His balls tightened and he swore he may ejaculate just at the word Father. She’d be the undoing of him yet.

  He squeezed more lube onto her dark channel, the muscle smooth and stretched now, no longer a pucker at all. She’d been getting it waxed and bleached, no hair and the surrounding skin no longer dusky but a pretty pink. He thrust until the last bit of him was in, his balls flush with her now sticky, dripping cunt.

  “I’m in girl; you’ve taken all of me.”

  “Fuck me, Father.”

  “Jesus!” He bit his lip, reciting multiplication tables for twelve—it was the only thing that worked for him.

  Twelve times twelve is one hundred and forty-four.

  “I almost lost my load early girl; don’t say that again until I allow it. Deal?”

  “Yes, Sir.” She giggled and he swore it made him love her more.

  Brat.

  He slapped her hip sharply. “You ready for your candle fucking?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  He had no doubt that lube was not required. He pushed the candle into her while, at the same time, thrusting his cock balls deep into her bottomhole again. He continued easing both out simultaneously and pounding harshly back in, her cries of pleasure filling their little room.

  Her ass was always so tight, and the very act of fucking her with a church candle at the same time had him almost beside himself. He knew he wouldn’t last.

  “Girl, feel free to ask your priest for what you want.”

  “Ahhh!” She clenched with everything she had, shouting loudly, “Fuck me, Father!”

  He slapped his hips against her ass hard, then on the third thrust, he stilled, his semen spurting into her dark channel. The candle bounced off her cervix, her back stiffening and her ass and body clenching with a guttural growl like he’d never heard before. Her hips convulsed and twisted to the point that he yanked the candle out for fear she’d break it off inside her.

  How the fuck would I explain that?

  The holy candle was literally dripping with her honey. He shook his head in amazement, easing himself free from the clutches of her ass. The tremors rhythmically shook her, every part of her twitching. Reaching for the wipes they kept on the dresser, he grabbed several, wiping himself and her clean.

  When the wipe brushed along the seam of her sex, whispering over her clit, she shook, stiffening again and shouting with another release. He stood amazed at the sexual voracity of his woman. This blessing of the throats had apparently brought her to higher heights than even he had anticipated.

  “Bless me, Father. I think I’ve sinned.”

  He laughed a full belly laugh, leaning over her exhausted body still prostrate over the pillows. “It was that good, huh, girl?”

  “Yes, Father. I’ve never felt so turned on—and I think it was the taboo of blessing my throat and then fucking me with a church candle. I’ve just never…God, I think I’m kinda done for the night.” She picked her head up. “Can we go to sleep now?”

  “Yes, baby.” He pulled her up, bringing her to her side of the bed, tucking her in, curling blankets into her neck before brushing her hair off her forehead to kiss her. “You sleep well, sweets. I’ll cook us some dinner and wake you up in a couple hours. Sleep tight.”

  “My priest.” She mumbled it half asleep, and he had no doubt she drifted off immediately.

  He stood watching her, stroking her hair lightly, easing her into her slumber. They’d soon marry, starting their new lives. Having left the priesthood, he felt like a star-crossed lover. He couldn’t imagine the loss of Father McKenna, the children, and the faculty at St. Theodore’s. He knew he’d miss the pomp and circumstance, the rituals that had become part of his everyday life.

  But to have the love of his life back and to spend the rest of their lives together seemed beyond any dream he’d ever had. His soul mate. He’d never felt this way with anyone—ever. She knew his desires, dreams, and fears. She even knew how torn he was between the Catholic Church and his carnal love for—His woman.

  And yet God had given him a second chance at both. He’d been given the ability to marry his soul mate—in the Catholic Church, had been given dispensation and blessing by His Holiness, The Pope. He’d made history—the first laicized priest to leave the Roman Catholic Church and be given permission to marry within the Church. And on top of that, he’d been asked to work as a laicized priest in the Vatican City or his home parish in Philly.

  He was a blessed man, and to complete the picture, someday…someday soon he hoped…he’d be given the blessing of children. A family to call his own.

  But at the end of the day, with all the blessings—in his past, present, and future—the biggest blessing he’d ever have would be a woman who looked at him with adoration, giving him the title of—

  Her Priest

  Epilogue

  They had a beautiful fall wedding at St. Theodore’s in South Philadelphia with Father Bill McKenna for their holy matrimony. Several hundred guests filled the country club, but as far as Emerson was concerned, if it had been only he and Chelsea with Father McKenna, he would’ve been just as happy.

  She wore a traditional gown. Lace and silk hugged her curvy form, but not too snugly. As always, his girl was stunning, but classy and elegantly so. Never flashy, but enough to take everyone’s breath away.

  When the Vatican heard about his upcoming wedding, Cardinal Rossi and the Pope himself had requested that they stay as their guests in the Apostolic Palace within the Vatican City, enjoying the city and sites of Rome. After talking it over at length and discussing whether they’d be comfortable honeymooning basically in the Pope’s house, they finally came to the conclusion that they couldn’t forego such an opportunity.

  They had only been there for four days and the Cardinals seemed to be in competition with outdoing each other in entertaining and tours for the newly married couple. Today they’d given them a reprieve from touring and time relax in what was more of a small house than a suite at a hotel. They had easily three thousand square feet of living space, and every appliance and gadget one would need. They were assured that anything they required could be provided by the staff with just a request.

  With almost two million square feet to the Palace, they were easily sectioned off, and today they felt sequestered in the ornate rooms they’d been given.

  Emerson stared down at his naked wife, spread eagle and tied to the ornate four-poster bed. Her pussy was still red from their recent activity, his seed dripping from her slippery sheath. Her hips swiveled, and she whined petulantly at his refusal to bring her to orgasm again, preferring to stand there and watch her drip with need, occasionally dipping a finger into her channel or the tip of his tongue to tease her clit.

  In his mind, she was her sweetest after a spanking or orgasm and still keening for a second. Her body and spirit were sated enough to not push any limits with her sassy tongue, but her arousal was so high that it consumed her and she seemed…wanton.

  He snapped his collar on, his cock rigid and hard again, not resting long, especially since his wife’s scent filled the air and her cream coated his tongue. Walking to the armoire, he opened the heavy cherry doors, viewing all the vestments contained within it. Finding what he needed, he drew it out, holding the length in one hand while he kept a two-foot piece dangling from his other.

  It was the decorative cincture with tassels that a priest wrapped around his robes for daily wear, keeping it in place so his work wouldn’t be hindered. He swung the end in a circle, making a whooshing sound as he approached her.

  “Ready for a little flogging, my dear?”

  “Uhm.” Her eyes widened looking at the gold and white rope. “Yes, Sir.”

  He slapped the tassels on the front of her upper thigh. “Again.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Nicely done.” Slowing the pace, he lightly flicked the tasseled end onto her upper thighs and her mound, having no doubt that the vibration and thud would tease her clit mercilessly.

  “Oh!” Her back arched and her neck lengthened, the pebbled tips of her nipples pointing skyward, begging to be licked and bitten.

  Unable to deny his need any longer, he leaned forward pulling the furled nipple into his mouth, sucking on it furiously and painfully.

  Her gasp and quick inhale had him looking up at her. With her mouth in a perfect “o” and the pupils of her eyes dilated, he chuckled out loud at the obvious state of despair she’d risen to. Wanting to tamp down her fire, he bit down at the base of her hardened tip, the sweet metallic taste of her blood hitting his tongue.

  He pulled away, letting the breast pop out of his mouth, lapping up the drop of blood forming at the site. “Poor baby.”

  Resuming the flogging, he gently whispered the golden tassels up and down her torso, the rope leaving only pale pink marks in random areas.

  With her labia spread open and her clit exposed from under its hood, he lightly tapped the sodden area with the cincture, her growls and groans calling to him.

  He dropped the longer length, abandoning it to ease his own arousal, his cock and balls aching to fuck her, but his need to flog every inch of her alabaster skin with the vestments from the Vatican overpowered his desire.

  Thwap, thwap, thwap.

  He marched the cincture slowly up her body again, paying particular attention to her breasts. She arched and swayed with each lash, her hips in constant motion.

  Tossing the rope aside, he climbed up to rest between her legs, sliding his finger through her slit, sending her into shrieks of ecstasy. “Are you ready, my bad Catholic girl?”

  “Yes! Dear God, yes!”

  “Mmmm, is that any way to speak to your priest and husband?”

  She grit her teeth and he could see a wiseass remark formulating. He arched an eyebrow at her, and quickly her face became somber. “Father, please, I need you to fuck me.”

  “Jesus.” He quickly undid the ties at her ankles, hovering over her body, his cock bobbing toward her neck while he undid the ropes for her hands. “Let’s get you your fucking, little one.”

  They’d do soft and gentle later. Right now, he needed hard. He cupped the underside of each thigh, tossing her legs over his shoulders. Fast and deep. With one steady thrust, he pushed in up to the hilt.

  She inhaled loudly on a shriek. “Oh God!”

  Good! This is what she wants too.

  He drove into her, each pounding of her flesh pushing her further up the bed. He drove into her, bouncing off her inner flesh, her pussy clamping him in a vice-like hold. His teeth gritted against the painful pleasure, pistoning her harder and faster. Her body became nothing more than a means to an end. His ejaculation, his seed, taking her, overcoming her, overpowering her, his woman, his girl.

  His balls tightened, his buttocks clenching tightly on his last punishing slam into her body. He growled loudly, his come spurting, but before he could come again, she screamed with her own release, her finger nails digging into his shoulders. Hard.

  She continued to squeeze his now sensitive cock, the walls of her hot little cunt punishing him. He moaned with each spasm, her juice sluicing over him, gushing out of her pussy and drenching his now slack balls, emptied and depleted—for now.

  “Oh Christ, you’re killing me.” He buried his head in her shoulder, stiffening against her milking cunt.

  The aftershocks seemed to continue forever to the point that she started to laugh. “I can’t stop.”

  Finally, his semi-erect penis slipped out—blessed relief. He collapsed onto her body, catching his breath, his body rocking from the tremors and quakes still running through her body.

  This woman. His woman.

  His wife.

  He eased off of her, unfolding her body which was still bent in half, her eyes closed, and wonderfully sated. Lying on his side next to her, he played with her now sallow, warm nipples.

  “We need to talk about some serious stuff, girl.”

  Her eyes flew open like they had been on a spring. “Like what?”

  He ran his finger along her lips. “Shhhh. Nothing that serious. Have you thought about where you want to live?”

  “I have.” She nodded her head, her eyes shifting to check his facial expressions. “I think it’s important for you—and me—to live in Vatican City, giving you the opportunity to work with the Pope.”

  It was his turn now to watch her closely. She seemed so sincere, but it was a big move. “But what about your career goals?”

  “I can be a reporter anywhere. And how many people get the opportunity to not only report from the Vatican, but also to live in the Apostolic Palace? I mean…” She looked around the room. “Look at that fucking ceiling! It’s gorgeous. And this is just one room here out of thousands and hundreds of thousands. It’s…it’s a dream of a lifetime.”

  “It is pretty cool, I have to admit. But…” He played with her hair, twisting it around his forefinger, watching the curl spring free. “But won’t you miss your family?”

  “I’ve been in Amsterdam for a long time, Emerson. I’ve learned to adjust, and I get to see them yearly. That won’t change. This is a good time to do this. They’re not old or sickly, and they don’t need me right now. I think we need to stay here…and can you imagine the juicy news here? I’m sure there are scandals and affairs.”

  “Oh God.” He put his head in his hands. “Don’t become involved in that.”

  “I won’t become involved, but you never know what will…fall into your lap.” She bit her lip, looking away.

  Grabbing her chin lightly, he turned her head back toward him. “Out with it. What happened?”

  “What? Why would you say that?”

  Rising from the bed, he went to the huge, ornately decorated ten-foot wide dresser, grabbing a large decorative hairbrush from it, then stalked toward the bed.

  Before she could formulate a plan of action, he’d grabbed her foot, flipping her easily onto her belly, and laid out several hard swats, leaving angry red and purple tinged splotches across the broad expanse of her backside.

  Letting go of her ankle, he stood with his fists at his hips, the hairbrush still in his hand.

  She flipped onto her back, her hands cupping each cheek, and then bounced her legs on the bed, frustrated and angry.

  “Do you need more?”

  “N-no! It just…it hurts.”

  “It’s supposed to. Do you think your memory is jogged now? Fess up.”

  “Fine.” She exhaled. “I went to the chapel this morning to pray and look at the beautiful artwork and statues. And while I was there, I heard this noise from the back of the chapel, and, you know, I didn’t think much of it; it could have been mice or something. I mean, the Palace is what? Eight hundred years old? I don’t even want to think about the creatures that hide in the walls here.”

  He rolled his forefinger in a circular motion for her to fast forward…move on.

  “Anyway.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “Before I could go back to investigate, uhm…Cardinal Novak came out of the confessional along with a gorgeous blonde woman, and he…he had an erection, and her lipstick was all messed up.”

  “What? You mean the young blond Cardinal from Prague?”

  “Yep, that’s the one.” She bit her lip with worry, but at the same time, her eyes sparkled and the corner of her mouth was curling into a grin.

  “Bad girl.” He wagged his finger at her as he sat on the bed next to her.

  Holy shit!

  “Okay, girl. No more going to the chapel. You don’t want to take any chances. Keep your lips sealed about this. No one needs to know what you saw.”

  “Well, duh. Of course I won’t tell anyone.”

  He pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger harshly. “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.”

  “Ow! I’m sorry…” Her eyes dropped to the bed. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Just because we’re somewhere different, doesn’t mean I won’t paddle your ass. Clear?”

  “Yes.” Then pursing her lips, she dramatically rubbed her posterior.

  “Okay, I get the hint. Yes, I already punished your bottom, but you asked for it, and if you ask for it again, I’ll do it again—this time harder.” He twirled the gold and porcelain hairbrush in front of her again.

  “Okay. I get it. And yeah, I have absolutely no intentions of telling anyone about this. Cripes, I was petrified when they came out. Thankfully, I was lighting candles, so I was able to distract myself with that and hopefully convince them that I hadn’t seen anything anyway.”

  “Did you know the woman?”

  “I’m not sure, but I swear she’s like a greeter or secretary here. We met her the first day, I think.” She shrugged. “I don’t know, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty good with faces.”

  Dipping his chin, he said again, “You will not breathe a word of this.”

  “No, Sir. I won’t. You can trust me on that.”

  “Okay, good. Go shower and get dressed so I can shower. I’m starving. We need to get some pasta or pizza.”

  “God, I want pizza!”

  “Then move your red, spanked ass. Turn around and let me see.”

  She turned, pouting over her shoulder, hoping to garner sympathy, no doubt. Little did she know, if he had a choice, she’d be wearing marks over pink skin most days. “Skedaddle that fanny into the shower before you get more of this hairbrush.”

  She shrieked, giggling as her bottom wobbled pleasantly into the white tiled bathroom.

  He sighed. He’d tell Cardinal Rossi and the Pope that he’d be residing and working in the Vatican. Standing up with the antique (probably a relic) hairbrush, placing it back on the dresser, he leaned his back to the cold, hard wood, thinking.

  How often did priests, cardinals and popes have affairs? Would working here taint his view of the Church…more than it already was? Did he have to worry about physical harm coming to them if something were exposed?

  Cardinal Petr Novak would be someone to watch…he and his woman.

  To be continued…

  Also by Megan Michaels