by Dani René
Table of Contents
Epilogue
A Taboo Novella
Reid
Sage
His Temptation
Dani René
Edited by
Candy Royer
Copyright © 2017 by Dani René
Published by Dani René
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Contents
1. A Taboo Novella
2. Reid
3. Sage
4. Reid
5. Sage
6. Reid
7. Sage
8. Epilogue
A Taboo Novella
Forgive me Father…
Reid
It’s been one of those days.
The collar is tight.
The church is stifling. The only thing I long for is time outdoors. Fresh air without the memory of her. She walked into the confessional again this morning. Her voice so gentle, sweet, wholesome. I recognized the tone at once; even though confession is anonymous, I knew it was her.
Sage King.
One of the most popular eighteen-year-old girls in this modest community. Trinity is one of those scenic harbor towns. When the rector asked if I wanted to move to Canada, I accepted. I’d needed to leave the US, and this was the ideal opportunity.
Eight months ago, I packed a suitcase and strode out of the small log cabin I called home and never looked back. When I turned twenty-five, I didn’t expect my life to take the direction it did, but now, at thirty, I’m married. Not to the woman I loved. To God.
Only, I’ve had a wandering mind. It goes places it shouldn’t. I’m sitting in my office, preparing a sermon for Sunday’s mass, and the only thing on my mind is that young woman.
Her long, dark hair, sleek, straight, and glossy. The color reminds me of gingerbread, the length perfect for wrapping around my fist. Her big, brown eyes innocent, although sinful. Her mouth. Fuck. I can’t think about her lips without my dick straining against the black slacks I wear every day.
Dropping the pen, I sit back, shutting my eyes, remembering the confession this morning.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“And what is it you need to confess, child?” My tone is gravelly. Her voice sends heat racing through every part of my body, and I have to adjust my thickening erection. It’s worse than I realized. The guilt eats away at me, but I’m a human being. Weak. Needy. I can’t stop my desire for her.
“I’ve . . . I mean . . .”
“It’s okay, child. You’re safe here.”
Is she? No. Because if she strode into this booth and dropped to her knees, I don’t think I’d be capable of saying no. There’s no way I’d be able to resist sinking into her mouth. Having those glossy, pastel-pink colored lips around my cock would be heaven itself.
“There’ve been things I’ve done. Things I shouldn’t do. My parents would disapprove of me if they knew.”
“We all do things we’re not proud of, little lamb. It’s how we repent that absolves us.” Her breathing hitches. The sound sends a jolt of pleasure to my balls. They hang heavy, wanting to empty into a willing vessel. Something tight. Hot. Wet.
Fuck. Scrubbing my palms over my face, I inhale a long breath.
“Father, I’ve touched myself.” Her words come out in a whoosh.
As wrong as it is, her voice has this effect on me, and my dick agrees. He's ready to burst through my slacks. I shouldn’t do this. But I find my hand on the bulge as she tells me her dirty tales. “There’s a man. He’s . . . older. I . . .”
“Go on,” I urge. My voice strained as I stroke myself through the material.
“I think about him, and I feel a tingle between my legs. It’s . . . I’m so ashamed, but I can’t stop. I mean . . .”
I know what you mean, I want to tell her. To confess my own dirty fantasies. My own filthy sins. But I can’t. I don’t. Instead, I rub the aching hard-on in my pants.
“My fingers get so wet,” she continues her torturous confession. “And I . . . I find release. I find ecstasy. How can it be wrong? It feels so right.” My body locks. Immediately the wet spot in the black material shows, and I stifle a groan.
“Ten Hail Marys’ child,” I bite out, shoving the door open, fleeing before she sees me.
Glancing at the page that has two lines of a sermon, I sigh, realizing I’m no better than the damn sinners I’m talking about. How do I tell people to pray, to confess and repent, to be honorable citizens when my mind is filled with dirty thoughts? I should be different. It’s why I entered the church, to dedicate my time and life to doing good.
I’m worse. I’m a hypocrite. Every Sunday I stand up before my congregation and preach about morals, values, respect, and I’m breaking every one of those rules. I should rip off the damn collar and burn it. Perhaps I’ll burst into flames.
A knock at the door drags me from my secret thoughts. “Come in,” I call to the visitor. Rising from my chair, I round the desk only to be halted in my tracks. The brunette who’s been haunting my mind, dreams, and fantasies stands on my threshold looking almost ethereal. I say almost because her body is far from it. It’s sinful. Curves fill out the black jeans she wears. Her top—a pastel-blue, flowery, satin material—fits loosely around what I can only imagine being pert breasts.
“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting you, Father. I . . .” Her voice drops to a mere whisper. She regards me with big eyes glistening with hope and anxiety. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“You’re not disturbing me, Sage. Come in.” I should go to her. Perhaps escort her into the office, but I can’t. My legs don’t work, and it appears my brain has also short-circuited.
When she closes the door, I can't help the heat coursing through my veins. She approaches me, and a faint fragrance of apples invade my senses. It reminds me of a happy day I’d spent in an orchard with the woman I was convinced I would marry. And instead of being annoyed with Sage for bringing back that memory, I’m glad because I want to associate that scent with her. The sweet, lingering fragrance.
I want to revel in it. I ache to collapse with desire at her feet. To taste her skin. Shaking my head of the wayward thoughts, I nod. Gesturing to the chair. “Please sit down. What can I do for you?”
When I settle behind the desk, I meet her gaze. It’s filled with trepidation, then changes. “I know what happened this morning. It’s been weighing on me. On my mind. What you did in there. I did it as well.”
Her confession startles me.
Wordless.
Senseless.
I�
�m so screwed.
Sage
He stares at me for so long. Too long.
The embarrassment heating my cheeks is too much to bear. The man I’ve been fantasizing about for months knows I’ve touched myself thinking of him. I planned to walk in here and beg him to take me, but the moment his green eyes pin me, I’m speechless.
I may be a naughty girl, but this time, I’m as nervous as I was the first time I kissed a boy. As if I’m thirteen again, and he’s just out of my league.
“I . . . ,” he mumbles, clearing his throat. “I don’t think you should be here. It’s better if you leave. I can’t . . . I don’t . . .” His denial burns with lies. I take a step forward and notice how his eyes trail from my ballet flats up my jean-clad legs until they reach my breasts. The top I’m wearing is loose-fitting, so I know he can’t see my hardened nipples. When he looks at me again, I smile.
“You can’t deny the pull. Do you disagree with what I feel? Were you not turned on by me earlier?” My question stills him for a moment before I feel the electric current in the air between us. Yes, it’s wrong to taunt him, but I can’t help myself. I settle on the chair opposite his desk, crossing one leg over the other, causing his gaze to drop to my legs once more.
He doesn’t respond, but those lust-filled orbs are glued to the curve of my form. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be sitting here seducing the priest who’s been teaching us about living a Christian life for the past few months. The shepherd herding his flock. The only problem with this little lamb is she’s left the rest behind. She’s the black sheep.
I’ve never been a good girl. I never prayed like my mom and dad taught me to. And now, as I sit here, as wrong as it is, I’m wet for him. I want to be with him. Those eyes that remind me of a forest are deep green pools of need. The same emotions that match mine. The stubble darkening his jaw makes my mind race with images of his mouth on my core. My inner thighs tingling from the scratchy beard. His tousled chocolate hair that I’m dying to tangle my fingers through looks as if he’s been tugging at it.
Squirming in my seat, I watch him shift in his leather chair. “Sage, you’re a beautiful girl. I’m sure there are boys—”
“That’s the problem, Father Reid. I don’t want boys. I . . .” Pushing up off the chair, I round the desk in a few short steps. My eyes lock on the window which overlooks the garden, and a plan formulates in my mind. My gaze darts around the greenery, the plush verdant growth, and I make my decision. With my heart racing, hammering wildly against my ribcage, I utter the words, “I want you.” I confess. Again. Not meeting his gaze, instead looking at the peacefulness and serenity outside. The tranquility. Silence surrounds us like a thick fog. Heavy with understanding, but burning with lust.
“Why?” His voice is raspy when he voices his question. Just one word. Honestly, I’m not sure what to tell him. When I walked into the church today, I wanted to come in here and seduce him. As bad as that is, I couldn’t take the tension that seemed to emanate from him each time I’m around. After our confessional orgasm this morning, I knew for sure he wanted me.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” I tell him, taking a step toward the window. My finger trails the wooden beam holding the glass. The top is filled with color, the image of a sheep in the field. I know I’m going to hell for doing this, but my need overrides my morals.
His body heat cocoons me from behind as his reflection appears in the glass before me. As if he’s all around me. “If we do this . . . ,” he whispers in my ear, causing a shudder to ripple through me like a stone skipping on the water.
“No one can know,” I affirm confidently. It’s enough for him because his lips find purchase on my neck, suckling the sensitive skin. His hands on my hips tug me back against a thick erection that presses into my ass. Pushing against him, I feel him hiss against my neck. The heat of his breath fans over me, causing goose bumps to rise in its wake. His teeth bite down on my flesh as he finally takes his communion of my body.
“We shouldn’t,” he murmurs.
“It’s forbidden,” I whisper.
Our confession doesn’t stop us. His hands stroke me reverently. “This is wrong,” he confirms, but nothing stops us. His fingers tease the zipper of my jeans open, then his fingers dip into the waistband.
My breathing is ragged, and my chest heaves with desire. He stalls when he reaches the elastic of my panties. The ache that starts low in my stomach feels heavy, needy. My clit throbs. I reach for his hand, teasing it down my silky underwear.
“Don’t,” he hisses, but the need in his tone is enough.
Ignoring him, I move his hand with mine until his fingers find my slick heat. My pussy pulses for him. “Just touch me,” I moan when he finally delves a digit into my core. “This is my confession, Father.” I moan as my head drops back. His lips suckle on my heated flesh like I’m his salvation, but I know I’ll be his downfall.
“This is my sin, little lamb,” he growls. Thick digits pump in and out of my body as it accepts him. His movements are gentle. Slow and steady. Taunting and teasing. I’m so close. My body hums, thrums with need. His fingers fuck me. My hips roll against him.
“Yes, Father. Let me repent. Please?” I plead. My voice is hoarse, laced with desire. I shouldn’t want this, but I do. Father Reid, the man who’s still wearing the white collar around his neck, is about to make me come on his fingers. In his office. In the church.
“Come, Sage. Let your body go. Give me your confession. Let me relieve you of your sin.” That’s when it hits. My body convulses, tightening around his fingers. “That’s it, sweet lamb, come for me. Worship the feeling,” he murmurs so seductively it caresses every inch of my body. I cry out as it hits me, but his free hand quickly covers my mouth, stifling the sound.
I think he’s going to pull out, but he doesn’t relent; instead, he continues to finger-fuck me. As I ride the wave of my orgasm, I realize this has gone where it shouldn’t.
This is far from a fantasy.
This is real.
It’s bad.
It’s dirty and taboo.
But I want it.
Every filthy moment.
Reid
The sunlight brings with it memories of yesterday. And it brings images of the girl, the woman I defiled. As much as I wanted it, I should’ve refrained. Sage’s lips begged, and I delivered. Instead of telling her to pray, I slid my hand down the front of her jeans and dipped my fingers into the warmest, wettest pussy I’d ever felt.
For years, I was a normal man. I’d been with countless women. I should now be able to resist the temptation. What we did can’t be undone, but it also can’t happen again. Guilt settles in my gut like a lead weight. As much as I wanted her, as quickly as I sank my fingers into her tight heat, I knew it was wrong. I could lose everything I’ve worked for. And for what? A girl who’ll probably be on to the next guy tomorrow if he showed her any interest.
Even as the thought comes to mind, I know it’s a lie. She’s not that type of girl. Her innocence was evident when I touched her. The way her body shuddered. She molded against me like she was made to be in my arms. If anyone finds out what we’ve done, I’ll be thrown out on my ass. Deservedly so.
With a gruff sigh, I get up and decide to start the day. As I head into the bathroom and turn on the shower, I watch the spray hit the tiles. Even if it was holy water raining down on me, I know it will never absolve me from the sin I’ve committed.
I need to get rid of the images in my head, especially the picture of her face as she exploded for me. The sweet moans that fell from her lips were too much to block out. Even now, they play like a hymn on repeat in my mind. Last night, I came all over my stomach recalling them, after spending the day with her scent on my fingers and remembering how sweet she tasted.
As soon as I step under the cascade of warm water, I find myself rock hard. Once again in need of release. Each time I pray, my mind falters. Every time I recall my duty, I find my body needing som
ething else. Granted, I’m a hot-blooded man, but surely, I have more strength than this? I shouldn’t allow myself to succumb to these urges. Feeling the ache and need for the feel of skin on skin. The heat of a woman’s body around mine.
Shaking my head, I try to recall why I joined the church in the first place. To make a difference. For me to change the mistakes of my past. But not even two years into the seminary, and I’ve already failed.
My father was right—I’m a disgrace in so many ways. Just when I think I’m on the right path, my failures catch up to me, knocking me to the ground. My addiction to drugs was one of those. When I was in college, I fell in with the wrong crowd. One hit and I was an addict. It was a slippery slope. When I finally hit rock-bottom at the age of twenty, my parents paid for rehab, and I found purpose while sitting alone in the room at night. I did something I never thought I’d do. I prayed.
Each night. Each day. It brought me closer to the man I wanted to be. A good man. After eight months of being clean, I finally made the decision to walk this path. To give up everything. Alcohol, drugs, gambling, even women. Until a certain brunette walked into my church.
Part of the flock I’m meant to lead.
And I’ve defiled her.
An innocent.
A lamb I’m supposed to lead into the light. Not into temptation.
The water doesn’t wash away my desire, though. It doesn’t cleanse me of my sins. It only mocks me, and it feels as if I’m being burned by the lust racing through my veins. As the water runs cold, I shudder under the cool spray, hoping it will rid me of this hard-on.
My body trembles in the now-cold shower, and I find myself calming down. Shutting off the taps, I step out and grab the towel, wrapping it around my waist. My messy, brown hair is sticking up in every direction when I glance in the mirror.
