"What made you come back after that?"

She paused. "You."

I processed this as we hit the bottom of the stairs and walked into the wooded park between the church and her house. It was bright with closely s.p.a.ced lamps and moonlight. I cleared my throat, wondering if my question ultimately made a difference, but deciding to ask anyway. "Was it me as a priest? Or me as a man?"

"Both. I think that's what is so confusing."

We walked in silence now, together but not together, our minds on the beauty of that moment in the sanctuary, on the way it felt to kiss when our souls were on fire.

f.u.c.k. It was all so confusing to me too, except that parts of the confusion were starting to fall away, which should have been clarifying, but I worried that it was actually the opposite, that I was forgetting things I was supposed to remember.

Like my promise to be better.

"I want to hold your hand right now," I said abruptly. "I want to wrap my arm around your waist and pull you close."

"But you can't," she replied softly. "Someone could be watching."

We were at the garden behind her house now.

"I don't know what to do next," I said honestly. "I just..."

I had literally nothing else to say. I didn't know what I could do to explain how I felt about her, and also how I felt about my vocation and my responsibilities, and about how I was so ready to abandon them all because I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted to hold her f.u.c.king hand in the park at night.

She peered up at the stars. "I wish you could hold my hand too." She shivered again and I could see that her nipples had pebbled in the slight evening chill, hard little furls just begging to be sucked.

The sweet feelings of a few minutes ago were starting to fuse with other, baser feelings that crowded up from my pelvis. It took every ounce of my self-control not to pin her up against the fence and kiss her again, not to yank down her pants and f.u.c.k her right here, outside, where anyone could see.

"I want to see you again," I said in a low voice. There was no mistaking my meaning and she shifted, rubbing her thighs together.

"Is that...I mean, should we..."

"I don't think I care anymore," I said.

"Neither do I," she whispered.

"Tomorrow."

She shook her head. "I have to go to Kansas City for some club stuff-we're switching over to new accounting software. But I'll be back Thursday night."

I wanted to groan out loud, but I managed to stop myself. "That's three days from now," I said.

She put her fingers on the latch to her back gate. "Come inside," she said. "Let's hang out tonight."

"It's late," I said. "And I want plenty of time for what I have in mind."

She exhaled slowly and her red lips parted, showing me those two front teeth, the tiniest glimpse of tongue.

I looked around to make sure we were truly alone, and then I grabbed her hand, opened the latch and tugged her inside the garden. I pulled her under the overgrown trellis, and then I spun her around so that her a.s.s was pressed against me-pressed against my erection. I put one hand over her mouth and then unfastened her jeans with the other.

"Three days is a long time from now," I said in her ear. "I just want to make sure that you're taken care of until then."

And then I slid my fingers down her stomach, slipping under her silk panties. She moaned against my hand.

"Shhh," I said. "Be a good girl and I'll give you what you want."

She whimpered in response.

G.o.d, I loved her p.u.s.s.y. I'd never felt anything softer than the skin between her legs-and f.u.c.k she was wet. So wet that I really could pull these jeans down and take what I wanted, right here, right now. But no. She deserved better than that.

Not that I wouldn't fantasize about it as I got her off.

I started in on her c.l.i.t in earnest now, circling it hard and fast, loving the way she bucked against my hand. I knew it was more pressure and speed than was comfortable, but I also knew that she would like it that way, savor that tiny, tiny bite of pain with her pleasure.

"I could do this all day, little lamb," I told her. "I love reaching down the front of your jeans, playing with your c.u.n.t, making you come. Do you like it?"

She nodded, her breathing jagged against my hand. She was getting close.

"Thursday night," I said, and I almost felt like I was having an out-of-body experience, listening to myself say these words. But I was beyond caring, or more accurately, beyond the place where the rules I cared about mattered. "I want to be with you. I want to f.u.c.k you. But only if it's what you want."

She nodded again, eagerly, desperately.

"I can't wait," and my voice was hoa.r.s.e now. "I can't wait to be inside you. Feel me. Feel how hard I am just thinking about it." I ground my c.o.c.k into her a.s.s, and she shuddered against me, my words and my hard d.i.c.k pushing her over the edge. She made a tiny cry that was m.u.f.fled by my hand, quaked under my touch for a long minute, and finally came down, sagging against me.

I kept my hand in her panties for a minute or two longer, loving the way it looked, loving the way it felt, and then I reluctantly withdrew, zipping and b.u.t.toning her back up. I sucked on my fingers as she turned to face me, eyes bright and cheeks clearly flushed even in the dark.

"Go to bed, Poppy," I said when I could see that she would protest me leaving. "I'll see you Thursday night."

It hit me like a ton of obvious, kiss-sized bricks as I recited Ma.s.s the next morning: I was falling in love with Poppy Danforth.

I wasn't just desperate to f.u.c.k her. I wasn't just happy to help her find faith. I was well and truly on my way to being in love with her.

After a month.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And now that she wasn't here, not anywhere near here, I found my obsession spiraling out of control, like a drug addiction that demanded to be fed.

I imagined her voice filling the sanctuary after Rowan and the grandmothers left morning Ma.s.s. I pictured her face and her messy braid as I ran off copies of the Bible study worksheet for the next men's group. I found myself googling pictures of Dartmouth and Newport instead of trawling through The Walking Dead forums. I even (creepily, I know) googled her family, scrolling through pictures of polished people at polished charity events, finally finding an old picture of her at what looked to be some sort of fundraiser for a politician. Her and a cl.u.s.ter of attractive people who were obviously her parents and siblings-her father, silver-haired and broad-shouldered, and her mother, svelte and elegant. A brother and a sister with the same expensive clothes and expensive, high-cheekboned faces.

I clicked the picture to see the image on its own, see a larger version of Poppy's face. She was clearly younger, though not too young-in her early twenties maybe, and she was clearly unhappy. While everyone else flashed their wealthy, happy smiles at the camera, Poppy had only managed a firm press of her lips, her eyes directed somewhere behind the cameraman, as if absorbed with something only she could see.

A wave of unwanted jealousy and suspicion surged in my chest. Was she looking at Sterling? This seemed like the kind of event he would be at, from the little I knew. Or maybe she was merely gazing at the specter of her own unhappiness, her own dull future, spelled out in seating arrangements and menu cards?

I thought of the picture the rest of the evening, as I set up for the youth group. I also thought of her, of getting to see her on Thursday, and every few minutes I would catch myself smiling, smiling for no reason at all except that I would get to see Poppy again.

Tonight in youth group, we talked about Jesus being tempted in the desert, and in a dramatic turnaround from last week, I felt completely removed from the verses. I wasn't in a desert...I was in a place with rustling green leaves and clear, rushing water.

What had changed? I wondered. Between last week and this week, between yesterday and today?

It was last night. It was the praying, the magic, the smell of her hair. The kiss that had sealed something, something that transcended the physical and the spiritual. They were no longer separate and divided, but one...and with that, the experience of her had crossed over from being confusing as h.e.l.l to wonderful. Awesome. Not awesome in the cool sense, but awesome in the sense that it filled me with awe.

She filled me with awe. She made me see the world with a new sense of wonder, every tree greener, every angle sharper, every face more pleasant and delightful to help.

It wasn't that the guilt had disappeared, however. I zigzagged from fantasy to recrimination, punishing myself with more runs, more pushups, more ch.o.r.es around the church, spending hours in prayer searching for an answer.

Why would G.o.d bring Poppy here if I wasn't supposed to fall in love with her?

Was it truly so terrible for a man of G.o.d to have s.e.x? The Protestants had been doing it for half a millennium and they seemed no more h.e.l.l-bound than the Catholics for it.

And was it so wrong to want both? I wanted to lead this church, I wanted to help people find G.o.d. But dammit, I wanted Poppy too, and I didn't think it was fair that I had to choose.

G.o.d didn't answer. Whatever magic had been lingering in the sanctuary these past couple weeks hid itself from me, and in a way, that was its own answer.

I was meant to figure this out on my own.

I was as restless as a caged animal on Thursday.

I tried watching Netflix, I tried reading. My house was already perfectly clean, my lawn mowed. The only thing I could focus on was Poppy. On seeing her tonight.

And finally, I gave up and went to my room. I sat in the chair by my bed and unzipped my jeans. I had been in a state of semi-hardness all day, and just the thought of jacking off-something I'd mostly denied myself for the past three years-was enough to get me all the way there. I gave myself a couple of pulls until my c.o.c.k was pointing straight up, remembering how it felt to have Poppy's wet c.u.n.t pressing against me. I leaned back, my jaw tight, finally giving up and reaching for my phone.

She picked up on the second ring. "h.e.l.lo?" That voice. It was even huskier on the phone. I wrapped my hand around my d.i.c.k and slowly stroked myself.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at the club." I could hear her moving around, as if she were walking into a more private place to talk. "But I'm almost done. What's going on?"

I hesitated. G.o.d, this was so f.u.c.king cra.s.s, but I wanted her voice in my ear as I did this. "I'm hard, Poppy. I'm so f.u.c.king hard that I can't think straight."

"Oh," she said. And then, her voice filled with understanding, "Oh, Tyler, are you-"

"Yes."

"How?" she said, and I could hear her moving again and then I heard a door close shut. "Where?"

"I'm in my room. My jeans are pulled down."

"Are your legs splayed? Are you leaning back or sitting up?" Her questions were laced with want, with hunger. It made me grip myself harder.

"I'm leaning back. Yes, my legs are wide. It makes me think of when you knelt between them and sucked me off."

"I want to do it again," she purred, and somehow I knew that she was touching herself too. "I want to lick you from base to tip. I want to suck you in deep."

"I want that too."

"Are you using your whole hand or just your fingers?"

"My whole hand," I said, and I was jerking myself in earnest now, wanting her to be here so badly.

"Hold on," she said, and there were a few seconds of silence. Then my phone buzzed. "You have a text," she said silkily.

I held my phone away from my face and nearly pa.s.sed out. She'd sent me a picture of her fingers buried in her c.u.n.t. "You're so f.u.c.king dirty," I said. And then another one came through, this one angled so that I could see her black high heel braced against the edge of a desk.

Holy s.h.i.t.

"I can hear you now," she said. "I can hear your hand moving over your c.o.c.k. G.o.d, I wish I could see it."

"I wish you could too," I said, and I managed to pull up the camera on my phone and turn on the video, all with one hand because no way was I slowing down now.

"I'm so wet," she confided. "I'm making a mess. I'm in my boss's office right now-mmm-it's all so slippery and I wish it was your c.o.c.k instead of my fingers, I wish it so much. I wore these heels today knowing I'd be digging them into your back later."

I kept the image of her heels and that perfect c.u.n.t in my mind as I let her words work their magic. My climax jolted through me and I thrust up into my hand, groaning loudly as come jetted out of my d.i.c.k, exhaling a muttered f.u.c.k as the o.r.g.a.s.m slowly backed down.

"I love hearing you," came her voice from the earpiece. "Your noises. I thought about them last night in my hotel room while I played with myself."

"Naughty girl." I sent her the video. "Now it's your turn to check your messages."

There was a pause and then I could hear the unmistakable sound of myself jacking off as she played the video, hear my groan echoing in her boss's office. "Oh G.o.d," she whispered, and it was clear I was on speaker now. "f.u.c.k, Tyler. That's so-if I were there, I would lick every last drop off you."

"If you were here, it all would have gone in your tight little c.u.n.t," I growled.

"Jesus," she moaned. And then, "Yes," which was followed by breathy little gasps that made my c.o.c.k stir back to life. And finally silence, punctuated with a loud sigh and the chair squeaking as she sat up.

I heard the click as I came off speaker. "Tyler?"

"Yes?"

The smile was apparent in her voice. "Feel free to call me any time."

Somehow, I managed to make it through the rest of the day, running until I couldn't think, half-heartedly piecing together stuff for Bishop Bove's panel proposal while I impatiently watched the clock (and tamped down guilt as I gathered notes about s.e.xual sin.) Around seven in the evening, my phone buzzed.

I'm home. Do you want me to come to the rectory?

I responded right away. I'll meet you at the church.

Thursday night was the one night a week without any activities, groups or Bible studies going on, so the church was empty. It was still early enough in the evening to be light out, and I wanted the plausible excuse of counseling or budget stuff in case someone saw her walking into the church. Her coming to the rectory alone at night would be a little harder to defend.

I slipped in the back door and practically jogged down the hallway to the narthex, where the front doors were locked. I turned the bolt and opened the door, and there was Poppy in a short red dress and black high heels, lips red and ready for me.

I had wanted to be gentle at first, to share more of those deep sweet kisses that left us dizzy and stunned, but that dress and those heels...

Screw gentle.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside, barely taking the time to lock the door before I pushed her against it and slanted my mouth over hers. I slid my hands under her a.s.s and lifted her so that she was truly pinned between the wood and my pelvis, which I rocked against her as we kissed.

And that was when I discovered she wasn't wearing underwear.

"Poppy," I said, breaking our kiss to move a hand down between us. "What's this?"