《Dirtiest Desires (Steamiest Short Stories)》全部章節：第 81 章 - 第 90 章

Outside, the congregation is dispersing, but a dedicated crowd remains by the steps. Probably waiting for the undertakers to wheel out Elder Jonathan’s casket so they follow the hearse all the way to the crematorium.I knock gently on the door of Father Romanus’ office.The door doesn’t budge, so I knock again. “Who’s there?” His voice floats through the door. “It’s the warden,” I holler in response.“Come in,” he says.I twist the doorknob and enter the office, then shut the door behind me.He sits behind his desk, wiping his face with a white handkerchief.I bow my head. “I’ve come to do the counting and update the records.”He raises his head, dropping the handkerchief. “Oh, I almost forgot. Please sit.”I sit on the seat closest to him. The cards are neatly arranged on the table, like he already did the counting himself.I take a glance at them, and then at him. “You did the counting?”“Yes,” his deep voice grumbles in response. “You were with your friend. So, I had to help to

The walk home is suffocatingly quiet. My shoes are pinching my toes, the irritation matching my mood.I stop, slip them off, and carry them.From a distance, our house looks too perfect to trust. Then I notice two figures by the fence, too still to be casual.Calista is standing by the white picket fence, talking to a young lady her own age.Why are they standing out in the open? They should be inside. At least her father could pretend he isn’t listening from the hallway.In this world, you have to watch your children from the shadows. We need to protect Calista.We need to make sure she doesn’t end up a wreck like me.As I close the distance, their heads snap toward me. Both of them are wearing matching smiles. Not enough to accuse them of anything, but enough to make my shoulders stiffen before I can stop it.What are they giggling about?Boys, probably.“Good evening, Mom,” Calista says. She steps away from the fence and throws her arms around me. Suddenly, she buries her face in m

~ Father Romanus ~I have no intention of lusting after the women of Saint Peter’s Church. It's not my way. Yet, shepherding a flock with such wild, wicked secrets makes holiness a heavy cross to bear.The last thing that should ever cross my mind is having anything sexual to do with the Catechist's wife.Yes, she’s breathtaking, perhaps the most beautiful woman ever to grace these pews, but she's supposed to be decent. Virtuous.She wasn’t supposed to climb onto my office desk like a succubus from hell, quoting scriptures about Jacob wrestling a stranger on a lonely path.The memory doesn't stay still. It presses in again without permission. Where prayer and discipline should be, there's only her.I try to pray, but the words collapse halfway through my mouth. I can still feel her fingers trail across my face. She wore a yellow gown scattered with pink flowers. On any other married woman, it would have looked modest and suitable for a church warden.On her, it looked dangerously inv

He turns away from me, yielding to the moment. He strips off his shirt first, then his pants and underwear.When he turns back around, my breath catches in my throat.He’s built beautifully. Intimidatingly so. I lean in, using the light and pretending I’m just being practical. “When was the last time you shaved?”I should have been focused on the irritation he wanted me to examine.Instead, my attention keeps drifting elsewhere.Every glance only makes looking away harder.I want him. All of him. I want to feel his cock in my mouth. I want to ride him into oblivion.“Just last week,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble.I click off the light and offer a casual shrug. “It’s not an infection. Just razor burn. It’ll clear up on its own, or you can use a soothing cream. But honestly? Just leave it alone.”He nods, the tension leaving his shoulders.“Thank you, Mrs. Stockholm.” He reaches for his shirt, preparing to cover himself back up.Panic flares in my chest—I’m not done with him yet

~ Brock ~I take a deep, exhausting breath, staring blankly at the ceiling.“The catechist’s wife,” I mutter.“Good boy,” she whispers. Mrs. Stockholm, the catechist’s wife, crawls up my bare chest. She rests her head right over my heart, her warm breath tickling my skin.I run my fingers through her hair.God, I missed the touch of a woman. It’s been a solid year of cold, empty sheets.The only problem is that she isn't mine.Do I feel guilty? Not even a little.I’ve coveted her from afar for years. Now, she’s breathing peacefully in my bed, looking entirely innocent.But nobody in this damn town is innocent. We’re a community of bloody sinners.The catechist is no exception.He’s been fucking my ex-wife. I know it, he knows I know it, but I never saw the point in a useless confrontation.The only real way to get even was to lure his precious wife into my bed.Turns out, Mrs. Stockholm wasn't hard to convince.My hand slides down the curve of her hip, settling on her bare ass. She’s