Chapter 1 Confess Me, Father Ch1

• The storm had been chasing her since sundown.
• By the time she reached St. Augustine's Chapel, thunder cracked loud enough to rattle her bones. The sky had broken open like a punishment, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Not even when her heels slipped on the slick stone steps. Her dress, once modest and floral, clung to every inch of her body now, soaked through and translucent. A white flag of surrender in a war she’d come here to start.
• She stepped into the chapel—silent, dim, and empty except for the flickering candles lining the altar. The scent of wax and something holy laced the air, and her pulse kicked hard against her ribs. It wasn’t fear. It was need. Hunger, reckless and wrong.
• Her hand trembled as she pressed it to the confessional door. She opened it slowly, reverently, like she was stepping into a grave she’d dug herself.
• The seat was wooden, cold. She knelt anyway.
• She heard him enter the other side. No footsteps, just presence. Heavy. Familiar. Father Callum.
• He was older now. Early forties, probably. All that black fabric, that stern mouth. That voice. He hadn’t recognized her on the street last week, and that was good. She didn’t want him to. Not yet.
• A crack of lightning lit up the booth. She smiled in the dark.
• He spoke first. "Peace be with you."
• She leaned forward, breathless. "Bless me, Father, for I… I’m about to sin."
• Silence.
• Then, low: "What is it you wish to confess?"
• Her lips parted. She could feel her heartbeat between her thighs. "That I wanted to be seen. That I wore this dress on purpose. That I made sure it would rain."
• A sharp inhale from his side.
• She pressed her palms together. "I touched myself last night. Four times. The first was slow. The second was rough. By the third, I was crying. And the fourth? I said your name."
• He shifted.
• She kept going, voice a whisper edged in heat. "I imagined your hands, Father. The way they’d feel on my hips. How your voice would sound if you told me to beg for more."
• "Stop," he said. But it wasn’t a command.
• She leaned in closer. "You ever wonder what I taste like?"
• His breath caught. Then he growled, low and furious. "Do you even know what you're doing?"
• "Yes." She smiled. "That’s the worst part."
• The screen slammed shut. For a second, she thought he was gone. But then the door to her side opened. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at her. Just grabbed her arm and pulled her into the empty vestry behind the booth.
• The room was small, cold, lined with holy robes and unlit candles. She stumbled back against a table as he shut the door. Thunder rolled like God Himself was watching.
• "Who are you?" he asked. His eyes were darker than she remembered. Haunted. Hungry.
• She didn’t answer. Instead, she slid her soaked dress down her arms, letting it fall in a wet heap. Her nipples were already hard, pierced and aching under the air.
• His gaze dropped. He cursed.
• She stepped closer, baring everything. "Still want me to stop?"
• He backed her into the altar, grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head. His voice shook. "You shouldn’t be here."
• "But I am. And you want this."
• He looked at her like she was the devil. And maybe she was. Because when he kissed her, it wasn’t holy. It was blasphemy.
• Teeth, tongue, heat. He bit her lip until she moaned.
• "Tell me this isn’t your first time," he growled, dragging her thigh around his hip.
• She smiled. "It won’t be my last."
• He hiked her up onto the altar, shoved her knees apart. She gasped as his hand slid between her thighs.
• "Dripping," he muttered. "Fucking soaked."
• "I told you," she whispered, "I touched myself. Just like this."
• He groaned like it hurt. Then he dropped to his knees.
• He didn’t pray.
• He licked.
• Her back arched. The cold wood bit into her spine as his tongue dragged through her folds, slow at first, then punishing. She cried out, legs trembling, wrists still pinned in one of his hands.
• "God," she whimpered.
• He looked up, mouth slick. "Wrong name."
• She shattered on his tongue. Loud, gasping, wild. When he stood, he was hard under his robes. Furious and unrepentant.
• He didn’t ask. He shoved inside her in one thrust.
• She screamed.
• "That’s it," he growled. "Scream for me. Let Him hear."
• She clenched around him, greedy for every inch. Her body took him like it was made to.
• He fucked her on the altar. Filthy. Furious. One hand on her throat, the other gripping her hip as he slammed into her again and again.
• "So tight. You wanted to be ruined, didn’t you?"
• "Yes," she gasped. "Please. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop."
• "Say my name."
• "Father."
• He cursed and came, pulsing deep inside her as she came again, shaking beneath him.
• When it was over, they were both panting, drenched in sweat and rain and sin.
• She smiled, lazy and victorious. "Will you forgive me now, Father?"
• He stared at her like she was damnation incarnate.
• And said nothing.