Snowbound With The Priest

I wanted to sin the second he opened the door. Father Mateo stood there in a black shirt and clerical collar, taller than I expected, dark eyes steady, like a man who had never once lost control. Snow melted down the back of my neck. My suitcase felt too heavy in my hand. The engagement ring was still on my finger. I hadn’t been able to take it off. He took the suitcase from me without asking. When his fingers brushed mine, heat shot straight up my arm and settled low between my legs. “Miss Lang,” he said. Voice calm. Low. The kind that made people confess things they shouldn’t. “Your grandmother wrote that you might come. You’re welcome here.” I stepped inside and tried not to look like I was running. The rectory smelled like woodsmoke and clean soap. I kept my back straight and my smile polite, but my pulse was already racing for two different reasons. One of them was the man in front of me. The other was the fear that Daniel might still find me. “Thank you, Father.” He closed the door against the wind. Outside, the snow fell heavier by the minute. He set my suitcase down in the narrow hallway and looked at me properly. I felt that look like a hand on my skin. “You’re shaking,” he said. “Just cold.” It was a lie. I had been jumping at every sound since I left the city. Every pair of headlights in my rearview mirror had made my stomach drop. I kept expecting Daniel’s car to appear behind me. Mateo noticed. He didn’t call me on it. He simply nodded toward the sitting room. “Come by the fire.” I followed him. A fire had already burned in the stone hearth. The room was simple—old couch, two chairs, a wooden table, shelves of books. He took my wet coat. When he reached for it, his chest almost brushed my shoulder. I didn’t move away. I wanted him to notice, and I hated that I wanted it. A loud crack came from outside—just a branch moving under the snow. I flinched hard. Mateo’s hand landed on my upper arm, steady and warm. “It’s only the trees,” he said. “You’re safe here.” His palm stayed a second longer than it needed to. I felt the heat of it through my sweater. When he let go, my skin still burned. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll make coffee.” I sat on the couch and watched him walk into the small kitchen. The black shirt pulled across his back when he reached for the kettle. I crossed my legs tight and tried to ignore the slow ache building between them. This was a priest. A man who had taken vows. I had no business staring at the way his pants fit or wondering what his mouth would feel like. I also had no business feeling safer because he had touched me. He came back with two mugs and sat in the chair across from me. Not too close. Not far enough. “Your grandmother said you left in a hurry,” he said. “I did.” “Bad engagement?” I looked down at the ring I still hadn’t removed. “Something like that.” He didn’t push. Just nodded once and drank his coffee. The silence felt thick. Outside, the wind threw snow against the windows. I watched his throat move when he swallowed and thought about putting my mouth there. Another noise—this time from the roof. Snow sliding. I jerked again before I could stop myself. Mateo set his mug down and leaned forward. “Cora.” My name in his voice sounded too intimate. “No one is coming through that storm tonight. The roads are already gone.” I forced a breath out. “I know. I’m just … jumpy.” “I can see that.” He didn’t ask why. The fact that he didn’t make me want to tell him everything. Instead, I wrapped both hands around the warm mug and kept my mouth shut. We talked for a while about safe things. The mountain winters. How long had he been the only priest in this parish? How quiet the rectory got when the snow closed the roads. His answers were steady, but sometimes his eyes dropped to my mouth or the open collar of my sweater before he looked away again. I noticed. I filed it away. When the coffee was gone, he showed me the guest room. Narrow bed. White sheets. A wooden cross on the wall above the headboard. He set my suitcase at the foot of the bed and stepped back into the doorway, keeping space between us. “There’s extra blankets in the closet if you get cold. The bathroom is across the hall. I’ll cook something simple for dinner.” “You don’t have to go to trouble.” “It’s no trouble.” His voice stayed even, but his eyes stayed on mine a second longer than they needed to. “The storm's going to lock us in for a few days at least. Might as well eat properly.” I nodded. He left me alone. I sat on the edge of the bed and pressed my thighs together hard. My underwear was already damp. I hated how fast it had happened. I hated that I liked it. I also kept listening for engines outside, even though I knew the snow made that impossible. Dinner was quiet. Pasta with garlic and oil, bread, a little red wine he poured without asking. We sat at the small table. The only light came from a single lamp and the fire in the next room. Every time he passed me the bread or refilled my glass, his fingers came close to mine. I kept my hands steady and my voice polite. Inside I was filthy. I kept imagining him standing up, walking around the table, and pulling me out of the chair by the hair. A sudden bang against the side of the house made me drop my fork. Mateo’s hand covered mine on the table before I could pull away. “Tree branch,” he said quietly. “Nothing more.” His thumb brushed once across my knuckles. Warm. Rough. I stared at that small point of contact and felt it all the way between my legs. When he took his hand back, I missed it immediately. After dinner, he burned the fire and said he would read for a while. I said I was tired. It was a lie. I went to the guest room, closed the door, and leaned against it with my eyes shut. I could still feel the place where his hand had rested on mine. I stripped down to a thin tank top and underwear because the room was warm enough and because I wanted the air on my skin. I climbed under the sheets and stared at the cross on the wall. My hand slid down my stomach before I could stop it. I was soaked. I rubbed slow circles over my c**t through the cotton and bit my lip to stay quiet. I thought about his voice saying my name. I thought about that collar between my teeth. I came with my face pressed into the pillow, shaking, breathing hard. When it was over, I lay still and listened to the house. The wind howled. Snow hit the windows in heavy sheets. Somewhere down the hall a floorboard creaked. I sat up. Another creak, closer this time. I held my breath and watched the doorknob. It turned slowly, quietly, like someone testing whether it was locked. I didn’t move. I didn’t cover myself. I just sat there in the dark with my heart slamming and my thighs still wet, waiting to see if Father Mateo was going to open the door.