Sweetest Sin: A Forbidden Priest Romance (27 page)

Honor arched as I
mounted her, her mew a timid tremble and the milking clench of her heat a
dizzying gratitude.

I sheathed within
her. Entirely. Completely.

This was pleasure.

Not a conquering
of one body, but a surrender of both lovers in amazement, worship, and overwhelming
desire. Lust transformed, lost in the flames of passion, not hellfire.

I didn’t claim. I
didn’t take. I didn’t
fuck
.

We were one. A
single body, mind, soul, heart. Everything good and pure I had preached and
taught and lived to experience, made whole in a union of our bodies.

Peace.

Forgiveness
.

She trembled, and
I took her in my arms. I no longer forced her onto her hands and knees. She joined
with me, my arm over her waist.

I thrust within
her, again and again, earning a sweet cry and the warning tension which ripped
through her. It mirrored my own.

Every invasion
welcomed. Every intrusion forgiven. Every pleasure gifted.

I lost myself in her
tightness, and she found me in a beautiful promise. She blessed me with her
delirious cries. Whispered promises I couldn’t reciprocate.

Together we
suffered and sinned and worship. We built to that beautiful moment when our
hearts ceased to beat, when everything crashed upon the singularity of
pleasure. A mythical peace. The crash of sin and sorrow and passion and wonder
that destroyed our separate souls to create one.

She came for me,
and her pleas sighed and begged for my own release.

I was already
there. With her. In unison with her.

I caught her in my
arms before she collapsed. We both fell to the bed, and I pinned her between me
and our sweet oblivion.

She trusted me.
Her body so delicate and holy. I thrust within her completely to hear her moan,
to savor the tensing waves of her pleasure. Her orgasm stole her breath and
words, and I knew my place in the world was to protect her in this moment of
pure surrender.

My ultimate sin
became a glorious conversion.

Nothing shamed me,
nothing bound me, and I released my soul within her.

How had I become
so blessed?

Her thoughts, her
words, her very touch purified what had been ruined. In her arms, I wasn’t
broken. She made me new. Whole. Her whisper spoke to me like Heaven’s sigh, and
I was the one renewed within her gifted virtue.

I lost myself
within her for too long. I jetted until I was spent but never softened. I
stayed within her and kissed her neck, whispered every honesty, and accepted
pleasure for the first time in my life.

Only once my body
burned too hot, only when I feared I’d be turned into a pillar of salt for
staring at someone so holy, did I pull away.

I collapsed upon
the sheets.

She nestled at my
side, cradled against me, head resting upon my chest. I brushed her hair and
rested in the quiet comfort of our silent admissions.

But it wouldn’t
last. This peace was only the first complication—the most damning and mournful sin
of all.

Honor spoke first.
Her words hollowed like in solemn prayer. I recognized the sound. She begged
for answers to questions she never wished to ask.

“What do we do
now?”

My poor angel.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You know how I
feel about you.”

“Don’t.” I stared
at the ceiling, hating the darkness, the walls, the truth that bound me so far
from her arms. “Don’t speak it.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t tell
you.”

She stiffened, but
I didn’t let her move from me. I savored a false warmth and forced a moment of
quiet peace that was little more than a lie.

“I spoke with the
bishop after the funeral mass. Benjamin had helped to keep me in a single
parish, to teach me family, community, and togetherness. Now that he’s dead, no
one is petitioning the diocese on my behalf.”

Honor shook her
head. “I don’t understand.”

“The diocese is
moving me across the state at the end of summer.”

I never thought
I’d refuse salvation.

When I was younger,
I prayed. When I was older, I questioned. And when I became an adult…

Faith meant
everything and nothing to me. It strangled me. It gave me hope, but it stole it
just as easily.

I believed more in
disappointment than miracles now, and the faith that remained broke my heart as
much as it healed it.

I curled up on the
couch at home. The sun had set, but I didn’t bother to move the homework from
my lap or turn on a light. I didn’t want to do anything but stare into the
shadows and curse the very faith that made me the woman I was and the angel he
saw.

And it
hurt
.

Worse than the
fear of sin or the ache of temptation.

Hell wasn’t a
place of fire, brimstone, and torment. It was this.
Loneliness
.
Realizing that the one thing I wanted was the one thing the Lord wouldn’t
provide.

Father Raphael wasn’t
a man. He was a priest. That distinction, that damned white collar, tethered
him to something bigger, more important, more blessed than me.

It wasn’t right to
hate it. Or him. Or myself. But without an enemy to fight or a hope for a
prayer, I had nothing.

And so I sat in
the dark, waiting for answers, hoping for a sign.

And all He gave me
was the scratch of the keys in the front door.

Mom bustled into
the house carrying a load of groceries. The bag smacked on the kitchen counter,
and she flipped on a light.

We both flinched.

“Oh, Mother Mary
and Joseph.” Mom grabbed her chest and tutted at me. “
Honor Maria
! You’re
gonna give your momma a heart attack—a real one this time.”

I removed the keys
she left in the lock and handed them to her. “Sorry.”

“Why were you
sitting in the dark?”

“Must have fallen
asleep.”

It wasn’t a bad
lie. She tucked the keys into her purse and unloaded the bag. She’d kept to the
list. Apples, milk, bread, peanut butter. But she snuck a smile and offered me
a big chocolate chunk cookie, wrapped up from the bakery.

“Your favorite.”
She winked. “I remember your Dad always used to get you those cookies. Big as
your head.”

“You remember
that?”

“Lord, the sweets
that man shoved into you. Always trying to make you smile.” Mom put the
groceries away, talking mostly to herself. “It’s a wonder you didn’t grow up
with more meat on your bones. You should have been my own little sugar
dumpling.”

Maybe. Mom didn’t
remember it all. I fed myself mostly—ham sandwiches, a handful of carrot
sticks, a can of soup. Most nights I didn’t want to disturb her, and she was
passed out by eight. That’s when Dad could finally rest for the day, after
working, cleaning the house, and taking care of her.

“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Definitely had a sweet tooth.”

Mom unloaded a
rotisserie chicken from a second bag with a sheepish shrug. “They just smelled
so good. And I didn’t know if you’d be here for dinner.”

I had nowhere else
to go. “I’m staying.”

“You didn’t come
home last night.”

My stomach
clenched. She had noticed? I hadn’t stayed at Father Raphael’s all night, only
long enough to break my heart.

“I came home late,
and I had an early class,” I said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Mom shook her
head. “You’re an adult, Honor. And you’re here out of the goodness of your
heart. You don’t have to tell me where you’ve been or when you’re coming back.
I think I lost that privilege a long time ago.”

She said it so
thoughtfully, so
honestly
. It stung. Mom popped the plastic top off the
chicken and thunked the bird onto a plate. She carved with an eye on the wing.
It had always been Dad’s favorite too. She offered me the first one.

I shook my head, but
I pulled a chair to the counter and watched as she worked. It took a long week,
but it seemed like she’d finally regained her strength from the two-night
hospital stay. She was her old self again.

Or her new self?

Mom praised the
Lord after a bite of a particularly juicy piece of chicken.

“I know I don’t
say it enough,” Mom said. “But it feels like I can
taste
things again.
The chicken tastes chickenier. The cookies are sweeter.” She sipped some water
and sighed. “Just wonderful. It’s the simple things, Honor. If the world tries
to take them away from you, you just stand up and say
no
. That world
will listen.”

Not in all things
unfortunately. I reached for a drumstick and peeled it off the bird, licking
the juices from my finger.

“When was the last
time we had a dinner together?” I asked.

Mom tapped the
wing bone on her plate. “Well, this week’s been busy, especially with the sickness.
Oh.” She nodded at me. “You snuck me a sandwich while I was in the hospital.”

“I mean…a
real
dinner. That doesn’t count.”

“Of course it
does, baby. Doesn’t matter where you break the bread. Just matters that we’re
together. A family.”

Now it really hurt.
I didn’t know if it was Mom’s newfound optimism or if she generally thought
life was better than it was.

I thought back
through the summer, through the breakfasts I’d skipped and the dinners I’d
missed because of the church. Every day I’d raced from activity to charity to
class, and I couldn’t remember a time when I’d actually sat down at the table
with Mom.

And that was a
horrible, unconscionable realization.

As much as I hated
to think of him, hated the pain that came from remembering the comfort he offered,
Rafe was right. I needed to talk to Mom.

I had needed to do
it for a long time.

I picked at the
chicken, but my appetite faded. I wished my voice hadn’t trembled.

“Mom?”

She pulled a glass
from the cabinet and topped it off with a bit of sweet tea for me. Her eyes met
mine. Clear, focused. Nothing like what I remembered.

“I’m sorry,” I
said.

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“What?” She
laughed and pushed my plate towards me. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

I couldn’t eat
now. I had to make her listen.

“No, Mom. I’m
sorry. I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you before this. I’m sorry I haven’t taken
the time to eat a proper meal with you. I’m just
sorry
.”

“Baby, what are
you talking about?”

“I thought you had
relapsed last week. I thought when we took you to the hospital, it was because
you OD’ed on something—
anything
. I’ve been waiting all summer for you to
break, even though I
know
you’ve been clean.”

Mom busied herself
over the sink, washing the grease from her fingers. “Don’t, Honor. You don’t
have to.”

“And I’m sorry
I’ve been embarrassed by you. This whole summer. I came home, and I didn’t know
what I’d find. I made everything worse. I doubted you. I was ashamed of you. I
made this
hard
for you. All of this. The church. The bills. The
groceries. Even this apartment.”

“Honor—”

“I’ve never told
you how proud I am of you.” The words poured from me now, untapped and
trembled. “You’ve changed. I don’t recognize you, and that’s a
good
thing.
But I’ve treated it like it’s some failure, like it’s a fault of yours, and it’s
not. You fixed your life, and I should be commending you. I should be making
you chicken and sitting with you at dinner and
thanking
you for the
changes you made.”

I looked down,
away from her. A napkin tangled in my lap. I pressed sticky fingers into the paper
and tore it to shreds.

“You’ve been mad
at me,” Mom said.

“Yeah. I think. I
don’t know.”

She lowered her
glass to the table. “I deserve it.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes. I do. Honor,
I take full responsibility for my actions.
All
of them. For what I’ve
done in the last fifteen minutes to everything I ruined in the past fifteen
years.”

“You shouldn’t.
You’re a new person now.”

“No, baby. I’m
not. I’m the
same
person, and to deny me that past is to deny who I am. If
I don’t have that history, I can’t see what I’ve overcome. If I don’t
acknowledge what I’ve lost, I won’t be able to gain it back, brick-by-brick.”
She tapped the counter. “Don’t you apologize to me. I won’t tolerate it.”

My heart pounded,
but Mom burst ahead. She bore more pride for her failures than most people earned
in their successes.

“You have every
right to be mad,” she said. “I made mistakes. I messed up. Bad. And I paid the
price. I lost my home. My family and friends. My
husband
.” Her voice
wavered. “If it meant your dad would have lived, I’d have spent a lifetime in
jail. God as my witness, Honor, for so long I wished it had been me. I would’ve
given my life, my freedom, my soul if he might have stayed on this earth and
been there for you.”

I sucked in a
breath. It cooled the tears, but I didn’t know for how long. “Dad loved you.”

“Not as much as he
loved you. And I love you too, baby. I never expressed it right. The drugs and
the drinking…it put a distance between us. I could never tell people that they
meant the world to me. And I know you must have thought you weren’t as
important as my next high, but, believe me, honey. You were always more to me
than the addiction. Even if you didn’t know it.”

“I knew it.” I
hugged myself. “But I pretended I didn’t. It was easier that way. But I knew.”

“I never showed
it.”

“Yes, you did. When
I was sick and home from school, you’d cuddle me on the couch.”

Mom shook her
head. “I was passed out most of the time anyway.”

“You taught me how
to French braid my hair.”

“A mother should
be more than that.”

I sighed. “On your
bad days, you told Dad and Grandma to come help. You never wanted me to be
alone. You tried to hide the sickness from me.”

“Because you were so
innocent
,” she said. “You still are.”

I didn’t feel that
way anymore. “It doesn’t excuse my behavior. I should have helped more. I
should have tried to understand.”

“That was your dad’s
problem,” Mom said.

“That he helped?”

“To the detriment
of himself. I see so much of him in you. You want a family. You are eager to
love. You take responsibility for everyone and put too much pressure on
yourself.” She leaned over the counter to take my hand. “You were a good child,
and now you’ve grown into a great woman.”

“I don’t think
so.” I didn’t pull away. “I tried to be good, but I’m…”

“You’ve not hurt
anyone. You’ve not caused problems. You’re respectful and kind. Charitable.”
Mom forced a smile. “And let’s not forget—you didn’t lose the best years of
your life to a bottle of whiskey.”

I looked down.
“Not all addictions are chemical, Mom. And some can ruin your life just the
same.”

Mom settled in her
chair. She pulled the uneaten chicken away from me and handed me the cookie
instead. I watched as she dumped my sweet tea in the sink and filled the glass
with milk instead.

I frowned. “What
are you doing?”

“I know when my
daughter needs her momma.” She tapped the cookie. “And I know when she’s
talking about a man, even if she tries to hide it.”

“Mom—”

“The more capacity
you have for love, the worse it hurts when your heart is broken.”

I shifted. “It’s
okay. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Take it from
me—talk about your problems. Don’t bundle them up tight, or you might lose them
in a dark part of you that demands more pain to keep things hidden. Baby, learn
from my mistakes. If you have someone in your life who wants to help, take that
blessing.”

Blessing?

The only blessing
I wanted was the one gift I’d never receive.

I didn’t know what
to say. How to say it.

I couldn’t justify
my behavior, the things I’d done, the life I’d ruined. I didn’t just tempt
myself. No matter how beautiful our nights were, no matter how much we healed
each other, when I came to be judged, my greatest sin wouldn’t be forgiven.

I desired a
priest.

“I fell for the
wrong man,” I said.

“How wrong?”

My eyebrow rose.
“The worst…and the best.”

“Does he care for
you?” she asked.

“He’s not supposed
to.”

Mom arched an
eyebrow. “But he does anyway?”