Thorne’s POV
The incense was thick in the air. Holy. Heavy. It clung to my skin like guilt.
The church was quiet. Candles flickered. Eyes were on me—dozens of them—but I only saw her.
Sister Mary sat near the front pew, hands folded, head slightly bowed like the perfect picture of devotion. Her white habit framed her face too beautifully. Her skin was so smooth, like the petals of fresh lilies offered on the altar.
But I wasn’t thinking about flowers.
I was thinking about how tight that habit must be around her chest. How her n*****s looked earlier—bare and proud behind soft fabric.
I shifted in place. My c**k stirred.
Not here. Not now.
I cleared my throat and looked down at the open missal, pretending to focus. “The Lord be with you,” I said, voice low, gritty.
“And also with yo
