Takeover: The Complete Series

by Lana Grayson

  Why was a man this handsome a priest?

  And why did a priest control so much of my desire?

  Why wasn’t he as desperate and destroyed as me?

  “Say it,” I said. “Tell me you think you’re better than me.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Then what is it you believe?”

  He shrugged, but even the lift of his shoulders accompanied some twisted delight.

  “We’re playing a dangerous game,” he said.

  “I thought it was a test of our faith.”

  “It is. The greatest test.”

  I frowned. “And I failed?”

  “Isn’t that why you confessed your feelings and desires here only a few weeks ago?”

  My neck prickled, the hair raising in impatient fury. “Don’t pretend you weren’t suffering too.”

  “I’m in control of my desires, Honor.”

  “It’s easy when you aren’t being challenged.”

  He smiled, and the flick of his lips both tormented and teased me. “My angel, you were naked, quivering, and begging for me last night. We embraced in the privacy of my home, where I might have taken you, ruined you, and sated myself. I am a priest, but I’m also a man. Believe me. That was my greatest challenge.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His words were calm and infuriating.

  “It’s okay to feel confused, Honor.”

  “Don’t you dare patronize me.”

  I should have left then. Should have wadded up what was left of my pride and stormed out until my wounds healed and I learned from my horrible mistakes.

  Instead, like a fool, I faced the man who caused every shiver, every weakness, every doubt in my soul.

  “If the roles had been reversed, Father, do you think you’d have resisted me?” I asked. “If I fell to my knees here, right now, and pleasured you the way you pleasured me—hands and mouth, lips and tongue—can you honestly say you wouldn’t have committed same sins as I did?”

  His expression shifted, and the sculpted angles of his face were lost to the shadow of the confessional. He stiffened, in more ways than one.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “You’ve proved your point.”

  “But I haven’t. You won’t understand until you realize how impossible it is to resist someone who wants to give you pleasure. You did this to me last night, and you deserve to see how it feels when someone chastises you for it.”

  “Now you want…retribution?” He laughed. “Revenge?”

  I didn’t know what possessed me. I dropped to my knees right there in the confessional. My breath hitched as I struck the wood, but his wide eyes encouraged me.

  “You wanted to prove we could resist temptation,” I said. “I want to prove neither of us have any control over it.”

  His voice lowered. “And how will you prove this?”

  “The same way you did it to me.”

  He watched with amusement as I cursed the insane amount of buttons securing his cassock, but he chuckled and helped to move aside the bulky robe. I stared at the pants beneath. Of course he’d shield himself in another layer of material.

  I had no idea what I was doing, and the few instincts I possessed were the ones which had so humiliated me last night. I’d practically begged for a man who took more joy in the desperation he caused than the pleasure he offered.

  Sadist. Villain.

  Beautiful, forbidden man.

  I knew how a man would like to be pleased. It didn’t take experience, only dedication. Attention.

  Adoration.

  I reached for his trousers, unfastening the button and drawing the zipper down. We tensed, amazed by how close I knelt to that dark and powerful part of him. I met his gaze. Unafraid.

  I wasn’t confessing until he sinned as well. I wouldn’t beg for absolution until he realized whatever control he possessed was no more powerful, no more righteous than mine.

  And yet, I wasn’t prepared for him.

  I pulled his hardness from his pants and nearly crossed myself.

  God, be merciful to me, a sinner…

  I couldn’t grip the entire width of his shaft. A timid tug on his flesh didn’t measure him in estimated inches but stunned amazement. I blamed my virginity for not knowing, not realizing, how impressive he could be.

  This wasn’t his manhood.

  This was a cock.

  Thick and rigid and pulsing in my hand with a rugged heat which might have scorched my skin.

  For so long, I thought the collar around his neck made his decisions and guided his life. Had I realized the collar was simply a way to bind the animalistic aspect of him, I might’ve respected the cassock more.

  “Oh, God, Father. Why did you join the clergy?”

  Father Raphael shuddered. His words were dark.

  “It’s a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse.”

  “No…” My mouth watered. “It’s beautiful.”

  I squeezed it, watching as this powerful, intimidating man flexed his hips. The motion drove the shaft deeper into my hand.

  “You’ve made your point, Honor,” he warned.

  “I haven’t.” Was it pride or selfishness speaking now? “Not until you feel the same desperation I suffered yesterday.”

  “Every day I experience that ache, my angel.”

  “And what if I relieved it for you, like you did for me?”

  “I won’t allow it.”

  “Why?”

  His cock hardened. The head, thick and pulsing, begged for the same attention he’d offered me.

  “I’m protecting myself. My vows. My calling. My morals.” Father Raphael met my gaze. “Take your pick of all or any.”

  “Don’t you think I suffered the same conflicts yesterday?” I asked.

  “I know you did.”

  “Then what’s the difference between us?”

  He leaned back, watching as my fingers timidly squeezed over his flesh.

  “I can stop myself,” he said.

  “Are you so sure?”

  He waved a hand, so subtle and quick had I not been staring at this amazingly frustrating man, I’d have missed his permission.

  His challenge.

  He’d regret that arrogance.

  I licked my lips before bringing him to my mouth. We both tensed, but a surge of desire stole my words and thoughts. I captured him between my lips and welcomed his hot, pulsing head upon my tongue.

  How could something so hard, so rigid, so intimidating, have such velvet skin?

  Father Raphael closed his eyes. His head struck the confessional wall.

  His body trembled.

  He clutched his bible.

  The clatter of rosaries captured between the bench and his fingers.

  And I drew him into my mouth, deeper and deeper, swallowing as much of his length as I could take while still delivering him the pleasure he deserved.

  This was a sin—though technically everything outside of marriage and without the express desire for procreation was a sin. Still, this felt worse. Bad.

  I teased a priest. I pleasured a priest. I took him in my mouth and flicked my tongue over his thick, hardening shaft.

  This was wrong.

  So why didn’t I stop?

  I hummed in pleasure as he caressed my cheek, his rosaries clenched in his fingers. He tasted of salt, smelled of delicious incense, and grunted the harsh breath of a pleased man. I sucked and swallowed, pulled him from my mouth to kiss the tip and lash my tongue over the thick vein which pulsed so desperately for me.

  Every movement, every motion, every leisurely lick twisted his hand in my hair.

  He wanted me.

  He loved this.

  And I savored the salty rush of his desire. A little dollop of his excitement escaped as a prelude to his greatest sin.

  His lips moved in a quiet prayer. Latin.

  He had to pray in Latin to protect himself from the pl
easure I created.

  I’d never felt so confident. So powerful.

  So amazed that I could create this type of sensation in another person—

  The door to the sanctuary crashed open, and the frantic click of heels rushed to the confessional.

  Oh God. Someone was here.

  I lurched back. Father Raphael adjusted the screen, nearly slamming it closed as the woman collapsed into the bench on the other side of the thin wall. Her purse clattered to the ground, and she ended her phone conversation with a hushed promise to return the call.

  I pulled away from Father Raphael, but he captured my hair in his fist. He pinned me against his body, head down in his lap and still. His rosaries tangled in my hair, but I didn’t move, didn’t speak.

  Could she hear me? Did she know I was there?

  Could she see how thick, hard, and vulgar Father Raphael’s cock glistened? He exposed himself, but the sight was obscured by the screen and the darkness of the church.

  At least, I prayed it was.

  “I’m not too late, am I, Father?” The woman asked.

  I bit my lip.

  Judy?

  Why did it have to be Judy?

  “Perhaps for tonight.” He cleared his throat. “Would you rather come back tomorrow, when it isn’t so late?”

  “It’s only a small, teeny weeny sin. Five minutes, Father?”

  He clutched my hair tighter. I leaned close to his cock, staring in wonder as his body had yet to soften.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll never refuse any who wish to confess to me.”

  He meant it for me, still demanding my repentance. He was one to talk, especially as his hardness twitched so near my lips.

  “Bless me, Father, it’s been a week since my last confession, and since then I have just been an absolute witch to my husband.”

  Among others.

  I hated myself for the thought. I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be pleasuring him. I wasn’t supposed to be hearing this.

  I held my breath, praying that my pounding heart wouldn’t tear itself apart as Judy began her confession. I clenched my eyes shut, but I still only saw his thick cock in my mind.

  Hard and waiting.

  Eager for the return of my lips.

  No wonder I had responded in such a way last night. My body had slickened so shamefully I didn’t understand what such wetness could be for. Now I understood. It’d be impossible to take a man as large as him into me if I weren’t so prepared.

  And I wanted to feel him.

  So terribly. Horribly. Achingly.

  I wanted all of him in me. Over me. Around me. I couldn’t imagine how full I’d feel, especially when I’d come from a single finger thrust within me. My knees had weakened, my body fell limp, and my very soul burst and shredded against the pleasure of that sin.

  And now, to see what I had missed?

  What I would miss?

  How could I lament a sin I’d never commit?

  Judy whispered her confession, and Father Raphael’s hand gripped me. I held my breath, eyes wide as he pulled me closer to him. Back to my knees. Rising up?

  He pushed me into his lap.

  My lips touched his cock once more.

  This wasn’t happening.

  I couldn’t pleasure him in the confessional. Not with someone so close. Not when we might have been discovered.

  Ruined.

  The panic chilled me, but even those goose bumps became a torment. My stomach twisted. Was I terrified or excited?

  I moved without any rational understanding. I took his cock in my mouth once more, knowing every flick of my tongue, kiss of my lips, and leisurely bob of my head drew him closer to that peak sin.

  We’d never escape this darkness.

  And yet it wetted me.

  It destroyed my conscience. This was sin. All morals, all humanity faded from me, leaving only an insatiable and unrelenting desire to taste his ultimate pleasure.

  Judy spoke in a rush, listing sins and accepting prayers so quickly she hardly needed to end her phone call. Father Raphael prayed over her, ordering a few Hail Marys and a conversation with her husband to examine the cause of her argument.

  Judy thanked him and was on her phone before she left the confessional.

  I stilled, listening for the doors to slam shut once more. I left his cock in my mouth, swirling my tongue over the head. He twitched, hard and furious. His rosaries pressed against me.

  I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

  He rasped his words as he seized my hair. “Heaven forgive me.”

  I gasped as his hips flexed. He thrust upwards, filling my mouth with his ravenous flesh. He pleasured himself—quickly, remorselessly, using my mouth to deliver him faster to that forbidden peak...

  I welcomed him and gasped in quiet and overwhelmed awe as a man this strong and fierce could control my body with my own pleasure and my surrender to his will. He tensed. His cock pulsed.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three fierce strokes within my mouth, upon my lips. I readied for his release.

  But he pulled away with a fierce groan. I tumbled to the floor of the confessional, waiting at his feet for the moment he’d reward us both with the casting of his seed.

  It didn’t happen.

  Father Raphael gritted his jaw, poised on the threat of oblivion. He didn’t touch his flesh. Didn’t stroke. Didn’t tug.

  He did nothing but let the agony strike him in villainous shudders.

  He denied himself.

  He cast himself to the edge of amazement, oblivion, and damnation…and he retreated.

  His breathing edged hard, gasped breaths that might have forged profanities in any other man. He prayed Latin words I didn’t understand. After a long minute, he finally took his cock in his hand. I longed for him to stroke it. Instead, he forced it in his pants and covered himself with the cassock once more.

  I hadn’t moved.

  He sat above me, staring at me in that intense, unflinching righteousness that had shamed me once before.

  Now he shamed me again.

  “Why didn’t you…” I whispered. “Why wouldn’t you take that gift?”

  “Faith is my gift, and I’d sacrifice anything for it,” he said. “I told you I’d defeat this sin, Honor. And I have.”

  His victory didn’t please him. His voice edged too harsh. Angry. Frustrated.

  Proud.

  “I can defeat our temptations,” he said.

  I hated the implication. “And I can’t?”

  “No.”

  It was the first time I felt truly filthy, and it wasn’t a pleasant or wicked feeling. That tarnished, sullied, darkness allowed him to pity me.

  And I had been pitied enough in my lifetime.

  And shamed.

  And lost.

  I didn’t need it from him—even if he was right.

  “Come here, my angel.”

  “Don’t call me that.” I rose to my feet, shaking and disgusted. “You don’t think of me as an angel.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “How can you?” I swallowed my pride. “You look at me and see a sinner. Someone who needs help. Someone you think is weak because I couldn’t deny my own body. You aren’t helping me, Father. You’re using me.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You’re using me to prove you wield power over yourself.”

  His voice lowered. “I’m trying to help, Honor.”

  “You aren’t helping anyone but yourself.” I stared into his eyes, searching for anything beneath the cold and calculating pride that manifested in his soul.

  And I found something worse.

  Something that frightened me more.

  Pain.

  “What happened to you, Father?” I asked. “What made you this man? Why do you have to prove your willpower to yourself? Why do you think lust is a weapon? What happened that made you think sex was some sort of power over another person?”


  “You really want to know?”

  “I think I deserve an answer.”

  Father Raphael couldn’t stand in the confessional. The walls were too small, and his body too fierce.

  “The world is a dark place, full of demons and evil. It feasts on those innocent to it.” He stared at me, and I froze as his voice gave life to sheer hatred. “I want to protect you from a world of sin that would destroy your innocence.”

  “You don’t want to protect me.”

  “No?”

  “You’re protecting yourself.”

  His grin was cold. “Come to the rectory tonight. Midnight. I’ll give you the answers you want.”

  No. I wasn’t falling victim to his arrogance again. Once was enough.

  “Fine, I’ll be there. But I’m not looking for forgiveness.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to end this.”

  12

  Raphael

  Midnight.

  Some believed it to be an unholy hour. I thought the opposite.

  I used the stillness of the night to pray. The Liturgy of the Hours took dedication, practice, and time. The quiet in the dead of night, when all others slept through their sins and salvation, was my time to find peace.

  But I had none tonight.

  Honor arrived precisely at midnight.

  And I knew I’d lost her.

  My angel. Not fallen, but hurt. Enraged and insulted. Shamed because she was so very innocent to the world and its evils.

  I welcomed her inside. Honor was content to scowl from the front step.

  The only sin worse than what occurred in the confessional was if anyone saw a woman waiting on my porch at midnight.

  “Come in,” I said. “Please.”

  She didn’t move. Her arms tightly crossed, protecting her core. I wasn’t sure what she wished to hide from me, but I had seen it all. I’d memorized it all. Her body. Her curves. The erotic softness of her skin.

  Nothing—not prayer, not willpower, not even confession—would ever have me forget such a gift.

  Her lips strained, a frown stretching the usual plumpness. She looked away with swollen eyes. She had been crying. Because of me.

  I’d caused this poor, beautiful creature such misery.