Holytemptations
1229 Words
The night clung to Eve like a second skin.
Even after Nathaniel had left her standing breathless and undone in the church, the heat of his touch haunted her.
She stumbled back to her small rented apartment above the florist shop, every nerve still burning, every forbidden thought alive and thrumming.
But the mirror told another story.
In its cracked surface, Eve didn’t see the trembling, aroused woman she felt like.
She saw *her mother’s eyes* — wild, untrustworthy. Dangerous.
She gripped the edges of the sink so tightly her knuckles whitened.
*"Get a hold of yourself,"* she whispered.
But it was already too late.
She had tasted the chaos tonight — and it tasted like salvation.
A low buzz interrupted her thoughts.
Her burner phone — the one she kept hidden behind the third floorboard — vibrated against the wood. Only *one* person knew that number.
Her blood turned to ice.
She bent down, lifting the board, her fingers shaking.
The screen lit up with a name she hadn't seen in almost two years:
**Unknown Contact: D.**
For a long moment, she just stared, her breath locked inside her chest.
**One message. One sentence.**
*"They found you."*
Eve staggered back, the room tilting around her.
No. Not here. Not now.
She had *started over.* She had *changed.* Hadn’t she?
But deep down, Eve had always known her past wasn’t something she could outrun.
It would come for her eventually, cloaked in blood and promises broken long ago.
And tonight — *after surrendering to Nathaniel's touch* — was no coincidence.
The timing was too perfect.
A knock at the door jerked her upright.
She moved fast, sweeping the phone under a pile of books, grabbing the blade hidden beneath the coffee table without thinking.
Old instincts kicked in — instincts she pretended didn’t exist.
*"Who is it?"* she called out, voice steady.
*"It’s me,"* came Nathaniel’s deep voice, muffled but unmistakable.
Relief warred with suspicion inside her.
Slowly, she slid the blade back into hiding and opened the door.
Nathaniel stood there in the dim hallway light, his dark hair tousled, his white shirt rumpled like he hadn’t slept in days. His tie was gone, his collar undone.
He looked *wrecked.*
For her.
Without a word, he stepped inside, crowding her space, his presence overwhelming.
“I shouldn’t have left you tonight,” he said, his voice low, rough. “I tried to stay away, Eve. I really did.”
Before she could speak, he was on her again — his mouth crashing down onto hers, fierce, unrelenting.
She gasped against him, her back hitting the door as he pinned her there.
Every inch of him pressed against her, his hands threading through her hair, tugging just hard enough to make her moan.
It was desperate.
Messy.
Completely wrong.
And it was the only thing that made her forget the terror still tightening around her ribs.
Nathaniel’s hands roamed her body like a prayer turned sin — tracing the line of her hips, skimming under her dress, lifting it higher and higher until cool air kissed her thighs.
Eve whimpered into his mouth, her body arching into him, begging for more, even as her mind screamed at her to stop.
*"You’re playing with fire,"* that small voice warned.
But Eve had always been drawn to fire.
She didn’t just want to burn — she wanted to *ignite.*
Nathaniel tore his mouth from hers, resting his forehead against hers as they both fought for breath.
“This,” he rasped, his fingers digging into her hips, “this isn’t enough. I need to know you, Eve. All of you.”
The words sliced through her.
He thought he wanted that.
He had no idea what he was asking for.
The girl he saw — the girl with trembling hands and parted lips — wasn’t *her.*
The real Eve was buried beneath scars and broken promises.
And if Nathaniel dug too deep, he wouldn’t find salvation.
He’d find *ruin.*
Still, some reckless part of her wanted to let him.
Wanted to see how far she could drag him down into her darkness before he realized he was drowning.
“Careful what you wish for,” she whispered against his lips.
But Nathaniel only smiled — slow, dangerous.
“I don’t scare easy, sweetheart.”
His hands slipped lower, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her across the room.
He laid her on the bed, hovering over her, his body heavy and hot. His fingers trailed over her ribs, up her sides, brushing the underside of her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress.
He moved slowly now — reverently — like he was memorizing her.
Eve closed her eyes, letting herself feel it — the weight of him, the way he touched her like she was something precious.
No one had ever touched her like that.
Not even him.
Nathaniel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of her dress, tugging it up and over her head, leaving her in nothing but lace and skin.
He cursed softly under his breath, his hands tracing every inch of her exposed flesh, his mouth following — kisses hot and desperate across her stomach, her hips, the insides of her thighs.
When he finally reached the place she needed him most, Eve cried out, her hands fisting in the sheets, her body arching off the bed.
Nathaniel didn’t rush.
He took his time — drawing pleasure from her the way a priest might draw confession from a sinner.
Slow.
Painful.
Exquisite.
And Eve gave herself over to it — to him — because for these fleeting moments, she wasn’t the girl running from her past.
She was just *Eve.*
Wanted.
Needed.
Alive.
But as the night stretched on, as Nathaniel’s touch pushed her to the edge again and again, one truth became clear:
No matter how deeply he kissed her…
No matter how fiercely he loved her body…
Nathaniel had no idea *who he had just welcomed into his bed.*
And when he finally found out, it would be far, far too late.
Morning light bled through the curtains, spilling over their tangled bodies.
Eve stirred first, her limbs sore but satisfied, her skin tingling everywhere Nathaniel had touched her.
For a moment, she lay there, studying him.
The steady rise and fall of his chest.
The relaxed, almost boyish softness that sleep gave him.
He looked nothing like the man who had pinned her to the bed last night, worshiping every inch of her like she was something holy.
*God,* she thought, *what are we doing?*
She slid from the bed quietly, careful not to wake him.
The bruises he left on her hips, the scratches she'd raked down his back — they felt like marks of ownership.
Except Eve didn't belong to anyone.
Not anymore.
She dressed quickly, pulling on a simple black dress that clung to her hips and an oversized cardigan.
Minimal makeup. Just enough to hide the wildness still burning in her eyes.
Today was Sunday.
And saints — even the fallen ones — had to play their parts.
By the time Nathaniel stumbled out of bed, freshly showered and devastating in a simple black button-down and dark jeans, Eve was already slipping out the door.
She didn’t say goodbye.
She didn’t have to.
- Writer
