Serenity seeped into the depths of my soul.
I might not believe in the dogmatic order of this way of life, but I did believe in the magic of moonlight dancing in stained-glass windows, decades of frankincense steeped into all the nooks and crannies, a community with a heart so big you could feel it inflating your own wounded chest.
The entire sense of this place moved me in a way few things ever could.
That feeling of home was the reason this had been my last resort.
St. Michael’s.
“Tressa?”
Him.
I gulped, eyes fluttering open and studying the high-ceilinged beams of the nave. “Yes?”
Bastien settled in the pew ahead of mine, beautiful smile coming into my view and making a thousand currents of feeling gush through my body.
Bundled in an oversized sweater, dark leggings, and boots, I suddenly felt so naked.
“Feeling okay over here?”
Razors fought to clog my throat as I resisted the urge to press a hand to my neck to remove the elephant that must be sitting there.
He, as if hearing my mind’s words, trailed his eyes over the hollow of my neck, skating quickly down my body, offered up for sacrifice on his holy pew.
“I’m f-fine.” I swallowed, then said, “I was praying.”
Bastien’s eyes widened a moment, stubbled grin deepening as he set his prayer book and holy oil aside. “Praying, huh? Am I to take it as a sign you’re ready to confess?”
I followed his gaze and realized it probably did look like that, considering I’d lain down right near the confessional.
“That might be a leap too far.”
He only shook his head, soft chuckle rumbling its way through my already sensitive body like a freight train.
Did he realize that, with a single glance, he set every atom that made up my body on fire?
That some days, my heart felt like a frigid, empty cellar, his very presence the warmth and light my soul craved.
“You might find adventure good for the soul.”
I slammed my eyes shut, nipples puckering so tightly, they seemed to scrape against the otherwise soft fabric of my shirt.
“I’ve never been opposed to adventure,” I husked.
“No?” His voice lowered, tone sending my arousal spiraling. “Seeing you like this…you don’t know what it does to me.” His words echoed in the charged air between us. “Touching you. Not touching you. It’s torture.”
My hands, anxious with pent-up energy, smoothed the soft wrinkles in my sweater, floating across my hips before settling over my pubic bone. I resisted the urge to move my hips, circling and seeking his forbidden touch.
The touch that would never come.
Me, chasing the love he could never give.
Bastien’s eyes hovered at my folded hands, so close to pleasure, yet the look in his eye impossibly far away. His jaw clenched tightly, teeth gritting together as he sucked in a soft huff of air through his flared nostrils. Tension braided his shoulders, knuckles nearly white as he gripped the honeyed wood of the pew, softly curved like a bone.
Logic warred with my eyes to look away.
Something long dormant seemed to waken, a new fire lit behind his passionate irises. Something primal surging uncontrolled in his veins.
