CHAPTER 1: FINGERING MYSELF FOR THE PRIEST
(WARNING: RELIGIOUS TABOO EROTICA)
The first time I walked into St. Agnes, it had nothing to do with God. I was new in town, lonely, and the massive, silent cathedral seemed like a good place to hide. But then I saw him.
Father Malachi.
He wasn't some soft, gentle old man. No. He was… f**k.
He was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, with this storm of silver in his dark hair and lines around his eyes that just made him look more intense.
He had a jaw you could cut glass with and these broad, strong shoulders that filled out his black cassock in a way that made my mouth go dry.
But it was his voice. When he addressed the congregation, it was this deep, resonant baritone that didn't just fill the church—it vibrated right through the
