Shifting in my seat, I leaned to the right a bit to catch sight of him again. Black slacks accentuated those long legs, while his black shirt pulled tight against his broad shoulders. His black hair was perfectly combed and yet just wild enough to make me want to run my fingers through it. I wanted the man with a ferocity that terrified me, and I hadn’t even seen his face yet.
He glanced to the right allowing a glimpse of stubble shadowing a strong profile. Oh sweet merciful heavens. When he smiled at the barista, I could have melted into a puddle on the ground. The man was sin and decadence clothed in simple black cloth. I wanted to pin him against the wall and rip off every scrap of fabric with my teeth.
I glanced away as he shifted, afraid he would catch me staring at him or even worse, afraid he would know exactly what fantasies played in my mind. I’m an easy person to read, and I blush at the slightest compliment. Embarrassment and my fair skin have been able to come to an agreement. Taking a sip of my coffee, I turn my attention to the street outside in an effort to calm my racing heart.
“May I join you?”
The deep voice startled me, and I nearly dropped my coffee. When I glanced up, his smile caught my attention first, followed by the white tucked into his black collar at the hollow of his throat. Oh my fucking…I was lusting after a priest!
I gestured to the seat across from me, unable to form a coherent thought amidst my conscience berating me for fantasizing about a priest. I was going to hell. There was no escaping it. I cleared my throat as he sat down.
“Forgive me, Father.” I cringed as I said it. “Sorry, that sounded trite.”
“Don’t worry about it. It happens more often than you’d think.” His smile never faltered, bless his heart.
If he knew the sins I’d committed in my mind, he wouldn’t be smiling he’d be running like hell. I winced at the overly bad puns my mind insisted on conjuring.
“Are you well?” he asked before taking a sip of his tea.
My gaze snapped up, meeting his curious, green eyes. “Fine. I’m fine. Thank you.”
“I’m Andrew.” He set the cup down. “You look a bit overwhelmed. Would you rather I leave you to your thoughts?”
“No, I’m fine.” I grin at him while trying to beat my conscience into submission. “Just daydreaming.”
“Nothing wrong with that.” Father Andrew took another drink before focusing his intense gaze on me. He licked his lower lip, catching a droplet of liquid.
I clenched my eyes shut and glanced away. I’m going to hell. I can’t take this torture. God, this is totally unfair. When a warm hand covered my own, I gasped and moved to pull my hand back. He refused to let go and met my gaze with a confidence that shook me to the core.
“So tell me,” he whispered, his voice low and ripe with innuendo, “how long has it been since your last confession?”
What do you think? Confession has always been a fantasy/role play I’d like to try. I’m not Catholic, but I love the forbidden aspect of this kind of pairing. What do you think? Taboo too much, or an indulgence?