"Want a taste of how sweet you were?" He asks, his thumbs slipping from my lips, leaving them tingling with the absence of his touch.
A smile spreads across my face as I lean in closer, my lips brushing against his as I whisper, "Yes, Father."
"If you’re what sinning feels like, Eden, then I will gladly embrace the gates of Hell and beg for God's forgivenessfor the rest of my life," Roman murmurs, his voice a low, fervent confession that sends a shiver down my spine.
His lips crash into mine, a collision of desperation and desire as if he’s trying to consume every piece of me. His tongue traces the contours of my mouth, each movement deliberate, claiming. My hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. For a moment, time ceases to exist; it’s just us, lost in the sinful pleasure of each other’s touch.
But all too soon, the distant toll of church bells pierces the silence, a harsh reminder of the world outside this stolen, forbidden moment. Reluctantly, I feel him pull away, his breath mingling with mine one last time before he slips the ring back onto his finger—a cold band of gold that binds him to a vow he can never truly break.
No matter how intoxicating these fleeting moments are, he’ll always be dedicated to a higher power. To him, I will always be nothing more than a sin, a temptation he’s drawn to but can never fully embrace.
But the question that lingers, the one that gnaws at the edges of my mind, is this: What is he to me?
Luke 12:2: “There is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed, or hidden that will not be made known.”
Chapter 19
Eden
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pull him closer as our lips meet in another heated kiss. His back hits the mattress with a soft thud, the ironed perfection of his black shirt now undone, revealing the chiseled contours of his torso beneath my hands.
I barely had time to slip on my bra and underwear before he began trailing kisses along my neck, his tie hanging loosely, forgotten in the wake of our mutual distraction of each other. The moment I turned to face him, the thought of getting ready for Mass was abandoned entirely.
"You," He murmurs against my neck, his voice thick with both desire and restraint, "need to get ready for service." His hand tangles in my hair, pulling just enough to stop me from kissing him, his impatience simmering beneath the surface. "Now.”
"What’s a few more minutes going to hurt?" I ask, my hands still splayed across his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my fingers.
"My ring is on, Eden." Roman snaps, the warmth of the room cooling as he removes the ropes and handcuffs from the bed and the sex toy he’d used on me from the nightstand.
"I have nothing to wear," I admit, glancing at the dryer where my clothes are still tumbling.
He gently moves me off him, adjusting the strain in his pants before walking over to a drawer. He pulls out a pair of sweats and a faded t-shirt.
"You’re lucky this shrunk," He smiles, tossing me the clothes.
I roll my eyes, starting to pull on the sweats, but he catches my wrists, stopping me mid-motion. "I’ll do it," He whispers, his voice softening as he kneels before me, slowly pulling the sweats up my legs. His lips trace a tender path up my thighs, pausing to kiss each scar, lingering on the deeper ones as if offering silent absolution.
When he’s finished, I grab his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Why do you do that?" I ask, holding his face firmly in place. "Why do you act like all you know is darkness, yet touch me so gently?" My voice is quiet but insistent as I hold his face steady in my hand, refusing to let him look away.
He shrugs. "You were a good girl for me," He whispers, his eyes narrowing with intensity as he pulls the shirt over my head, his lips brushing against each breast with a soft, reverent kiss.
"Do as I say," He continues, his voice a low murmur that vibrates through me, "and you’ll be rewarded." There’s a note of quiet disappointment to see me fully clothed as he tugs the shirt down to meet my waist.
I help him button up his shirt, my fingers struggling slightly with the small buttons, but he doesn’t stop me. He stands still,letting me tuck the shirt into his belt, his eyes watching me intently as I reach for his tie, the silence between us heavy.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask softly, watching as Roman’s head begins to shake before I’ve even finished the question.
"You don’t want to know."
"Try me," I whisper, my voice a delicate challenge as I loop his tie through with careful precision, drawing him closer in the process.
His eyes darken, the restraint he’s been clinging to slipping away as he leans in, his breath hot against my ear. "I want to take this tie and wrap it around your throat while you're taking me—"
His confession sends a shock of arousal and fear racing through me, but before I can respond, the sharp sound of the doorbell slices through the air, reverberating through the house. We both freeze, flustered and caught off guard, the moment of raw honesty shattered. I notice his hand twitching as if fighting the urge to remove his ring, the symbol of a vow he can’t bring himself to break.
In a flash, he pulls on the mask of a priest, the practiced expression of calm and piety that hides the turmoil beneath. "Stay here," He urges, his voice a hushed command as he heads for the door, leaving it slightly cracked behind him.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I position myself in the sliver of the doorway, swiping my phone for distraction while I listen intently to the unwelcome interruption. My pulse quickens, a mixture of nerves and dread pooling in my stomach.
