Fuck, what the hell had he done? He sat on the bench and stared at St. Augustine. The church was quiet. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what it’s like,” he mumbled. He braced his elbows on the small desk and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Marlena Evans was not going to go away. She lived here. 

She was going to come back, and he did not doubt that he’d only scratched the surface of her “carnal” confessions. And he would have to listen to it without getting aroused like a teenage boy. More than listen, he would have to respond with grace and empathy, and compassion when all he would be able to think about was that mouth. 

 

Stars were now dancing behind his eyelids but he didn’t move his hands. He didn’t want to see this altar now or St. Augustine. He wanted to pray in complete darkness. He wanted nothing in between his thoughts and God, in between this woman and his vocation.

John wanted everything but his sin and these starbursts in his eyes stripped away. 

 

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.

 

He was sorry that he’d betrayed the trust of one of God’s flock. He was sorry that he’d almost betrayed the holiness of his vows. He was sorry that he hadn’t even controlled his desire long enough to step into a cold shower or go for a run or any of the other tricks he’d learned over the past few months to stifle his urges. 

Mostly… Mostly, he was sorry that he was not sorry. 

Dammit, he wasn’t sorry at all.

 

What was that sin called? John knew it had to be one. Was it just lust…or was it something worse? What kind of prayer should he pray for that one? And what if he didn’t feel bad about what he’d done, the things he wanted to do? Even now, even after what happened tonight, he still wanted it. He still felt lonely, he still wanted to fuck her raw. Which was confusing as hell because he had no idea about anything else he wanted out of his life, that moment. As all other thoughts vanished into oblivion.

Despite everything, he still wanted to talk to her about what happened. He wanted to take her hand and give her soft intimations of wisdom, but fuck, nothing about him was soft right now. 

Her words tonight. 

Her fucking words. 

 

It had been bad enough listening to her talk about the pain she was in, but then when she’d described touching herself, coaxing her pussy into orgasm, and he had imagined himself watching her from a small gap at the door. He bet he could see it now if he wanted. He could stand her against the wall and yank down that skirt, kick her legs open so that she would be exposed to him... There was no earthly way he could have lasted another minute.

Thank God he left when he did.

 

God must have heard his unspoken prayer. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” her voice was carried in the hot breeze when the church door opened up. He was right there at the altar, on his knees, trying to solve the bigger problem of how to stand up without revealing what her words had done to him. His head snapped.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again. “You were trying to keep your vows and I—” John held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s all right.” 

That was a lie. 

He made a mental note to ask forgiveness for that lie as well as what he was about to do. He stood, turning to face the beautiful woman at the church doorway. Her clothes were different. The red of her dress glowed in the dim light “It was my fault, you were telling me about your fears, and I-” 

She gave him a gorgeous smile as she walked one step forward and grabbed the big door handle. 

“John, I- I came here to apologize...I didn't mean to overstep your boundaries. I’ll be leaving now” 

 

He strode to the big oak doors. There wasn’t time to feel guilty or question his motives or for anything remotely resembling thought. He tried to think of someone else—anyone else—other than the woman who had come to him seeking forgiveness and reassurance. But his mind kept wandering back to her, imagining her at the penthouse, moving for him and only for him, showing him the thing he most wanted. 

 

God, help me. 

 

He felt it building, taut electricity in his pelvis, his mind filled with images of fucking Marlena Evans—her mouth or her pussy or her ass, he didn’t care.

​

Shit. 

Shit. 

Stop.

 

He practically jogged down the hallway to the narthex, where Marlena was in a short red dress and black high heels, lips red and ready for him. He had wanted to be gentle at first, to share deep sweet kisses that would leave them dizzy and stunned, but that dress and those heels.

 

Screw gentle. 

 

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside, barely taking the time to lock the door before he pushed her against it.

"You're not going anywhere " he hissed. This was something raw and real and undeniable and it was not going to go away. She was trembling against him now, her lips parted and waiting, and he allowed himself a narrower margin now, lowering his mouth to a mere fraction of an inch above hers, tightening his arm around her lower back. They were so close that they were sharing breath, literally, their hearts beating in the same dizzy rhythm. In spite of everything that had happened between them, this moment somehow felt more intimate, more vulnerable, than anything they’d yet shared. 

 

“I can’t stop myself, I’m sorry,” He said at the same time she said, “I tried to stay away from you.” 

And then he kissed her.

He brushed his lips against hers once, just to feel the softness of her skin glancing past his, and then pressed his mouth to hers in earnest, tasting her in the slowest, deepest way possible, until he felt her knees weaken and she made little noises in the back of her throat. 

He kissed her until he saw static at the edges of his vision, until he couldn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been kissing, until he couldn’t feel where his mouth ended and hers began. John kissed her until it felt like they’d exchanged something—a promise maybe or a covenant or a piece of their souls. 

 

And when he pulled away, it was as if he pulled away reborn, a new man. A baptism by kiss rather than a baptism by water. He slid his hands under her ass and lifted her so that she was truly pinned between the wood and his pelvis, which he rocked against her as they kissed. 

 

“Marlena,” he said, breaking their kiss to move a hand down between them. “I can’t get you out of my mind.”

“Don’t be afraid of the truth,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Don’t be afraid of this.” she trembled.

“Doc, you shouldn’t have come here” 

She nodded, biting her lip. 

He pulled away from the wall, still holding her, and carried her into the sanctuary.

 

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and it was so natural, so right, to have her in his arms after all these years apart that he never wanted to put her down. 

“Am I in trouble?” she asked, a bit coyly. 

“Yes,” he growled, nipping at her neck. “I’m going to bend you over and see exactly how bad you’ve been.” 

 

He had planned to take her to his loft, but he couldn’t wait the 25 minutes it would take to drive her there; he was barely able to keep himself from unzipping his jeans and thrusting up into her right there and then. He could bend her over a pew, but he wanted her to be able to brace and balance herself. The piano was across the sanctuary, but the altar…the church’s sacred stone table was only a couple of steps away. 

 

Forgive me.

 

Carrying Marlena up the shallow stairs, he set her down and turned her to face the altar, happy to see that it would be the perfect height with her in those heels. 

“The altar,” she murmured. “Am I your sacrifice tonight?” 

“Are you offering?” 

In response, she put her hands flat on the altar cloth, a move that curved her back and highlighted the round contour of her ass. “Oh, very good, Doc, but not good enough.” He pressed a hand against her back and pushed her down, watching the dress ride slowly up the back of her thighs as she bent over. He pushed until her turned cheek was sideways against the altar, and then he found her wrists and stretched them above her head.

“Don’t move an inch,” he whispered low in her ear, then walked to the sacristy, where he found a cincture. 

 

When he came back out into the apse, she was still as he left her, which deeply pleased him. He would reward her for that later. He made quick work of knotting the white rope around her wrists and hands, thinking of the prayer priests were supposed to say as they tied their cinctures. 

 

Gird me, O Lord, with the cincture of purity, and quench in my heart the fire of lust… 

 

Wrapped around her wrists, binding this woman to his desires, the cincture was doing the exact opposite of its purpose, quenching nothing. His entire body was on fire for hers, flames already licking every inch of his skin, and the only way to douse them was to sink balls deep into her sweet center. 

He should feel bad about that.

He should. 

 

He stepped back to admire his work: the way her arms looked stretched forward and bound together, like a captive in supplication; the way her black heels dug into the carpet; the way her ass was displayed and at his disposal. John came back to her, lifting the hem of her dress with one finger. 

 

“This shows an awful lot, Doc. Do you know how much?” She was staring at him over the curve of her shoulder. 

“Yes,” she said. “I can feel the air on me…” 

 

He knelt behind her. The skirt indeed only just covered what it needed, and the slightest lift would have revealed the shell-pink seam of her pussy. “Why did you wear this dress tonight, Marlena?” 

“I wanted…I wanted you to fuck me in it.”

“That’s naughty…so you basically came here with the intention to seduce me.” 

He stood up and then ran his hands up her thighs, catching the soft fabric in his fingers and moving it above her hips. “What about the vows I took?” He caressed her ass as he spoke. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you, like this, bent over, ready to be fucked?” 

 

Her voice was muffled by her arm. “I know what I want. You need to face the truth. You want me just as much.” 

 

Smack. 

 

She sucked in a deep breath, and he watched as a red handprint bloomed on her ass, clear even in the dim late-evening light. 

“I’m worried about it,” he said. 

“You shouldn’t be—” 

 

Smack. 

 

She shuddered and then widened her stance to push her ass closer to his hand. “I know I shouldn’t be,” he said, “that’s not the point. I don’t hold your past life against you. But this—” he let his hand slide down to cup her pussy, which was hot and swollen and wet “—I’m taking this tonight. I’m making it mine. Which makes you a bad girl to be so reckless with it today.” he spanked her again, and she moaned against her arm. 

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he told her, leaning close to her ear. “But you bring out the fucking caveman in me. Look at me, Marlena.” 

 

She did, one beautiful hazel eye peeping up over her tied arm. He squeezed her pussy, and she was so slippery against his palm, it took everything he had not to show how wild that made him, that she could get this turned on by the spanking and the submission. But he had to check this one box, settle this final question, because he didn’t want to go to feminist ally hell on top of the other hells he was destined for. 

He squeezed her again and she struggled to keep her gaze on him. “Marlena, I…I want to be like this with you. Rough. Possessive. But you have to tell me it’s okay.” he rested his head on her back, rolling his face into her neck. “Tell me it’s okay, Marlena. Say those words.” 

 

God, that lavender smell and the silky brush of her hair against his cheek, and the feeling of her wet pussy pulsing in his hand. 

“Just…fuck.” 

“Yes,” she said, and her voice was urgent, clear, loud. “Yes, please.” 

“Please what?” he had to be sure. Because the things he wanted to do to this woman—Leviticus had not even come close to covering all the ways he wanted to defile her. 

 

He could hear the smile in her voice along with the neediness. “John, you are exactly what I want. Use me. Be rough. Leave marks.” She paused. “Please.” 

That was all he needed. 

He kissed the back of her neck and then straightened so he could smack her ass again, rubbing the spot right afterward to soothe away the burn. 

“Stand up and turn around,” he ordered, and she complied right away. The look on her face as she turned around was enough to make him come on its own—she looked like she would do anything, anything, to be fucked just then, and he had a lot of things in mind for her to do. 

 

But first, he untied her wrists, kissing the faint indentations left behind by the rope, and then he reached behind her and unzipped her dress. It fell to her feet, leaving her completely naked with the exception of her heels. He took a minute to stare at her, at the ripe teardrops of her breasts, big enough to squeeze, small enough to support themselves. Her supple stomach, slender and soft and slightly rounded, with the kind of hips you could dig your fingers into. The naked V of her pussy, smoothly delicate, and the irresistible curve of her ass. 

“I just realized you aren’t wearing your…” she gestured at her throat. 

“Day off,” he said, his voice hoarser than he expected. He reached behind his neck and grabbed the fabric of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and off his body, relishing the way her lips parted and her hand drifted to her mouth as she stared at him. He unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather through the loops of his jeans and dropping it on the floor. He kicked off his shoes and took off his jeans. He normally liked to stay at least partly clothed during sex, but he wanted to give her this, his nakedness, as a gift. And selfishly, he wanted to feel every inch of her skin against his. 

 

“Come here,” he said. “And kneel.” 

She did, her breath audible now, kneeling in front of him and crossing her ankles behind her, taunting him with those heels. “Take them off,” he said, jerking his chin down to indicate his black boxer briefs. She did, impatiently tugging them off his hips, and he groaned as his erection was finally, finally let free. She pressed soft, red lips to the silky skin of his cock. “Let me suck you,” she breathed up at me. “Let me make you feel good.” 

 

He found her lips with his thumb, running it along her lower one and pulling it down to open her up more. “Hold still,” he told her, and then he guided his cock into her waiting mouth. Holy shit. 

Holy shit. 

 

He’d forgotten that this woman’s mouth was like a slice of heaven, warm and wet and with that flicking, fluttering tongue that danced along the underside of his cock. He laced his hands through her golden hair—fucking up whatever adorable hairstyle she’d had it in—and then slowly withdrew, savoring every single second as her lips and tongue kissed against his skin. And then he slid in again, less gently this time, his eyes darting from her lips to her heels to the way her hand circled her clit as he slowly fucked her mouth. 

 

She kept her eyes pinned to his, peering up at him through those long dark eyelashes, and he thought about all the times they’d distracted the hell out of him and all the times that he’d wanted to fuck her brains out. He tightened his grip in her hair. He wanted to go hard, he wanted to make her eyes water, he wanted to thrust until he reached the point where he could barely hold back from shooting down her throat. 

“Ready?” he whispered to her, still wanting to tread on the side of consent and caution. And then she groaned a frustrated groan, as if annoyed that he was asking again. 

“Bad girl,” he said and thrust hard into her mouth. He heard her choke as he hit the back of her throat, but he only gave her a minute before he pushed in again, and again. He knew he was longer and wider than most men, he knew he was harder to take, but he wasn’t going to cut her any slack unless she asked for it, not after that stunt. 

 

“You like being bad? You like making me punish you?” She managed to nod, her watery eyes blinking up at him in this honest, impeaching way, and he knew it was true. He swore. “You’re going to make me crazy.” 

She smiled around his cock, and fuck, he had to be absolved of all these sins because Saint Peter himself wouldn’t have been able to deny himself this woman. He drove into her mouth several more times, right up until he could feel that familiar clench in his belly, and then he pulled out, his breathing ragged from the effort it took not to come all over that gorgeous face. Instead, he used his thumb to wipe at Marlena’s eyes, which were now smudged with makeup and tears. The ever-so-slightly smeared lipstick he left the way it was. In fact, it was too tempting not to kiss and lick and nibble at, and he picked her up so he could do just that while he walked her over to the altar. 

 

Her lips were swollen from his assault and yet so yielding to his kiss, so deliciously soft. He groaned into her mouth as she licked past his teeth and tasted his tongue, and he moved his mouth harder against hers. Harder and more and he could barely breathe for kissing this woman. He set her down on the altar but didn’t end the kiss, stroking around her breasts and hips. It was damn near impossible to stop, but he was getting to the point where little else mattered apart from getting inside her, and so he did stop. 

 

“Lay back,” he said as he broke their kiss, holding his hand behind her head so that she wouldn’t hurt it accidentally. It was a long altar, and she was a tall woman, and so she was able to arrange herself comfortably with room to spare. He trailed one hand along her stomach as he walked around the back, facing the sanctuary as if he were beginning the communion rite. Except instead of the body and blood of Christ spread before him, he had Marlena. He ran the tip of his nose along her jaw, oh so slowly down and across her body, loving the way she arched and tilted to his touch, so greedy. 

​

She was a feast to him—creases and hollows and supple curves—and having her like this was like the first gasp of oxygen after surfacing from the water, powerful and instinctual, and he didn’t give a fuck about all the sins he was currently committing, he was going to revel in every minute of it. He bit at the inside of her thighs. 

He circled every inch of her pussy with his tongue. He kneaded her breasts with rough hands until she squeaked, and he nibbled at the dip of her navel and sucked on each nipple until she was writhing on the altar. He took kisses from her rather than sharing them with her. He slid his fingers in her pussy not to make her feel good, but so that he could relish the sensation of the slickness against his fingertips. He knew she was getting pleasure from all this, and he did want her to come, often and hard, when she was with him. 

 

But this moment? 

​

Where he was groping and squeezing and inhaling her scent and feeding on her sighs?

This was for him.

And after he was done taking what he wanted, when he was so hard that he couldn’t think straight, he climbed up on the altar with her, kneeling between her parted legs. He waited, a hairbreadth of a second, waited for God’s voice to come thundering down, waited for a heavenly intervention like when Abraham had his only child bound and ready for sacrifice. 

But it never came. 

​

There was only Marlena and her heaving chest as she murmured, “Please please please…” right now, with her eyes so dark and her skin so flushed, she was the holiest thing he’d ever seen. A miracle made flesh, waiting for his flesh to join with it. “You are truly beautiful,” he said, running a finger down her jaw. And then he reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Whatever happens after this, I just want you to know that this was worth it. You were worth it. You were worth everything.” 

 

She opened her mouth and then shut it again as if she couldn’t find the right words to say. A single tear spilled out of the corner of her eye and he leaned over her to kiss it away.

“John…” she started but he silenced her with a kiss. 

“Just listen,” he said, lowering himself between her legs. She shivered as the head of his cock pressed against her entrance. 

“This,” he said, and he pushed partly into her, barely able to breathe for how tight she was around him. “This is your body.” he leaned his head down and caught the delicate skin of her neck in his teeth. “This is your blood,” he whispered in her ear. He shoved all the way in, and she cried out as her back arched off the altar. “This is you,” he told her and the empty sanctuary, “this is you, given up for me.” 

 

They stayed still after that, absorbing the new feeling of each other, the feeling of his hips pressed to her softness, the feeling of her tight, tight channel around him. He was worried he was going to come just being like this, just being inside. But then he noticed that she was biting her lip and breathing shakily, and he realized that she was adjusting to his size. he could hardly fit, and what’s worse, that was what made it feel so fucking good. 

 

God, he was such an asshole. 

 

He hadn’t made her ready enough and part of him found that hot, so hot that he was barely able to attend to her the way a good man should. he had to lean down and bite her neck and shoulders repeatedly to force himself to stay still—all he wanted to do was pound into her like she was a little fuckdoll, pump into her like nothing existed except for her pussy. But no, this was not how their first time should be. he told her he wanted to be rough, but the rough fucking he was dying to give her would be too much, and he couldn’t bear to abuse his lady like that. Finally mastering himself a little, he pulled out halfway, reaching down to rub her clit, thinking he would get her off and then finish another way that wouldn’t hurt her. 

 

She caught his hand. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t be the good guy. I told you what I wanted. Now give it to me.” she said, her eyes wide and open and fervent. “Give me what I want, John. I want this. Please.” 

 

He groaned at her words, his cock surging, and he sank back into her slowly. His thighs and arms were trembling with the suppressed need, but he couldn’t be that guy, he didn’t want to be that guy, the guy who used a woman for himself and didn’t make it good for her. She said she wanted it, and he knew he’d asked for and gotten permission, but still, she didn’t know how rough he could be, how hard he could go. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to speak in his ear.

 

“How can I push you over the edge? Hmm?” She wriggled underneath him, and he sucked in a breath, the sudden motion after the stillness almost too much. “How can I convince you to tear me apart?” 

 

Well, shit. 

 

“I can tell that’s what you want,” she continued, purring in his ear. “I can feel you shaking. Do it. Just pull out and then push back in. Doesn’t that feel good?” 

 

Fuck yes, it did. 

 

It felt so good that he did it again, and again, closing his eyes and exhaling slow ragged breaths. Each time he pushed in, he ground himself against her clit, pulling out slowly to drag against her g-spot, some gallant voice telling him to make sure that she would come, the rest of him fighting that voice and pleading with him to screw her mindlessly. 

 

“Where’s the man who spanked me years ago?” she asked. “Where’s the man who fucked my throat until my eyes watered?” His eyes were still closed, but he opened them now, meeting her gaze. 

“Don’t want to hurt you, Doc” he said, his voice rough with the effort of his restraint. “I care about you too much.” 

“John,” she begged. “You’ve done it before with me.” 

“Not like this.” 

“Look,” she demanded. “Look down at us.” he did, withdrawing out to the tip, and it was a mistake because seeing where they were joined was so hot, so primal, and it clawed its way up his spine, and he didn’t even know what it was—lust or love or biology or fate—but his attempt at nobility fractured and the beast within broke through. 

​

“Forgive me,” he muttered and then rammed himself home. She moaned in surprise and then he laid his body on top of hers, supporting himself with only his forearms now, their chests and stomachs pressed together, his hips digging into her inner thighs. Pinning her down like this, he stabbed into her over and over and over again, burying himself repeatedly in that velvet pussy. 

 

“More,” she moaned, and he gave it to her. He heard her heels tumble off and fall to the floor, and the altar cloth was sliding he was driving into her so hard, but he didn’t care, he was lost to himself, lost to her and lost to the world and everything except her grunts and squeals in his ear and the wet pussy underneath him. It was perfect, and he was fucking that perfection, and he didn’t give a fuck about anything else but it and his cock and filling this woman with his cum, and why the hell did damnation feel so fucking good? 

 

He didn't even know what he was saying as he rutted into her, 

 

Jesus, please... 

 

She was so tight and he had to. 

He had to.

He had to. 

 

And she was saying words back, words that spilled out in gasps and grunts and pants, right there and harder and close, he was so close. Deeper, he had to get deeper even though he knew there was no actual, physical way he could be deeper, and then he took her mouth, kissing her with something violent and furious and worshipful. They could both hardly breathe but they refused to stop and he fucked her all the while, feeling her tighten and writhe and finally break underneath him. She bucked, crying out against his mouth, her fingernails gouging red lines of pain down his back, and they rode out her orgasm together because she was a wild thing, a woman possessed, and it was like having a tigress underneath him, but he kept riding her and then it was there, it was there, it was there and he still had her mouth as he jabbed in a final time and came. 

 

Excruciatingly, he came. 

 

Every pulse of his cock was like a pulse of his soul, and every muscle tightening and contracting was like a punch to the gut, and he was so bare with this woman in every way, his nerves flayed raw and his heart wide open and his eternal soul right alongside his bruising hips and thrusting cock and the cum that was now spilling everywhere, leaking onto the white altar cloth, he felt as married to her right now as a man could be married to a woman. 

He gave a few last thrusts, milking every last throb out of his climax, every last drop out of himself, and then he raised himself up on his hands to look down at her. 

 

She was smiling a lazy, sated smile, and then she said in a growly voice that shook him to his very core, “you’re mine now... Priest.”