The Don in the CHAPEL

holy sinner

I was in a room—spacious, silent, and smelling freshly cleaned. I inhaled deeply, letting the scent fill my lungs, just as the door opened and a man stepped in.

A priest.

A sinfully handsome priest, with eyes that burned through fabric and a presence that made my thighs clench. He walked toward me, slow and confident, until I felt his breath on my skin.

Without a word, he pushed me onto the bed.

My body betrayed me, growing hot under his touch. He pulled my skirt down slowly, eyes fixed on mine. Then came my shirt… my bra… each undone with intentional slowness, as if he wanted to memorize the curve of every inch.

“Do you like this, baby?”

His voice was husky, sinful, dangerous.

“Do you like my hands on your breasts like this?” he asked, massaging and teasing them until I couldn’t hold back the moan that slipped from my lips.

He bent low, licking, kissing, biting down gently. Then stood up to strip off his priestly garment while I watched like I was under some forbidden spell.

All the thoughts that should have screamed You shouldn’t be doing this with a priest! were long gone. All that remained was heat. Need. Sin.

His tongue traveled—my stomach… my navel… lower.

Lower.

Until I felt it.

Hot. Wet. Right on the entrance of my—

My body tensed as a moan ripped from my throat. I could feel myself soaking the sheets, the pleasure building like a wave threatening to drown me.

Kissing. Biting. Licking.

God, I was close.

I screamed—

And woke up.

Eyes wide. Heart racing.

Holy. F*cking. Hell.

A wet dream. I was having a wet dream… about a priest.

I blinked, dazed, my hand slowly finding the damp spot beneath me. My face flushed with embarrassment, still recovering from the intensity of it all.

Then—

"Sierra!!"

The scream came from the other room.

Hot water.

That’s all my brain processed before the splash hit me—burning, scalding, real.

My aunt was yelling, furious. Her daughter had touched the pot on the gas, and somehow it was my fault.

I stood still. The burn seared my skin.

But I didn’t cry.

I’m done crying.

I don’t deserve this. Not the hot water. Not the hatred. Not the endless punishment for a life I didn’t choose. It’s like she hates me for simply existing. Like I stole her husband in a past life.

The burn on my skin hurt…

But the one she’s carved into my soul? That pain is deeper.

And I know—

Something is changing inside me.

Something dark.

Something she created.

Something that may not end well.

And it won’t be my fault.

It will be the monster she made.