She shifts, and I catch it—the way she presses her thighs together. She's wet. Standing here in the parish kitchen, she'swet for me. The knowledge nearly makes me come in my pants like a teenager.
"Have you seen anyone following you?" I ask quietly. "Since Thursday?"
She shakes her head. "Not since you…" She doesn't finish, but we both remember. Me putting that man on his knees. Her watching with heat in her eyes.
"They'll be back," I say. "Soon."
"I know."
The weight of it sits between us. Time running out. Danger closing in. And us, circling each other while the clock ticks.
Wednesday afternoon. Stops. Looks at me. Opens her mouth. I watch her throat work, watch her swallow whatever she was going to say. My eyes drop to her chest—her nipples are hard again, visible through her bra and shirt. She sees me looking. Her breath catches.
Then, quietly: "See you tonight, Father."
The word Father lands like a hand on my cock. She knows exactly what she's doing—the way her voice drops on the title, making it sound like a bedroom word, like something she'd moan while I'm inside her. She's turned my collar into foreplay.
Seven PM. I sit in the confessional. My cock is already half-hard just from anticipation. My regulars come and go. Mrs.Alvarez with her loneliness. Mr.Gutierrez with his twelve-step struggle. The teenage girl who started cutting again but won't tell her parents.
Eight o'clock. Scheduled end. She hasn't come. I'm achingly hard now, my cock pulsing with each heartbeat. I tell myself I'm relieved. Start to close up.
The door opens.
I know it's her before she speaks. The way the air changes when she enters a space. The careful way she settles on thekneeler. The quality of her breathing in the dark. My cock throbs.
She doesn't bother with "Bless me, Father." She breathes. Then:
"I need to tell you what I left out last time. About Julian."
My hands find the armrest. Grip hard. My cock strains against my pants. She knows exactly who she's talking to—Sera talking to Gabriel through the safety of the screen, using the confessional as permission to say things that would make us both combust in daylight.
"Julian in the bedroom," she says, and my whole body tightens. "The commands. The way he said kneel and I knelt. The way he said come here and I came. Every order bypassed my mind and went straight to my pussy."
Jesus Christ. She said pussy. In the confessional. My cock pulses so hard I see stars.
"I got soaking wet every time. My pussy would clench before he even touched me, just from his voice. I'd come so hard I'd black out. The craving was real—my body needed it, craved it, would do anything for it."
I'm gripping the armrest so hard the wood creaks. Pre-cum soaks through my underwear. The confessional is too small, too warm, and she's three feet away describing exactly what makes her pussy wet.
"I'm afraid the wiring is fused," she continues, her voice dropping lower. "That I can't want authority without wanting captivity. When Gabriel Delgado kissed me at that gala—my body did exactly what it used to do with Julian. My nipples got hard. My pussy clenched. I was so wet I was afraid it would show through my dress."
She's testing me. Saying my full name, acknowledging she knows who I am, that the priest and the Delgado are the same man. The deliberateness of it makes my cock pulse.
"But it felt different. With Julian, I disappeared. With you—with Gabriel—I felt more present. More me. And I've been touching myself every night since, thinking about your hands, your mouth, what your cock would feel like inside me."
The sound that escapes me is inhuman. Raw. Desperate.
"I need to know if it's different," she says. "Or if I'm just finding a prettier cage."
The silence stretches. Both of us breathing hard. The confessional holding our need like a vessel about to splinter.
"Stay there."
Not a decision. Complete structural collapse.
My confessional door bangs open. My footsteps echo in the empty church. Her door opens. I'm standing in the doorway, filling it, the church dark around us except for the sanctuary lamp throwing red shadows.
She looks up at me. Not surprised—she's been waiting for this door to open. Every word was aimed at this moment.
