I Have A Confession, Father II
1121 Words
I Have A Confession, Father II
HIS voice was rough when it finally came.
“I’m not asking you to leave.”
She exhaled, shaky and relieved.
Their foreheads nearly touched.
A heartbeat.
Two.
Then he whispered, raw:
“What happens next… we cannot undo.”
Her thumb traced his knuckles in silent answer.
“I don’t want to undo it.”
The last thing he saw before his restraint frayed entirely was the look in her eyes— devotion, desire, ache.
Then he leaned in. Very slowly. Every movement deliberate.
He stopped just short of her lips, trembling.
This was where the rules ended, and this was where hunger began.
And neither of them pulled away. His lips hovered over hers, one breath away. There was nothing holy about this moment.
Outside, the last sunlight died behind the stained glass, turning the church into a world of dusk and candlelight. Shadows stretched long, thick, warm, swallowing them.
Elena didn’t move at first. She just breathed.
Her breath brushed his mouth, tasting of fear and want. She could feel the restraint in his body, the rigidity of a man clinging to a slowly fraying vow.
“Gabriel,” she whispered, for the first time using his name, not his title.
He shouldn’t have let her. But he didn’t stop her. He felt it like a strike to the chest.
And it undid him.
“Elena,” he murmured back, voice rough, “you don’t know what you are doing to me.”
She did.
Oh, she did.
Her fingers curled around his, gently at first… then firmer, as though she feared he would vanish if she didn’t hold on.
“I have tried to stay away,” she breathed. “I have tried to be good. But I can’t lie to myself anymore.”
He looked at her, and for a heartbeat, he wasn’t a priest. He was a man. A lonely man with a pulse that hammered painfully under his skin.
“Elena,” he warned, though the warning was half prayer, half plea. “You deserve someone who can love you freely. Not someone who must hide.”
She shook her head.
“I don’t want someone else.”
She leaned closer, not demanding, not reckless, but offering.
Her forehead rested against his. It was a tiny contact, yet his whole world shifted.
He inhaled sharply.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice unsteady. “Before I go any further.”
She closed her eyes.
“I should,” she admitted. “I know I should. But I won’t.”
He had lived in obedience his entire adult life. Rules. Restraint. Walls he had built for safety and salvation.
She was the first person who had ever made him want to break all of them.
Slowly, he lifted a hand and touched her cheek.
Just that.
A simple touch.
But her breath stuttered, and his knees nearly weakened.
Her skin was warm, soft and alive.
He hadn’t touched anyone like this in years.
She turned her face into his palm, like a confession without words.
“I didn’t come here to seduce you,” she whispered.
“I know,” he said.
“But I can’t pretend I don’t want you.”
The honesty in her voice was devastating.
He cupped her face gently, and she tilted toward him, surrendering to the touch she had forbidden herself for months.
Slowly, his thumb skimmed the corner of her mouth.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t kiss him. She simply breathed against his skin.
It was worse, and better. And dangerous.
“Elena,” he said again, softer this time, “I am someone who should protect you, not—”
“Maybe this is protection,” she whispered. “From loneliness. From emptiness. From pretending we are made of stone.”
Her words hit him harder than temptation.
“You came here seeking God,” he murmured.
“No,” she replied, eyes burning. “I came here seeking peace. And I found you.”
Silence. It was heavy, thick and loaded.
She lifted a hand, hesitant, and touched the collar around his neck. Just her fingertips. A feather-light contact.
He went absolutely still.
That sacred piece of fabric had always been armor. Tonight, it felt like a chain.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.
“You already have,” he confessed. “But I don’t want you to stop.”
Her hands trembled.
So did his.
He leaned in, and their lips brushed, not a kiss, not yet— just the barest trace of contact, enough to ignite every dormant hunger.
She gasped.
His resolve cracked like glass.
His other hand found her waist, drawing her closer, slowly, reverently. She slid forward on the pew until her knees brushed his, their bodies almost aligned.
The candles flickered.
Outside, the wind sighed against the stone walls.
In here, it was only them.
She whispered, “Why are you shaking?”
“Because I have never wanted anything so much,” he answered.
She swallowed.
“Then don’t fight it.”
His thumb traced her lower lip. Her eyes fluttered shut.
He kissed her.
Not a deep, consuming kiss. No. A slow one, a trembling one, a starving one.
Every rule he had lived by fell silent.
The world narrowed to the soft sound she made in her throat, the way her fingers slid up his chest, clutching fabric, pulling him closer.
He broke the kiss first, breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers.
“This is a sin,” he whispered.
“Then let me be your sin,” she answered.
He let out a shaky laugh— broken, tender, almost pained.
“You will ruin me.”
“You look like someone who wants to be ruined.”
Their lips met again. It was longer this time, and slower. Hunger filled.
He held her face in both hands, kissing her like prayer, like surrender.
Then, breathless, he pulled back an inch.
“If we continue,” he murmured, voice rough, “we cross a line neither of us can uncross.”
She brushed her mouth along his jaw, barely touching.
“I’m already across.”
Her confession stole the last light from the room.
Outside, night had fully fallen.
Inside, two souls trembled.
His vows hung in the dark. He would have to choose. But not tonight.
Tonight, he whispered against her lips:
“Stay with me.”
And she whispered back:
“Yes.”
He kissed her again, slow and burning, hands in her hair, body trembling with restraint.
It didn't take long, his hands began roaming her body for her boobs.
- Writer
