Thorne’s POV.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
Sister Mary set the tray on the table, quiet, her back to me.
Then she turned, slow, her eyes catching mine—hesitant, then sliding down.
Her breath hitched, but no running, no scolding.
She stepped closer.“I mean…” she murmured, eyes flicking to my half-shaved jaw, then lower, “it’s part of serving, right? Helping the Reverend however he needs.”
My c**k listened. It felt those words.
My c**k twitched, hard and aching. God help me.
“Close the door,” I growled, voice low, rough.
She obeyed. The click shut us in, alone, the space between us burning, unholy.
I dropped the razor. “Do you even know how to help with this, Sister?”
Her lip twitched, a defiant little smile. “I’m not new to a man’s body, Father.”
So that bar job was
