CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 15

EZRA

Dinner smelled amazing the moment we stepped into the hall. Long wooden tables stretched across the room, and the kitchen sisters had gone all out—big bowls of stew, rice, bread stacked high, even pitchers of juice. Everyone was buzzing, hungry and loud, the way church people always were when free food was involved.

Lily dragged me toward a table near the middle, Jordan following with her plate already full.

“Ezra, sit here,” Lily ordered, shoving me onto the bench like she was my mom.

“I can choose my own seat,” I muttered.

She batted her eyelashes. “Not when you’re prone to bad decisions.”

Jordan smirked. “She’s right.”

I rolled my eyes but stayed.

The room filled quickly. Laughter, forks clattering, kids singing little songs in the corner. Someone started clapping rhythm to a hymn, and half the hall joined in.

“Pass the bread,” Lily said, reaching across me.

“Say please,” I replied.

She kicked me under the table. “Please.”

I shoved the basket at her. “Happy?”

“Delighted,” she said with her mouth full.

Jordan snorted. “Classy.”

While they bickered, I reached for my own food, trying not to notice the man two tables away.

Father Dorian sat at the end, his posture perfect even when he lifted a spoon. His casual clothes couldn’t hide the authority that clung to him. He spoke little, only nodding when addressed, but everyone seemed drawn to him anyway. Even the laughter quieted when he shifted.

I forced myself to look away.

Beside him, Father Nico was the opposite. Smiling, cracking jokes, leaning into conversations he didn’t belong in. People laughed, but too loudly, like they weren’t sure if they were supposed to.

I hated it. Something about him made my skin crawl.

“Ezra,” Lily whispered, jolting me back. “You’re staring again.”

I snapped my head around. “At you. I was staring at you.”

She smirked knowingly. “Sure.”

Jordan coughed into her cup. “Smooth.”

Before I could respond, the table behind us erupted into argument.

“I’m telling you, Paul said it differently in Corinthians!” one boy insisted.

Another shot back, “That’s not what it means. You’re twisting it.”

“Oh please,” a girl scoffed, “none of you even read the Greek text.”

“Do you even read English properly?”

Laughter, groans, more voices piling in.

Lily leaned back with a grin. “Ah yes. The holy chaos of Bible nerds.”

Jordan shook her head. “This is going to last an hour.”

She was right. The argument got louder, more ridiculous. Someone stood to dramatize a verse. Another clapped back with a hymn lyric like it was proof.

Soon half the hall was involved—singing, debating, laughing. It was messy, alive, almost… fun.

Lily joined in, shouting, “Revelations was written as a metaphor, you heathens!”

Jordan facepalmed. “And she’s gone.”

I laughed, shaking my head. For a moment, the weight in my chest lifted.

Then the choir at the far table started a song. Voices rose, clear and warm, and the room shifted from debate to music like it was natural. People clapped along, harmonizing badly, laughing through verses.

I found myself singing too, low under my breath.

Across the hall, Dorian’s eyes lifted. For one second—just one—they met mine.

My voice cracked.

I looked down at my plate immediately. My face burned.

Lily elbowed me. “Smooth again.”

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Make me.”

Jordan rolled her eyes. “Children.”

Dinner stretched on with music, laughter, and more arguments. By the end, plates were empty, cups spilled, voices hoarse from singing.

“Alright,” Sister Anne called over the noise, clapping her hands. “Lights out at ten! Breakfast at eight! Don’t wander the grounds too late.”

Groans filled the room.

Lily stood, stretching. “Come on, Ezra. Let’s go before Jordan abandons us.”

“I wouldn’t abandon you,” Jordan said, standing too. “But if you keep dragging him into trouble, I might.”

I followed them out into the cold night air, but my thoughts stayed behind in the hall—at the end of that table, where Father Dorian had watched me sing like I was the only voice in the room.

******

The cabin was too quiet. Too dark.

I lay on my side, staring at the wooden wall, trying to count sheep, stars, anything to distract me. Across the room, Father Dorian’s breathing was steady, slow. As if sleep came to him easily.

Of course it did. He was probably born knowing how to sleep like a saint.

I rolled over again, biting my lip. My eyes caught movement.

The blanket on his bed had slipped low. He was shirtless, the ink across his shoulders faintly lit by the moon leaking through the curtain. His joggers clung to his hips, and when he shifted slightly, I saw—

His ass.

Round. Firm. Ridiculous.

Oh my God.

I buried my face in my pillow. No. No. Stop. You can’t think about biting your priest’s ass. That’s not even—why would you even—

I groaned softly and rolled onto my back. The ceiling offered no answers. Just wood and shadow. I tossed again. And again.

“Ezra,” Dorian’s voice cut through the dark.

I froze. “Yes?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My voice was squeaky, traitorous.

He shifted, his bed creaking. “You’re disturbing.”

Guilt slammed me. “Sorry. I’ll be quiet.”

Silence. Then, like he’d already forgotten me, his breathing evened out again.

I huffed, staring at the ceiling. “Disturbing. Great. Add that to my résumé.”

I reached for my phone under the pillow. Bright light stabbed my eyes, but I needed something—music, TikTok, a cat video—anything to make the night pass.

That’s when I saw it.

A shadow at the corner of my screen. Not a shadow. Eyes. Beady, glowing.

I squinted. Then it moved.

A rat.

I screamed.

Okay, not screamed. Yelped. Like a kicked puppy.

Dorian bolted upright. “What happened—” His words stopped. I knew why. His gaze landed exactly where mine had.

The rat. Sitting by the wardrobe like it paid rent.

I jumped to my feet, clutching my blanket like armor. “Oh my God oh my God oh my God—”

Dorian rubbed his face, muttering something under his breath. Then, calm as ever, he said, “It’s just a rat.”

“Just?” My voice cracked. “That thing has teeth! It could have—rabies, or—or the plague, or—”

“It’s not going to touch you.”

“How do you know?” I demanded, pointing wildly. “Look at it. It’s plotting!”

His lips twitched, like he wanted to laugh. “We’ll deal with it tomorrow. ”

“I can’t sleep with that in here!”

He sighed, patience thinning. Then he said it. “Then sleep with me.”

My brain short-circuited.

“What?”

“My bed,” he clarified. “It’s small, but you’ll fit. Better than panicking all night.”

I didn’t even think. I ran across the room and practically dove onto the bed.

The mattress dipped under my weight, throwing me against him. Solid chest. Warm skin. My face was right there.

“Careful,” he murmured, steadying me with one hand.

“Sorry,” I breathed.

He positioned me so I wasn’t smothering him, then pulled the blanket over us. His arm draped around me, heavy, anchoring.

My heart stopped.

We were close. Too close. His chest brushed my shoulder. His breath stirred my hair. His hand—God, his hand—rested low on my side, firm and casual, like he did this every day.

I swallowed hard, my brain already writing filthy scripts. What if I turned around? What if his hand slid lower? What if I kissed him right now—

“Sleep,” he ordered quietly.

My body betrayed me. My eyes fluttered shut. My racing heart slowed.

And just like that, I was out.

I woke before dawn. Not because I wanted to, but because something was wrong.

No sun. No birds. Just darkness pressing against the window.

And Father Dorian’s arm wrapped around me.

My breath stilled. His chest was pressed to my back. Heavy. Solid. I was trapped in a cocoon of heat and muscle.

Oh God.

I shifted a little. That’s when I felt it.

Something hard. Pressing against me.

Not just hard. Huge.

I hiccuped. Out loud.

Dorian didn’t wake. He just mumbled something under his breath and pulled me closer, his hips shifting—God, no—into me.

I froze. My body went stiff like a board. His breath was warm against the back of my neck, slow and even. He was asleep. Entirely unaware. And yet… his cock was poking right against my ass like the world’s most dangerous alarm clock.

“Oh my God,” I whispered to no one. My face was on fire. My whole body felt like it was on fire.

I bit my lip, trying not to make a sound. My mind betrayed me instantly. What if I just—what if I pushed back? What if I let him—

“Nope,” I hissed, cutting off my own thoughts. “Nope nope nope. Bad. That’s bad. Very bad.”

I tried to inch forward, but his arm tightened around me like a steel band.

“Seriously?” I whispered. “You’re cuddling me more?”

My ass pressed back against him accidentally, and I almost choked on air.

He’s huge. He’s literally huge. He’d split me in half. I would die. I would happily die—

I shook my head. “Stop it, Ezra. You’re not… you’re not—”

I shifted again, desperate to get free. This time my face landed dangerously close to his. Inches away. His lips were parted, his jaw rough with faint stubble.

Oh fuck.

Up close, he was… beautiful. Not the holy kind. The ruin-you kind. The kind of man you should never touch because you’d never recover.

My eyes fell to his lips. My heart pounded so loud I swore he’d hear it in his sleep.

If I kissed him… just once…

I shut my eyes tight and turned away before I did something insane. My body trembled as I made another attempt to wriggle free. His hand slid a little on my waist, almost like a caress.

“Stop touching me,” I whispered. Then added quickly, “Not like that—I mean, please don’t—oh my God I’m talking to a sleeping man.”

After what felt like a century, I managed to slip out of his grip. I stumbled to my feet like I’d just escaped prison. My chest heaved. My skin was hot. My heart wouldn’t stop.

I rushed into the bathroom, shut the door, and pressed my palms to the sink.

“Okay,” I whispered to my reflection. My face was red, my curls a mess. “You’re fine. You’re totally fine.”

I wasn’t fine.

I could still feel him against me. The weight of his arm. The size of his—oh God.

I gripped the sink tighter. “Why is this happening to me?”

Silence answered back.

I bit down on my lip, forcing myself to breathe. “He’s a priest. He’s your priest. He’s—he’s—”

Hot.

My eyes fluttered shut. The image of his lips, his chest, his tattoos burned behind them.

I shook my head violently. “No. No. You’re not doing this again. You’re not.”

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would cool the fire crawling under my skin.

It didn’t.

Not even close.