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Coming home had never been easy. While Crockett was a beautiful place, and you had always loved exploring the island and fooling around in the Uppards with your friends, your parents were… less than preferable. Sure, they were nice enough, never lacking in affection or care, but they didn’t understand you. They had never quite understood you. You had tried to help them, once, but had never stopped coming home to our lovely daughter and she and her grating on your mind every time they, or any of the older generation on the island, spoke. You got through it by reminding yourself that this was why you had left in the first place—this, and the stone-set refusal to work anywhere near fish.
And then there was church. Every time you went home they dragged you along, knowing full well that you had never been as devout as they were and yet still hoping you’d ‘come around’, as they put it. Sitting through it was always painful, but now there was an added layer: for the past several years, you had watched the poor old monsignor struggle his way through Mass, worse every visit.
But this past Sunday had been different. You had expected to sit through another droning Mass, bored out of your mind listening to Monsignor Pruitt repeat himself time and again, but this week the island had a newcomer. Father Paul Hill, his name was, apparently filling in while Pruitt was recovering from a mystery illness on the mainland. He was… captivating, to say the least. You couldn’t remember the last time you were actually interested in anything a priest had to say, but his demeanor, his voice… oh, that voice. You were spellbound. Not to mention he was so very good-looking. His black hair was loosely combed back, falling in soft curls along the back of his neck, and his eyes were brown and baleful, like a bloodhound. Those eyes caught yours several times during his sermon, and each time he gave you a small smile.
Which is why you felt the sting more than normal when your parents introduced you as their daughter, repeating your old name once again. Father Paul gave you a curious look when he saw your face after they had spoken it, and when he shook your hand he brushed his thumb along the back, which you took as a reassuring gesture.
“Monsignor Pruitt told me about most of the congregation, but he didn’t mention you. Not much of a churchgoer, I take it?” Your parents seemed embarrassed, but he chuckled when he said it.
“Not really, I’ll admit, but I also don’t visit very often. I live on the mainland.” You laughed nervously, glancing at your parents.
“Oh? How long are you staying?”
“A couple weeks.” You shrugged, folding your arms around yourself. His eyes may have been welcoming, but they also made you feel exposed.
“Well, it’s good to see you here. Feel free to come by whenever you feel the need.” He took your hand again, and squeezed it gently.
It had been three days since you had met him, and you couldn’t get him out of your head. You had dreamt of him, for God’s sake. So earlier tonight, when you’d had one too many at dinner with your old friends, you had decided to pay him a visit. For whatever reason, he had to know the truth, even if it ended up ostracizing you from your parents, from the town, from him. You stopped at the door of the rectory, doubting yourself. What if he cast you out? The thought unnerved you, but he seemed like a decent man, so you steeled yourself and knocked on the door.
“Father?” You called quietly. No answer. You thought about giving up and going home, before an alcoholic impulse overcame you and you decided to try the door. To your surprise, it was unlocked. Feeling a charge of electricity through your spine, you gingerly stepped in.
“Father? I let myself in, I hope you don’t mind…” You called. Still nothing, but you noticed his bedroom door open. Standing what you hoped was a respectful distance from the threshold, you peeked in—immediately as he stepped out of the bathroom… in a towel. He hadn’t noticed you, and you were caught so off guard that you didn’t even say anything, just looked him over, perhaps a little too slowly. You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you thought more than a few unholy things watching him run his hands through his wet hair, watching the way his muscles moved along his ribs and stomach. His hands went to the towel, and you finally snapped out of your haze. Before you lost all respect for yourself—and he, all privacy—you cleared your throat. He jumped and looked over at you, and in a sudden rush of shame your eyes hit the floor.
“I, uh… I’m sorry, Father. The door was unlocked. I tried announcing myself, but… I guess you didn’t hear.” You stammered, squeezing your hands together anxiously, swaying a bit.
“Oh, that’s, um… quite alright. Accidents happen. Uh… have a seat on the couch, I’ll be out in a minute.” You nodded, still not looking up, but you could feel his gaze burning into you. Finally, you turned and planted yourself on his couch, squeezing your knees a little too hard. After a few minutes, he came out, wearing a surprisingly ordinary sweater and his customary slim jeans. You had half expected him to be wearing his button up and collar, and a small knot formed in your stomach when you realized you were disappointed.
“Um… tea?” He smiled, looking a bit confused.
“Yeah, sure… listen, Father, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just walked in. I was just thinking… I don’t know what I was thinking.” It was still hard to look at him, but not as much. He just had this expression… caring concern that seemed so genuine, it made you shy.
“Believe me, it’s alright. I’m just glad it wasn’t Bev,” He gave a small laugh as he handed you your tea and sat next to you, “She really makes herself at home.”
“I think she’s got a thing for you, Father.” You smiled, causing him to nearly spit out his drink.
“Oh dear… she does, doesn’t she?” He laughed, relaxing into the couch, spreading his legs a bit so your thighs were touching. Your heart quickened, and you had to force yourself to stay relaxed.
“Gosh, I had almost forgotten… Why are you here? Not that I don’t appreciate a visit from one of the congregation, but… is there something you’d like to talk about?” You straightened up at this, gripping the mug tightly.
“Actually, yeah…” You swallowed, and took a deep breath, “Um, when my parents introduced us today—”
“I could see you were uncomfortable.” He nodded, his brow furrowing in concern again.
“Yeah, uh… well, they told you a name, one that I don’t use anymore.” Your eyes darted between him and your hands.
“Oh, I see.” He smiled, put his hand over yours to comfort you.
“You do?”
“I think so. Listen, I don’t believe that God can’t make mistakes. He has so much to worry about, who says He can’t slip up and place a soul in the wrong body?” He squeezed your hand reassuringly, and it took everything in you not to melt into his arms. You laughed in relief.
“Oh, thank God. I was so scared about telling you.” You took his other hand, perhaps involuntarily, “Thank you.”
“So, what is your name?” He looked up at you, smiling, expectant. Your eyes started to water, very slightly. You said it, and hearing him repeat it in his velvet-soft voice was too much. You sank into his arms, wrapping your own around his slender waist. You hadn’t thought about it until you were there, but it felt so nice, being held by him. He rubbed your back gently, murmuring kind words that you barely heard over the rush of blood in your ears. The alcohol sent another rush of courage through your body, and you looked up at him, into those eyes you could get lost in. His eyebrow cocked a bit, questioning you, and you couldn’t resist. You leaned up and kissed him gently, bringing a hand to his cheek, but he froze. You pulled back.
“I’m so sorry, I—I just—I’m sorry…” You stammered, moving to get up, but he caught your wrist. His grip was gentle, reassuring, and it was your turn to freeze. He pulled you back and kissed you again, and sparks lit through your body at the thrill of it. You carded your fingers through his thick, soft hair still damp from his shower and “Oh, Father,” slipped from your lips. His eyes opened.
“What was that?” He murmured, biting his lip. You smirked, daring to trace your fingers down his neck and into the dip of his collarbone.
“What’s wrong, Father? Does that make you nervous?” He responded by pulling you into his lap and kissing your neck.
“No.” He whispered, edging his hands up your shirt. You shivered in excitement and shifted in his lap, grinding your hips into his. He groaned softly and pulled your shirt off, nearly ripping it in his haste. He smiled as he looked you over, gently squeezing your chest, running his fingertips along the outline and over your nipples. It made you shudder again and a warm feeling pooled in your stomach as he lightly twisted, rolling them in his fingers, exploring. You began kissing his neck, causing him to let out a few soft noises of his own.
“What would you like me to do, Father?” You whispered in his ear, biting it gently.
“Mmh… everything you can.” He whispered back, drinking in the feel of you.
“Everything? I can do an awful lot…” You chuckled, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt. He made a soft, needy moan as you sucked on his neck, leaving bruises.
“Mm, everything.” He crowed. You untucked his shirt, pulling it off as you kissed and sucked your way down his chest. He tasted of salt and roses. You ran your hands up his thighs and relished the way his stomach flexed.
“There’s something I want from you too, Father.” You purred as you hooked your fingers in his waistband.
“Oh yeah?” He gave a breathy laugh as you pulled his hips closer and kissed them, unzipping his pants.
“I want to hear you pray.” You looked up from your work to find him blushing.
“Pray?” He bit his lip as you worked his pants over his hips, “I don’t think God wants to see this…”
“Not to God.” You smirked as you pulled them down to his ankles, taking a moment to stand and fully undress yourself as well, “To me.”
He looked over you with a sense of awe that you had never seen in another man, and pride radiated from your chest. Quickly, he removed the rest of his clothes, and then… he got on his knees in front of you. The power you felt over him, in that moment, was almost enough to satisfy you already. The warmth in your stomach surged as he ran his hands up your sides, planting kisses and small bites on your stomach. With a few, he broke the skin, causing you to whimper as he drew his tongue over the forming drops of blood.
“Yours… is the greatness,” He murmured as he peppered your skin with marks, “The power, the glory, the victory, and the majesty. Everything I can offer you is yours, and I am your kingdom.” With each sentence, he made his way further down your stomach, nearer to the slickness between your thighs.
“I adore you as the one who is over all things. I give you all the glory because you are my God of gods, my chiefest of devotions. You are worthy of all my praise and worship, and I am filled with awe when I think of you.” You could feel his breath on you now, and you tangled your fingers in his thick, dark hair as he tightened his grip on your hips.
“You are holy and righteous and beautiful. I wish to worship you in the ways of old, before temples and priests. I offer you my body, and all I can to serve you.” He looked up to you, and the adoration in his gaze made you push your hips forward. He smiled a bit, and responded by pressing his open mouth to your cunt. It shocked you at first—no other man had actually been considerate enough to do anything like that to you, and you were not expecting it to feel so good. As his tongue worked around you, inside you, you were sure your moans were loud enough to wake the entire town.
“W—wait…” Your voice trembled, and he pulled away for a moment, “I’m afraid if I… you know… I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep standing.” You laughed, breathless. He nodded and stood, taking your hand and leading you into his bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed, hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him to you.
“I’m ready, Father.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him back with you.
“Yes, my God.” He began kissing your neck again. As he entered you, he bit hard, breaking the skin again, causing you to let out an animal sound. His teeth were surprisingly sharp.
“Yes, Father!” You cried as he began his rhythm. You pulled his hair as he lapped the blood from your neck, sighing into you. You moved one hand down to help yourself along. While he was still doing a perfectly good job on his own, you didn’t want him to finish before you.
“You taste so…” He murmured against your neck, but he seemed to lose focus as he closed his mouth against your skin again, sucking over the bite now. It only made you long for him more, want him closer, harder, deeper. You hooked your legs around him once again, trying to keep his hips close to you. He panted softly in your ear, gripping your hips so hard you thought they might bruise. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling his head back so you could look at his face, and his eyes glinted in the soft light. He smirked and brought a hand to your cheek.
“Heavenly…” He whispered, slowly bringing his hand down to rest over your neck. You moaned and tensed up a bit when he squeezed, nodding your approval. He increased the pressure and snapped his hips harder into you.
“Fuck!” You yelped, seeing stars. He hummed contentedly, a deep, animal sound as he watched you arch your back beneath him.
“Father, I…” You whimpered, digging your nails into his back as your orgasm came over you.
“Ah, fuck…” He groaned, his hips stuttering as he came to his own release. He held you close, burying himself fully inside you as you rode the wave together, shaking and moaning half-thought curses. When he was finished, he rolled off you, breathing heavy as he ran his hands through his sweat-dampened hair. He looked over at you and laughed a bit.
“Well, I think I’m gonna need another shower.”
“Amen.” You chuckled as he played with the ends of your hair.