“Yes.”
“Why can’t Catholic priests?”
He hesitated as they entered the chapel, the stained glass windows throwing rainbows across his uplifted face and Emily thought she’d never seen anything more beautiful in her life.
“It’s Canon law,” he said finally. “Since the twelfth century, all priests have been celibate. Some say Pope Calixtus the second created the law because he was afraid of the heirs of priests looking to inherit church money or property.”
Emily snorted and rolled her eyes. “It’s always about the money.”
He quoted, “‘An unmarried man is anxious about the things of the Lord, how he may please the Lord. But a married man is anxious about the things of the world, how he may please his wife, and he is divided…’ That’s from Corinthians.”
“Is that true?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
He looked so different in street clothes, so much more accessible to her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to be bold, to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him, but she didn’t dare.
“Do you think it was because Jesus was celibate?”
He shook his head and sighed. “Do you want to know something scandalous?”
“What?” She felt his hand slip into hers and thrilled at his touch, letting him lead her toward the front of the church as he spoke. “I don’t believe Jesus was celibate. I believe he loved Mary Magdalene. I think he loved her deeply, and I think he loved her openly. As much as I love you.”
She was too stunned to speak, stopping and blinking up at him, heart soaring, belly burning. Her mouth was dry, her hands, even the one holding his, trembling.
“And he wasn’t bound by any of man’s laws.” His voice was soft, his eyes too, as he gazed down into hers. “He loved her without restraint.”
His kiss burned her lips, fire scorching its way down her throat, into her belly, through her limbs as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She was lost, too buoyed by his words to stop, to let herself think about anything but how he felt pressed against her, his hands moving to her lower back to press her closer.
“Oh Emily,” he whispered, finally breaking the kiss, his face buried in her hair. She whimpered in his arms. “Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I can’t help it. I want you so much.”
“I want you too,” she confessed, letting her bare thigh slide between his. She wasn’t wearing tights under her uniform skirt-just knees socks.
“We can’t,” he croaked, holding her out at arm’s length.
“Oh Father, please…” She couldn’t stop, not now, knowing he wanted her, just as much as she did him. He’d professed not just lust, which was a sin, but love for her, and she believed him. It had been there a long time between them, unspoken, forbidden. But it was here now, burst forth, and nothing could stop it.
Emily wrapped herself around him, arms and legs and everything, her hungry mouth searching for his. He groaned in protest, trying to peel her off, but she stuck fast, knocking them both off balance, and he stumbled back against one of the pews.
“Oh no…” he managed, sitting with Emily in his arms, straddling him now, her plaid skirt riding up, the crotch of her panties rubbing against his zipper as they rocked together. “Oh God, please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this. Don’t…”
“But you want to. I can tell,” she whispered, feathering hot kisses over his neck, where no collar kept them at bay. His erection was a swollen heat between them.
“Just because we want to… doesn’t mean we should,” he gasped, grabbing onto her hips to try and still her.
“So you do want to.” Emily smiled. “You really think I’m pretty?”
“Oh Emily, yes.” He lowered his forehead to her breasts, breathing deep and giving a tortured sigh. “Yes, yes, you’re beautiful. Exquisite.”
She couldn’t believe her own daring, knowing full well where they were, but her uniform blouse came undone easily.
“Do you like my breasts?” she asked, cupping them in her bra like an offering. The light in the chapel was hazy and a slat of sunlight fell across her chest, blinding them both.
“Oh God.” He stared, dazed, on perfect eye-level. “Yes, sweetheart. Yes.”
“My nipples get hard when you play with them. Like this.” She rubbed her thumbs over them through her bra, shivering at the sensation. He moaned, shaking his head in denial, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off what she was doing.
“They’re pink,” she confessed. “But they get redder and redder the more you play with them. Want to see?”
He gasped as she reached around to unfasten her bra. “No… oh no…”
“Are you sure?” She unhooked it easily, sliding the straps down her shoulders. Her breasts were heavy and rounded, the skin around her nipples puckered, making them stand at attention.
“Oh my God, they’re beautiful,” he breathed, and she felt his grip tighten on her hips, as if they had wandering minds of their own and he was fighting the force of it.
“Do you want to touch them?” She arched, pressing closer, her left nipple just inches from his lips.
“Yes.” He groaned, shaking his head, turning it aside as if he could deny her. “No, no…”
But it was no use. His palms slid up over her ribcage to cup one in each hand.
“Oh yes… squeeze them together like that… ohhhhh…” Emily moaned, arching her back.
“This is so wrong…” He whispered his words against the soft press of her breasts, showering kisses over her cleavage.
“Suck them, Father,” she begged. “Suck my nipples.”
He buried his face in her breasts like a drowning man diving into a pool of fresh water, drinking her in with every gasping breath as Emily wiggled in his lap. His tongue bathed each nipple in turn, making her hips buck up against his in response.
“Yes! Oh yes! Oh that makes me so hot!” she gasped, reaching for and finding one of his hands. “Feel it. I’m on fire.”
He groaned, shaking his head between her ample cleavage, but she moved his hand to cup her mound under her skirt, feeling how damp her white cotton panties had grown.
“You’re so hard, Father Mark,” she whispered, rocking herself against his crotch. “Have you ever…?”
“No…” he croaked.
“Can you imagine what it feels like?” She pulled her panties aside, her brown-fur-covered mound pulsing with heat. “Put your finger in.”
He groaned. “No, Emily, I can’t…”
“Just your finger,” she pleaded. “That can’t be too bad of a sin, can it?”
Curling her hips forward, she felt his finger slip inside her sheath. He moaned and his cock jumped against her in response.
“See? So soft and wet and slick…” she murmured, rolling her hips. “What must it feel like to slide inside, do you think?”
“Please. I’m begging you.” He was fighting hard to catch his breath. “I’m a weak man, Emily. You make me so weak.”
“Me?” Smiling, she traced the outline of his lips with her index finger. “I do that?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Yes, you do that.”
Oh his fingers were moving, slowly in and out of her wetness, exploring. She closed her eyes, his thumb rubbing occasionally over that sweet spot she had learned as a child to rub up against anything and everything, until that very first time, on the top of a wooden fence post of all things, she had experienced her first climax, the thrust and shudder of which nearly toppled her eight feet to the ground.
She’d done it a lot more after that, finding new and better ways to stimulate that spot. Her favorite was a teddy bear she’d had since she was six. He was old and faded, balding in several spots, but he had a hard, wide plastic nose that was just perfect to rub against. Her mother thought she was being sentimental in keeping him, but Emily’s motivation was far more calculated than that.
“Father Mark, please,” she whispered against his ear, daring to reach between them, oh god, the heat and length of his cock against her hand! It jumped like a snake under his zipper. “Make love to me. Right here, right now. I want you. Please. I love you so much.”