Chapter 5 Confess Me, Father Ch5

• He didn’t sleep that night.
• Not because of guilt. Not because of shame.
• Because of her.
• Because her voice still echoed in his ears. Because her moans still lived under his skin. Because her scent was still on his fingers, and his cum was still inside her.
• Because she’d lied.
• And he let her.
• He sat at the edge of the pulpit, collar undone, sweat cooling on his skin, staring at the flickering candles and wondering how long it would take before she came back to finish what they started.
• She didn’t.
• Not the next day. Not the one after.
• For the first time, he was the one waiting.
• She returned on a Friday.
• No storm this time. No shadowy confessional or late-night creep through the chapel.
• She walked straight through the front doors at noon, in broad daylight, wearing a short black skirt and a silk blouse unbuttoned just low enough to tempt hell.
• She didn’t sneak. She didn’t smirk.
• She stood in front of him like a woman ready to burn.
• "I want to confess," she said.
• He didn’t take her to the booth.
• He took her to the rectory.
• She didn’t sit.
• She dropped to her knees.
• "Not like this," he said, tugging her up.
• She smiled. "Then how?"
• He walked her backward until her spine hit the door.
• "Like you mean it."
• He kissed her.
• No fury. No punishment.
• Just heat. Just hands and mouths and aching.
• He unbuttoned her blouse slowly this time. Peeled it from her shoulders. Pressed kisses down her chest, to the valley of her breasts, then lower.
• He carried her to the bed he wasn’t supposed to sleep in.
• And laid her out like a prayer.
• This time, he undressed with her. Let her see him. Let her touch. Her hands on his skin, her mouth on his neck, her thighs parting like a holy offering.
• "You knew me before," she whispered as his lips grazed the skin below her belly. "Didn’t you?"
• He paused.
• "I didn’t recognize you. But after that night... I couldn’t stop seeing you. You were just a girl. The one who used to sit in the front row and mouth every word of the hymns."
• She smiled. Bitter. Sweet. "I always wondered if you looked at me back then. Before the collar."
• "I didn’t let myself."
• "But you remember."
• His answer was a kiss between her thighs.
• He took his time.
• He licked her until she sobbed. Fingered her until she broke apart with his name on her tongue. Not Father. Not anymore.
• He whispered hers against her skin as he finally learned it.
• "Eden."
• She froze.
• Then she smiled.
• "Took you long enough."
• He cursed and kissed her.
• "You're fucking poison," he groaned.
• "And you're already addicted."
• He slid inside her like he was coming home.
• It wasn’t rage or revenge or lust.
• It was worship.
• He moved slow at first. Deep, rolling thrusts that made her toes curl and her moans catch in her throat. Their fingers tangled above her head. Her legs locked around his hips.
• "So fucking tight," he growled against her lips. "You were made for me."
• She gasped. "I wanted this. For years. You don’t even know."
• "Tell me."
• She arched beneath him. "Every Sunday. I wore dresses just short enough. I waited for your eyes to slip. They never did. But I dreamed of this."
• He slammed into her harder. "And now?"
• "Now I’m yours."
• He took her then. Harder. Faster. One hand gripping her throat, the other teasing her clit until she shattered beneath him.
• He didn’t stop. Flipped her onto her stomach. Fisted her hair.
• "Beg for it, Eden."
• "Please. Please don’t stop. I need your cock. Need you to ruin me. Make it last."
• He fucked her like it was the last time. Like salvation waited at the edge of her cries. Their bodies slapped together in rhythm until the bed creaked and her sobs turned into broken moans.
• "Coming again," she whimpered.
• "Let go. I’ve got you."
• She came screaming his name, nails clawing at the sheets. He followed with a deep groan, burying himself inside her, pulsing until there was nothing left but heat and breath and sweat.
• After, she curled into his chest.
• "What now?" she whispered.
• He stared at the ceiling. At the cross above the bed he’d defiled a hundred times in his mind.
• "Now? I fall."
• She kissed his throat. "Then I’ll fall with you."
• He didn’t say it aloud. But he held her tighter.
• Because he knew this wasn’t over.
• It was only the beginning of his ruin.
• And she'd be the one to write every verse.