Story

The story

On the bed," he ordered, voice dark with promise. "Face down."

I obeyed, crawling onto the narrow mattress and settling on my stomach. The sheets smelled like clean linen and something darker, more masculine. He stripped the dress from my body completely, leaving me naked and exposed. His cassock rustled as he removed it, and then I felt the weight of him settling over me, skin hot against my back.

His hands gripped my hips, lifting them until I was on my knees with my chest pressed to the mattress. The position left me completely open, vulnerable. I felt the blunt head of his cock nudging between my thighs, sliding through the wetness already gathering there.

"This time," he growled, "I'm going to fuck you deeper than before."

Content Warning

This is a dark, forbidden romance intended for mature audiences (18+). It contains explicit sexual content, a priest/parishioner power dynamic, infidelity, domestic abuse, murder, and strong language throughout, along with grief and morally gray characters.

This story is a work of fiction and does not endorse or condone real-world abuse of religious authority, infidelity, or violence.Reader discretion is strongly advised. If any of the above are difficult subjects for you, please consider skipping this story.

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I stopped believing in good men the day I buried my husband.

Then I met the one man in town everyone swore was different.

Father Ronan Armand doesn't lie. Doesn't cheat. Doesn't break his word.

He just breaks everything else.

I told myself it was grief. I told myself it was loneliness. I told myself a hundred lies before I finally admitted the truth, some women aren't meant to be saved from ruin.

Some of us just go looking for it in a collar and a confession booth.

I didn't fall in love with him.

I let him corrupt me, one confession at a time.

Some women run from the devil.

I let mine wear a cassock and call it faith.