew when he approached you that he’d be the one of your dreams, your restless nights, your darkest fantasies. He didn’t know he’d feel that way for you.
Your cousin winked in your direction as the priest approached you. She scurried off, busying herself to allow you his full attention. You wanted to whack her for leaving you alone with the man you had just been eagerly gossiping about, but later you’d thank her.
“Father,” you greeted sheepishly, feeling your face flush as you hoped he hadn’t heard your previous conversation. “I, uh-” you swallowed, shaking off your nerves. You could totally handle a normal conversation with a hot guy. “Your service was beautiful. I’m sure it’s exactly what my uncle would’ve wanted.”
He bowed his head, silently pleased at your praise. His warm brown eyes caught yours again as he looked back up. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”
You gave your name, perhaps a little too breathlessly, but Father Connor didn’t seem to notice. He repeated it back to you, like he was contemplating it. You swallowed again, waiting for his verdict.
He nodded once, casting a glance around the room your family and your uncle’s friends had claimed for the after party. “Your uncle was proud of you. He spoke of his nieces and nephews quite often. You were close, yes?”
“We used to be. When I moved out of state for college, we lost contact. I was surprised that he had written me into his will, to be honest,” you chuckled sadly. “I do wish I had visited more often. He was a good man.”
Father Connor turned back to you. You could get lost in those endless brown eyes. “He was. He was a valued member of our community, and he will be missed. I do hope,” he paused convivially, “you don’t mean you have regrets about not visiting often enough.”
You laughed nervously. “I mean, of course I do. Doesn’t everyone feel a little guilty they didn’t spend enough time with their loved ones before they died?”
A sly smirk spread to Father Connor’s lips. “Guilt is a sign of sin.”
You almost choked on air at his lack of subtlety. You coughed, clearing your lungs. “I- I didn’t mean-”
“Perhaps,” he cut you off, his demeanor shifting from businesslike to more intimate, “you should consider confessing your sins.”
Taken aback, you just stared at the priest. Was he suggesting…?
“Confessional starts tomorrow after the evening service. I’d recommend attending both to clear your conscience.”
He added a wink before releasing your hand – when did he grab your hand? – and walked away, further into the party and out of sight.
So here you were, awaiting a smiting from God if he truly did exist for what you were about to commit. You were alone outside the sanctuary, the last person to be called for confession. Your nerves were shot, but as the penultimate person made a quick exit, you stood and faced what would certainly be your untimely demise.
You had gotten a short glance at the confessional booth during the funeral service, so you knew roughly where to go when you entered the chapel. This was an older church, with an immovable confessional stall. Its wide mahogany frame intimidated you, the curtain concealing who you hoped was the man you wanted to confess your sins to. You entered the open side of the booth that had no curtain to hide your identity to the outside world. You were lucky to be the last one, then. Here no one could hear your sins except the priest on the other side of the stall.
In front of you sat a kneeler, and you gently fell to your knees. You bore the sign of the cross on your body then put your clasped hands up on the railing in front of you.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
You licked your lips. This was going to make or break you, and you hoped to god it was Father Connor on the other side of the booth. You tried to remember what came next from your research into confession last night. “I haven’t confessed my sins since I was a child, so I have much to confess.”
You weren’t sure, but it sounded like a hum came from the other side of the stall.
“My most recent sin was last night.” This time you heard a definitive hum. “I had lustful feelings towards a man that is not my husband. Although I am not married, I know that these feelings were unjust and sinful.” You had practiced these words over and over, certain to convey what you wanted without hindrance. You swallowed, this time dreading what was to come next. “Then I had a dream about this man. An awful, immoral dream that was devised by the devil himself to get me to commit these sins.” You bit your cheek in an attempt to keep your laughter in – although you were dreading making a confession, saying the devil brought you the hottest sex dream you’ve ever had was kind of funny.
“What happened in this immoral dream?”
Relief flooded your body. Although his voice was deeper than you remembered, and muffled by the screen between you, you’d recognize Father Connor’s voice anywhere. You could drop the pretentious act. You pushed down the urge to grin at your success.
“Father, I was here. I had come to confess my sins like I was told. But when I went to confess, the man I have been lusting over was on the other side of the booth. He didn’t want to hear my sins; he wanted to hear me call out his name. He wanted to hear me as I knelt on the kneeler, the sound of my mouth flush with his skin. He wanted to hear me as I laid on my back on a pew, the sweet sound of my shameless cries.”
Father Connor’s voice was huskier than before, thicker with every word. “And what did this man do to you?”
You swallowed, trying to prevent the saliva you’ve accumulated by recalling your dream from spilling over. “He left his side of the booth, Father. He came to my side of the confessional stall and crowded me. He took his hand and pulled my face close to his, whispering that I’d done the worst sin of all, and he would have to punish me for it.”
You swear you can hear Father Connor’s breath hitch on the other side of the booth.
“His hand guided my face to meet his. His lips were gentle yet controlling, powerful but patient. I found myself wanting more than just his mouth.”
There was a sound of rustling on the other side of the booth. “What else did you want?”
You continued, your voice dropping dangerously low. “I wanted to feel the heat of his skin on mine, the exhilaration of blasphemy in the sanctuary. I wanted to strip him of the robes he wears, to kneel here and take his length between my lips. I wanted to hear his cries echo in the church, to be the first to make him feel desired. Father, I wanted to make him hum hallelujah as I pleasured him from the altar.”
“What else?”
Validation fueled you to keep going – it sounded like your methods were getting to him on the other side. You grinned this time. You liked this little game you were playing. “Oh Father,” you sighed mischievously, “I wanted, so I took. I let my hands roam his body, my tongue meet places he never knew could feel so good. I made him call out my name to the heavens, to curse the devil for making lust a sin. But then I did the worst of all, Father.”
There’s a heated pause before he responds breathlessly. “Tell me what you did.”
A thrill runs down your spine at the command. You know it’s time to move from licentious words to downright immoral language. “I let him take me. Right here in the chapel, in the sanctuary, on the altar, in the pews. I let him fuck me all over the church, Father. In front of Mother Mary, I prayed to god that he would let me come. But he was clever. He was devious. He withdrew from me, leaving me wanting more. But the sins had yet to stop. On my knees I begged him to fuck me, to take me from behind and use the rosary around my neck to choke me. And he was merciful.”
The grin was back on your face as you lowered your voice just above a sultry whisper. “He was blasphemous. He disrespected the church in so many ways for so many hours. All night he made me scream, the voice of the devil filling my lungs. And when we came to climax, I said his name and the rosary he had bunched in his fist snapped, expelling the beads all over the chapel. A reminder of the sins we had committed and would never be able to fully expunge from the church…”
You stopped and breathed deeply, allowing the dream to settle in his mind. You waited with bated breath to determine what he was going to do now that you’ve finished confessing your sins.
He said your name. His voice was desperate, filled with want. You swallowed, knowing what you had to do next.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
You waited for the penance. What Father Connor could possibly assign you for committing such a lustful sin that would clear your conscience.
“Go home,” his voice was hardened, hasty yet husky. “Go home and pray to god that the man you desire does not commit these sins and your dream will not come to fruition.”
You waited, but nothing else came of his penance for you. You bit your lip, hoping he would ask you to stay, to do anything about the confession you had just given. But his desperate voice never came, and it was time to leave.
“Thank you, Father,” you said quietly. You dismissed yourself, nearly fleeing from the chapel and out of the church without looking back. When you hit Detroit’s cool evening air, you took a deep breath, expanding your lungs. You shook your head and turned down the street, heading for your hotel. You didn’t see the man from your dream with a crazed expression running out of the church after you, and you certainly didn’t see the disappointment in his face when he realized you were already gone.
***************************
There was a knock on your hotel door. It had been several hours since confession, bordering on time you should’ve been asleep but were desperate to get the man you just met out of your mind. You were playing on your phone, absentmindedly scrolling as you pretended everything was totally normal. Everyone feels more condemned after confessing their sins, right?
Right.
Another knock, more impatient this time. You threw the sheets off, looking around for shorts to cover yourself before you answered. Finally, you got to the door.
Father Connor was on the other side. Gone were his formal robes; instead, he bore a blazer and a black dress shirt with that stereotypical white strip in the collar. Suddenly you were feeling underdressed, despite the fact that you should’ve been asleep at this late hour.
“Father…?” What the hell was he doing here?
“Hi,” he breathed out, like he just ran here. And from his windswept hair, maybe he did. “Can we talk?”
You looked behind you to the mess of clothing you had on the floor, the sheets undone, and your open suitcase on the other bed.
“Uh…if you don’t mind the mess,” you said cautiously.
He nodded solemnly. His expression worried you, but you opened the door for him and stepped back to clean some of your clothes off the floor. He closed the door quietly behind him, then waited for you to finish. You looked up at him awkwardly, placing the dirty clothes into the suitcase and flipping over the lid to hide the contents.
You didn’t know what to expect. You stood between the beds with your arms crossed, covering yourself. It probably wasn’t appropriate for you to be so underdressed in front of a priest, but he was the one in your hotel room.
“Um, so-” you started at the same time he said “I need to-”
You laughed awkwardly, motioning for him to continue.
Father Connor rubbed a hand down his face – suddenly so human to you. He’d always been on a pedestal in your eyes, a holy man untouched. He swallowed before you realized how close he’d gotten, taking baby steps from the door to you between the beds.
“I…” he reached out to you, lightly holding your elbows where they were crossed. “I need to know.”
It was your turn to swallow. “Know what?”
He was impossibly close. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tingling of his fingers on your skin.
“If the man in your dream was me.”
A soft gasp escaped your parted lips. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected anything at all to come of a short-lived crush on someone you couldn’t have. And you certainly hadn’t expected him to find you after the immoral act you committed in front of him. “I-”
“Tell me the man was me,” he implored, his voice deep and silky. “Tell me working to find you was worth it. Tell me you committed a most blasphemous act to lead me back to you.”
Your voice evaded you. There was nothing to say. Irreverent thoughts tripled in your mind as he stood so close, his lips inches from yours. Your eyes flicked down to his mouth as his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.
You could do nothing but nod.
“Show me.”
“Show you? But what-”
He cut you off. It was unfair how he could get you to dissolve with something as simple as your name.
It was blasphemous. But this time you knew why you were doing it.
Your hands reached up to either side of his face, pulling him in to meet your lips. It was impetuous; his inexperience was apparent but so was your desperation. His hands rose to meet your hips, slipping beneath your shirt to graze your pliant skin. You groaned into his mouth as the heat of his fingers met your waist, but suddenly he pulled away from you.
You were sure he was reconsidering this whole thing. It was one of the worst of the seven sins – unforgivable in the eyes of the church for a priest. He could stop now and forget what happened between you, pretend he hadn’t heard your confession and hadn’t made his way to your hotel room. He could pretend the kiss hadn’t made him feel a way he never had before. But what he couldn’t pretend was the crazed expression on his face after feeling you groan into his mouth.
His eyes were wild, his pupils enlarged and dark, expansive abysses. You’d never seen anything like it. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it.
You knew in an instant that he had made up his mind. Gratification filled your lungs as his lips were back on yours, this time taking control. His hands worked to pull up your sleep shirt as your hands made their way to his blazer, removing the article from his broad shoulders.
You separated as your shirt rose, backing up to allow him to remove the garment. Your deft fingers immediately went to his dress shirt. You untucked it from his slacks, making quick work of the buttons. His breath caught in his throat as your hand grazed him beneath his slacks. A smirk formed on your lips, eager to show him all the unholy things he had never experienced before.
His hands rose to the back of his neck, undoing the clerical collar he wore but would no longer need after tonight. Finally, his shirt flung to the floor to meet yours. You thanked the god you didn’t believe in that you happened to wear cute panties today as you removed the shorts you had hastily thrown on to answer the door.
Father Connor’s belt met the carpeted floor. You watched his fingers slow as he moved to undo the button of his slacks, but you were faster.
“Let me,” you whispered.
He sucked in a breath when you undid the button and zipper and cupped him beneath his slacks. Your other hand worked to push the slacks to the floor and he stepped out of them unceremoniously. You looked up to his eyes, determined to make the wondrous expression on his face change to something hot and heady. Both of your hands slipped beneath the band of his boxers and worked to free him from the garment. You smirked as you sank to your knees in front of him, pulling his boxers to the floor. You rocked back onto your heels, making yourself comfortable as your hands wandered up his thighs.
When you knew he couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, your fingers spread to take his length into your hand. You let your tongue dart out to give an experimental lick to the tip, just enough for both of you to get a taste. And if you weren’t sure you were going to hell, the long groan that escaped his lips went straight between your legs and confirmed your place with the devil.
You were so tempted to touch yourself at the same time you worked your mouth and hand around his cock. Your free hand inched down to your panties, your body desperate for friction. Both of Father Connor’s hands came to your head where he intertwined his fingers in your hair. The wretched sounds coming from his mouth was enough to send a wave of arousal through your body. Just as you were about to delve beneath your panties, his distracted voice hit your ears.
“Wait-”
You slowed your pace, sending a final flick of your tongue to the tip before looking up at him from the floor. He looked absolutely wrecked above you. His hair was a mess, his pupils dilated, and wet lips parted.
“You- you’re gonna make me-” he tried to explain exasperatedly. He didn’t have to say it for you to know you had done a decent job.
A smirk rose to your lips. You planted a final wet kiss on the tip before you stood, your hand tantalizing to keep him hard. You came face-to-face with him before you spoke. His eyes caught on your lips as you directed him. “Get on the bed for me,” your breath ghosted over his lips, and he obeyed you without hesitancy.
You removed the sheets from where you had been laying before he arrived and tossed them backwards towards the floor. He looked at you eagerly from the middle of the bed, his fingers gripping the sheets on either side of his body. When you were certain you had his full attention, you stood by the side of the bed and tugged your panties down your legs to the floor.
His eyes roamed your nude body and for once you didn’t feel intimidated. He was more interested in exploring your body than in his own pleasure. A small smile made its way to your lips as you climbed on the bed between his legs. His hands grasped at the sheets as he waited with bated breath.
With half-lidded eyes, you smirked at him from your position over his cock. You lowered your mouth to his length, swirling your tongue tentatively over the tip. His hips involuntarily bucked into your mouth, and you grinned from above him. You took the rest of him into your mouth, your hand wrapping around the base you couldn’t reach.
You could listen to the sweet, sweet melody coming from his lips any day.
When you ensured he was soaked with your saliva, you removed your mouth from his cock and moved to straddle his hips. You balanced on one hand, the other moving to his cock between your legs.
“Is this okay?” You asked quietly.
You both knew there was no going back from here.
Father Connor nodded, a desperate plea leaving his mouth. “Please.”
And you were merciful. You sank lower onto his cock, moving your hand as the back of your thighs became flush with his hips. The hiss that emitted from his lips sent another wave of arousal through your body. You gave him a second to adjust before rocking your hips once.
He groaned beneath you.
You were going to lose your mind to the noises he made.
Your arms moved to either side of his head, and you recaptured his lips with your own. You moved against his mouth slowly, testing the waters. When you knew his guard was down, you snapped your hips forward. He sucked the air out of your lungs as you moved, stunned. You backed away from his face, letting go of his lips. He watched you go with distress, not yet done kissing you. But you smirked from above him as you leaned back. You let your hands wander over your own body, from the dip in your hips to your stomach and up to your breasts.
Finally, he got the hint. His hands released the sheets by his sides and moved to your thighs, tracing circles in your skin.
You leaned down to cup his face, your eyes darting between his own and his lips. “Good.”
He groaned once again, deep and alluring. You rocked your hips faster now, content with making him come undone beneath you.
His hands gripped your thighs, fingertips digging into your skin. He closed his eyes, head lolled back as you pleasured him. His fingers tightened and you knew he was getting close.
“Fuck,” he growled. His head snapped up and his dark eyes caught yours above him. His hands moved to your hips, and he held you still as he thrust into you heatedly.
You tried to swallow, eyes rolling back into your head as you leaned onto your hands to balance from the thrusting and the pleasure. You could feel the familiar heat building in your stomach, the tingling in your hands and feet. His hips were stuttering beneath you, and you took back control. You rolled your hips back, pulling off him minutely before swinging your hips back down.
You knew what he needed.
“Come for me.”
His fingers dug into your skin, and you were certain they would leave bruises you wouldn’t want to forget. You could feel his body tense beneath you, but the most sinful of all was the groan that escaped his lips. Long and low, his eyes rolled back into his head as he let go. It was enough to send you over the edge, and you panted from above him as your hips stuttered to a halt.
It was some time before he came back down to earth. You had popped off him and gone to the bathroom to fetch a towel before gently wiping the pair of you clean. You climbed into the bed next to him, leaning up on one elbow to watch as his chest expanded. He truly was a masterpiece, and you had been right that the freckles across his face also dotted across the rest of his body. Finally, his eyes rolled back into his head and he turned to face you.
“Hey,” he said barely above a whisper.
“Hey,” you chuckled, shaking your head. The absurdity of the situation was starting to set in. “I didn’t know you could curse like that.”
He flushed. “I can’t – couldn’t. But I think the rules are more than broken now.”
You huffed out a laugh – what else was there to do? He had just broken about every holy rule for you, and you weren’t sure where to go from here. You decided to change the subject.
“Is this what you had in mind when you asked me to confess my sins?”
“God, if I had known-”
“Using the lord’s name in vain? How blasphemous of you,” you teased.
He rolled onto his side, looking up into your face. His hand came to rest on your hip, his fingers once again tracing small, reassuring circles on your skin. “I think that was a bit more than blasphemous,” he chuckled.
A pause hung in the air. Neither of you wanted to breach the topic – neither of you wanted him to go.
“Stay with me,” you pleaded at the same time he asked, “Can I stay?”
A small smile was shared between you. He rolled over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table before returning to you, where he held you like he never wanted to lose this moment. But you knew he’d never have to.
And if in the morning, he stayed, and if later he happened to catch a flight to your destination, and if he ditched his title of ‘Father’, and if then he renounced the church for someone like you, maybe, just maybe, blasphemy would be okay.