From the brief interaction I had with David Faulkner earlier today, I know she’s not exaggerating.
You’d think most parents would be able to uphold the virtue of empathy when seeing how mangled she is, drawing obvious conclusions as to why she’d ended up like that. But I guess the Faulkners weren’t all that observant or just didn’t give a fuck.
I remove my flannel and drape it over her shoulders, guiding her arms through the sleeves. As I do, I can't help but linger on the sight of her perfect breasts visible through the sheer fabric of her top. The thought of her hands tugging at my hair while I explore her further tempts me intensely. I wonder how much longer I can endure this frustration before giving in to my desires. I notice her scent clinging to my fingers as I button up the front of my shirt, making the urge to touch myself with that same hand later overwhelmingly enticing.
"I'll walk you to your door-"
"No," She yelps, shaking her head frantically. "Aiden has no doubt spun them a story-"
"I'm sure your parents would prefer the truth from their priest over whatever story your pothead of a brother has come up with," I snap, her eyes squinting at the sudden reminder of my title.
A priest is what I am to this girl.
"Priest," She scoffs. "I thought the general cup of tea for priests was blowjobs from young boys behind closed doors?" She jokes, the stereotype one I find abhorrent but sadly true for some within the church.
Touching a child that way is not just sinful. It’s demonic.
There are few things I would risk going the Hell for, but killing child abusers might be one of them. I’d never repent for something like that.
"Not my thing," I smirk.
"So what is your thing, then? Finding impressionable young women, doing as you please with them?" She questions, digging for something else.
She wants to know if she’s the only one I've allowed this to happen with.
Leaning in closer, I whisper, "Eden, if you're wondering how often I've let this happen, you might be surprised to learn I've always resisted the lure of touching a woman." My voice softens as I add, "So you can imagine my astonishment, finding your taste lingering on my tongue at this very moment. It's just as surprising for me as it is for you."
Her cheeks grow red, and I see her confidence to push me further drop. I’m not sure if she’s satisfied with my answer, but there’s no reason to be anything but truthful with her. She seems to accept what I've said for now as she turns her head toward the front door of her house.
"Well, it won't happen again," She snaps, a lick of anger rolling through me at the idea of this being a one-time instance.
She's right.
I can't allow it to happen again.
"Can we just get this over with?" She questions, clearly exhausted.
Nodding, I allow her to pass, letting her lead the way. I bury my hands in my pockets, readjusting my dick as we walk forward, my erection refusing to be ignored.
Up until this point, I’d been so consumed by Eden that I hadn’t really taken in the house in front of me. It's a towering symbol of wealth. The white exterior gleams under the accent light; massive windows with dark shutters and an imposing black front door give it an air of controlled perfection. The wrap-around porch, with tall columns and immaculate steps leading up to the front door, exudes an unsettling calm.A large second-floor balcony with French doors overlooks the pristine, emerald lawn, dotted with regal shrubs and trees. Everything here is meticulously crafted to project an image, but the silence around it hints at something darker beneath the surface.
As we walk up the steps to the front porch, I have to stop myself from touching her lower back. Her hand shakes as she reaches up to ring the doorbell.
Shouts escalate from inside the house, and Eden flinches at the sound of what I can only assume is her father’s voice. His exact words are muffled, but the force behind them is unmistakable—a booming, thunderous sound that reverberates off the walls, making the air feel tense and heavy.
The door swings open, and the rage plastered across her father’s face is palpable. He shifts his expression the second he notices me behind Eden.
Creeping up behind her husband, Morgan looks relieved. My eyes gravitate to the staircase behind them where Aiden sits. We lock eyes before he bows his head, shame leeching the color from his face.
"Eden," David sighs, pretending as if he wasn’t about to scream at her. Stepping through the door and onto the porch, he pulls her into an embrace. Her hands barely touch his sides as she stands there, stiff and unemotional. "Father Briar?" He gently nudges Eden over to her mother. "Is everything okay?"
"No, I don't think so, David," I sigh, looking toward Aiden again. "You think you can get your boy to come over here for a second?"
"Aiden?" Morgan questions, her voice scratchy as if she’d been crying. "He's been worried sick about hissister-"
"It's fine, Mom," Aiden snaps, making his way to the front door.
"Eden, what the hell happened?" David asks. Aiden looks at his sister, a warning in the way he glares at her from the doorway.
