The first words out of my mouth when he opens the door are: “I’m sorry.”
(And I am, really. Seriously.)
He shuts his eyes for a second, takes a deep shuddering breath, and then when he opens them, he steps aside, letting me in. As if accepting the inevitable.
(Are we inevitable?)
It’s been six months since the damned bus stop. So, so long, and yet, still feels like yesterday.
It’s God, isn’t it?
Damn. Damn. You know the worst thing is… That I fucking love you. I love you. No, no, don’t, let’s just leave that out there for a second on its own. I love you.
This bus is not magically coming.
I think I’ll walk.
See you Sunday? I’m joking. You’re never ever allowed in my church again… I love you too.
We stand in his messy sitting room, facing each other. I wait for his first words. His judgement.
“Why now?” he asks, avoiding my eye. He’s looking at a picture of Jesus on the bookshelf. Maybe asking for help.
It’s stupid, very stupid, but I can’t resist. I reach out, place my hand on his cheek, and feel the hint of sharp stubble there. He swallows, turns slightly and presses his lips against my palm.
“It hasn’t passed,” I whisper. “And I’m scared it won’t.”
He grabs my wrist and pulls me close then, his arms tight around me, buries his face into my neck, his breath hot against my skin. I hold him just as tightly.
(Oh, he smells so good.)
“I’ve missed you too,” he says softly. “More than you can possibly know.”
My turn to take a shuddery breath. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” I warn him. “I don’t think I could deal with… placations.”
His mouth moves up my neck to my cheek, his lips soft against my skin. “No placations. Not a day has passed when I haven’t thought of you.”
His mouth quirks against my cheek. “You still do that.”
I shrug. At least he lets it go this time and doesn’t get annoyed with me.
He takes another deep breath and steps back, searches my face. “What do you want from me? Be honest.”
“I… I just had to see you.”
He narrows his eyes, sceptical. “And that’s all?”
“Look, you chose someone I can’t even begin to compete with.” I can’t help the bitter smile. “I can’t ask you to go back on that. I won’t. I just thought that maybe seeing you would be a good reminder as to why you walked away and help me do the same.”
He spreads his arms, gives me a good look at him. I stupidly came after nine-thirty so he’s dressed for bed.
(Daggy, but cute.)
“Is it working?”
I shrug noncommittedly.
(Oh please, he’s always gorgeous.)
I can feel it, that fire between us. It’s still there. I don’t think it’ll ever die. But this isn’t like last time when he came to my flat thinking he could talk his way out of it. There’s just too much between us now. And I can tell that he feels it too.
(Shit. I have to get out of here. Now.)
I dart towards the door, grab for the handle.
I stop. Stare at the door, my means of escape. Can sense him behind me. He’s close; I can feel his breath on my neck.
“I can’t do it,” I admit, my voice shaking. “If… if you want this, whatever this is, you’ll have to make the first move.”
“Do you want me to?”
I turn to face him. “More than anything,” I say. “But it has to be you.”
I can’t have sex with you because I’ll fall in love with you and if I fall in love with you, I won’t burst into flames, but… my life will be fucked.
He stares at me for a long moment. I think he’s going to tell me to fuck off. Then, with a sound that’s both desire and anguish, something finally breaks within him, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me.
A long-held breath shudders out of me, rattling up past my ribs and making me shiver. He catches my breath in his mouth, places little kisses on my top lip, my bottom lip, then another full pressing-down of his mouth, his tongue seeking mine.
Everything about him feels hot, skin, tongue, the inside of his mouth, and the heat penetrates me, becomes a fever in my veins. My entire body is crackling like a live wire and I need more.
My head tilts back as he begins to kiss his way down to my ear, sucking on my earlobe while he squeezes my ass. I drag my nails down his back and he shivers against me. He pulls my hips hard against his own and I feel his erection.
I slide my hand under his waistband, into his underwear, and wrap it around his cock. He groans loudly, his cheek pressing against mine. He’s hot and already slick and so hard in my hand. I squeeze gently and he groans again.
“I love you,” he says suddenly, like he needs me to know, and captures my mouth again before I can respond. I melt against him as his tongue caresses mine, and his hands are tangled in my hair, pulling me even closer as I stroke him slowly.
He pulls away from me and for a second I panic, thinking he’s changed his mind, but no, he's leading me to his bedroom. There’s just a desk in the corner, a wardrobe, a chair covered in clothes he hasn’t bothered to put away, and a bed. A slept in, cosy looking bed.
(This is really happening.)
I glance at the crucifix on the wall above the desk, the bible beside the bed. We’re surrounded by religious paraphilia and I wonder if anything will stop him this time.
Then he starts taking off my clothes. I watch his hands as he pushes off my coat, lifts off my top, and undoes my bra with only the slightest fumble.
He cups my breasts, rubbing his thumbs over my stiffening nipples and I shiver, aching for him so badly. I’ve missed him so much since that night we spent together. He places his mouth on my left nipple, firmly pressing his tongue to it and licking and sucking.
I kick my shoes off and squirm out of my pants. He slides a hand into my underwear, a teasing finger on my clit. My breath catches. I reach for him again.
While he sucks on my other nipple, my hands travel over his body excitedly, exploring everywhere I can reach. The line of his spine, his beautiful neck, the swell of his ass. His fingers twitch against me and I groan, pressing against him, more desperate for friction with each passing second.
Suddenly he pushes me back onto the bed and I wriggle out of my underwear. He sits back, looking down at me, an almost awed expression on his face.
(Oh god, this is happening. This is really fucking happening.)
Then he’s nuzzling the inside of my thigh, his mouth moving slowly upwards. I gasp loudly when he licks my clit gently and then licks even harder. He slowly circles the tip of his tongue around my clit, and I whimper. He alternates between long, flat swipes up and down, and gentle probing, and hits a spot that makes me arch my back and my fingers and toes curl.
He wraps his arms under my thighs and drags me towards him, holding tightly to keep me in place.
My breath begins to grow ragged as his tongue goes slowly, gentle and long strokes, up and down. He alternates between kissing and sucking, and when he begins to increase his speed, my back arches up again.
Abruptly he stops and I nearly wail in frustration. He looks up at my face, his eyes dark and intense.
“You can’t come,” he says, watching for my reaction, “until I say that you can."
(Sir, yes Sir.)
I can feel his breath hot against my clit. “Do you understand?”
My entire body quivers as he sucks and licks me, gradually increasing his speed, until I’m dangerously close to coming. It’s like everything known to man has narrowed down to where his mouth has sucked in my clit.
“Please,” I beg, clutching at the sheets. His response is to slowly slide a long finger into me.
Another finger slides into me, stroking slowly against the spot that makes me shiver. I groan, closing my eyes, my head tilting back as I buck against his long fingers, urging them in deeper, wanting more. I’m panting with the need to come.
“Not yet,” he growls in my ear. “Not yet.”
Two fingers become three, and he’s twisting them a little and stroking me from within, and his thumb rubs over my clit. My toes curl even harder and my thighs tremble.
His fingers fill me and he curls them so they touch that sensitive sweet spot, making me moan, and then he begins to move them quickly.
"Now," he says, looking up at my flushed face, my desperate eyes. "Come for me now."
When his mouth touches me again, sucking hard on my clit, I tumble over the edge with a strangled shout, my body clenching around his fingers. It’s like I’m flying apart under his mouth and hands, breath coming in panting sobs. He gives me a few slow licks, and I shudder under his hands.
“Fuck me,” I mutter, more than a little dazed.
He kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips.
“That’s sorta the plan,” he says, a faint smirk on his face. He strips off his clothes and finally, finally, finally naked, he stretches out over me.
I reach down between us and take his cock, long and thick, in hand. His breath catches and a shiver runs through him. I watch his face closely, searching for any sign of reluctance, any hint that he’s about to change his mind.
He presses his forehead to mine, staring intently into my eyes. His eyes are lust-filled and full of need. Certain of what he's about to do, what we're about to do.
He slides his hands under my thighs, hooking my legs around his hips. I guide him into place. The tip of his cock tantalises me and I strain upwards. His hands slide up my body, up my arms and I gasp, more than a little excited as he pins my arms beside my head.
“When I say,” he reminds me. He kisses me lightly and I feel like coming just from the touch of his lips. “You can’t come until I say.”
Then he sinks into me in one smooth motion, filling me completely. I moan, pulling him close with my heels, trying to tug him closer. Almost at once the tension, so full of promise, begins to build low in my belly and I clench around his cock.
“You feel so good,” he breathes in my ear, as he pulls me down onto his cock again and again. I can only whimper for more.
Every time my lips part on a gasp, he muffles it by sweeping his tongue into my mouth. The only sound in the room is the slap of flesh on flesh.
He lets go of my arms and props himself up, reaching down between us to rub my clit as he thrusts into me. He knows the exact way to touch me, hard and fast, and the sharp, nearly unbearable pleasure he generates makes my body draw tight. My back arches and toes point as I strain for more, for everything, for him.
He nuzzles my neck.
“Now. Come now.”
Pleasure explodes through every part of my body and I scream into his eager, greedy mouth. It’s so intense that I’m nearly sobbing with it.
I’m still reeling from the orgasm when he grabs my ankles and puts them over his shoulders. I cry out, grabbing for the sheets. I’ve never felt so utterly full in my life.
"I love feeling you this deep inside of me,” I gasp out, placing my hand over my lower belly to feel him inside me as he thrusts furiously, bringing my entire body to the brink.
(Holy shit, did I actually just say that?)
He blinks at me, kisses me, and then pounds into me even harder than I thought possible.
I moan loudly with each of his thrusts, and then drag my nails down his back, probably hard enough to leave marks, urging him on. My body tenses up yet again, tighter and tighter.
“Again,” he orders, gasping, his eyes intent on my face when he realises I’m dangerously close. “I want to watch you come again.”
I force myself to focus on him. “You come with me.”
He manages a nod and then his thrusts become harder, but more erratic, he’s grunting with the effort. Sweat drips off him and he’s never looked sexier.
Then the tension and pressure release all at once as I absolutely shatter in his arms, clenching rhythmically around his cock. My vision whites out, my body bucking under the onslaught of pleasure.
He comes with a loud cry that sounds very much like my name.
He slumps against me, utterly spent, and I wrap my arms around him, holding him close, as we both catch our breath. I look at his face and the warm, contented smile there. It’s a moment of perfect peace and utter love between us and I never want it to ever end.
When I wake up, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. I sit up, hunch over, sick to my stomach at what I’ve done to him. Taken from him yet again.
He whips around and I blink in surprise when his fingers thread through my hair, gripping tightly, almost painfully, forcing me to look at him.
“No,” he says fiercely, brown eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “No. If you dare say you regret it, I don’t know…”
He stops, leaves the sentence unfinished. He lets go of my hair and smiles apologetically.
“I’m sorry too,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t think I even can.”
I can see the future stretched out before us. Clandestine meetings and hidden moments. Him confessing his sins to a god I don’t believe in and me having to watch the guilt weigh him down, more and more with each forbidden kiss. A half future where we can’t truly be together because I won’t let him leave the priesthood and he can’t bring himself to leave because he does love God.
(Would that be enough?)
“I love you,” I whisper. “I could never regret us.”
(Would that be enough?)
“I love you too.” A single tear rolls down his cheek. “You deserve so much more than I can give you.”
I really have fucked his life. And probably mine right along with it.
(Maybe I was wrong – maybe I do find love painful after all.)
I entwine my fingers with his and kiss his knuckles. “I want whatever you’ll give me.”
He kisses me.