Chapter 2 Confess Me, Father Ch2

• He couldn’t sleep.
• The rain had slowed, but inside Father Callum’s chest, the storm still raged.
• She was gone by the time the candles burned out. No name. No explanation. Just the lingering scent of sweat and sin and the echo of her voice calling him Father while she shattered around him.
• He should have reported it. Confessed to someone. Flagellated. But what did he do? He walked back into the sanctuary, straightened the hymnals, and wiped her wet fingerprints off the altar.
• As if he hadn’t fucked her on it.
• He slammed the door to his quarters shut and leaned against it like that might keep the memory from following him in.
• It didn’t.
• She’d haunted his dreams before. But never like this.
• Not with her mouth slick and parted. Not with her thighs shaking as he licked her like a man starved.
• He dug his fingers into his scalp. Growled. Paced.
• This wasn’t just weakness. It was possession.
• He knew it the moment she whispered his name in the dark like a secret she couldn’t wait to expose.
• He didn’t even know her name.
• Three days passed.
• He told himself it was over. Just a sick mistake. One night of failure.
• But when he saw her again, it wasn’t at a confession.
• It was Sunday morning.
• The pews were full. The candles fresh. He’d been mid-sermon, reciting the parable of temptation, when the back doors creaked open.
• She walked in slow.
• Dress black this time. Tight. Conservative neckline but slit up the thigh. And her lips—deep red, glossy, parted just enough to let the devil slip through.
• He lost his place.
• "And the serpent said unto the woman—"
• Her eyes found his.
• Bite me, they said.
• He choked.
• "...you shall not surely die."
• She took a seat in the back pew, crossed her legs with deliberate grace, and stared up at him like she knew how hard he was beneath his robes.
• And he was.
• He got through the sermon with shaking hands. Every word caught in his throat. He barely remembered the Communion rite.
• When the church emptied, he thought she’d be gone. He hoped she’d be gone.
• She wasn’t.
• She waited by the candles, fingers gliding over the glass as she lit one. Slow. Reverent.
• He approached her from behind.
• "You shouldn’t be here."
• She turned, all soft mouth and wicked smile. "That’s what you said last time."
• His voice dropped. "What do you want?"
• Her tongue darted out, licking the edge of her lip. "I want another confession."
• He growled. Actually growled.
• "I want you on your knees, Father," she whispered. "Right here. Right now."
• His hand shot out before he could stop it, gripping her wrist tight. "You want punishment? Fine. I’ll give it."
• He dragged her into the sacristy, kicking the door shut. She laughed, breathless, biting her lip as he spun her and pressed her to the wall.
• "This is a holy place," he snapped, hiking her dress up her thighs.
• "So make it sacred."
• His mouth crashed onto hers. Hands frantic. The anger in him wasn’t clean. It was filthy, throbbing, desperate.
• He ripped her panties. She gasped. He shoved two fingers inside her, hard.
• "Still soaked," he snarled. "God help you."
• She moaned against his neck, teeth grazing his collar.
• He dropped to his knees again.
• But this time it wasn’t worship.
• It was punishment.
• He licked her like he wanted to ruin her, biting her thighs, slapping her clit with his tongue until she sobbed.
• "Come for me," he hissed.
• She did. Shaking, raw, gripping the robes on his shoulders as she fell apart.
• When he stood, she dropped to her knees.
• "My turn," she whispered.
• He should have stopped her. He didn’t.
• She took him in her mouth like she was starving for it. Moaned like it fed her. One hand on his thigh, the other stroking what she couldn’t fit down her throat.
• He tried to hold back.
• He couldn’t.
• He came hard. Deep. Cursing and gasping her name.
• Only he didn’t know it.
• And she didn’t give it.