บททั้งหมดของ Taboo: Ties and Sins : บทที่ 171 - บทที่ 180

The air inside the church was thick, saturated with the scent of melted wax and old incense, a perfume that clung to the nostrils like an unspoken prayer. The candles flickered in the candelabras, casting shadows that danced across the stone walls, as if the carved saints were judging every step taken on the cold floor. Father Gabriel closed the missal with a dry snap, his long fingers sliding over the worn leather cover. At 30, he carried a gravity that didn't match his youth, as if the black cassock were armor against the world—or against himself. His eyes, a deep brown, reflected the flames but hid a restlessness he prayed no one would notice.The night was silent, except for the soft crackling of the candles and the distant echo of thunder. The nightly confession was an ancient tradition in that forgotten parish, a ritual Gabriel had accepted with devotion, but which, that night, seemed to weigh heavier than usual. He entered the confessional, the narrow space smelling of polished

The church was enveloped in shadows, the candles almost extinguished, casting an amber glow that barely reached the corners of the confessional. The air was heavy, laden with the scent of incense and the echo of broken promises. Father Gabriel sat on the wooden bench, the rosary clenched between his fingers, each bead a desperate attempt to anchor his soul. Lívia's black panties, found in the sacristy hours earlier, still burned in his mind, the lace fabric tucked in his cassock pocket like a secret he dared not throw away. His brown eyes, now clouded with exhaustion, were fixed on the cross hanging before him, but prayer did not come. Instead came Ana's words—"my pussy won't stop pulsing"—and Lívia's challenge—"you want to fuck us against that cross."The tower clock struck midnight, the deep sound reverberating through the ancient stones. Gabriel should have been sleeping, but he had agreed to the meeting "to talk," knowing, deep down, it was a lie. The creak of the church door anno

The church was immersed in darkness, the silence cut only by the crackling of candles and the distant echo of thunder. The altar, covered by an immaculate white cloth, seemed to shine under the faint light, as if defying what was to come. Father Gabriel stood before it, his torn cassock hanging from his broad shoulders, his muscular chest exposed, marked by red scratches from the previous night. The rosary in his pocket weighed like a chain, the scent of Ana and Lívia—vanilla and clove—still lingering on the beads, mixed with the smell of the black panties he hadn't thrown away. His brown eyes, clouded with guilt, were fixed on the wooden cross above the altar, but prayer did not come. Instead came Ana's moans, the taste of her breasts, and Lívia's taunts—"fuck us at the saint's feet."The tower clock struck two in the morning, the deep sound reverberating through the ancient stones. Gabriel knew they would come. Lívia's promise—"on the altar, you'll give us everything"—was a sentence

The subway entered another tunnel, plunging the car into momentary darkness before the lights steadied once more. In that brief instant, Camila felt something strange: as if the darkness had allowed him to approach without sound, without time, without space. When the light returned, he was still in the same place, but the sensation lingered.She frowned, annoyed with herself. She wasn't the kind of woman who fantasized about strangers on public transport. She wasn’t the kind of woman who let her mind wander into dangerous territories. But there was something in that shared silence that unsettled her.The car continued on its way, swaying. One of the few remaining passengers got off. Then, another. Within minutes, there were only three people left: Camila, a young man asleep at the back, and the man.Her heart beat faster.The silence grew thick, broken only by the sound of the tracks and the air conditioning. Each passing station seemed to bring the inevitable closer: soon, perhaps on

The subway tore through the tunnels with a guttural roar, the swaying of the cars like a pulse that seemed synchronized with Camila Duarte's erratic heartbeat. Seated on the cold plastic seat, she felt her body on fire, the pencil skirt now wrinkled, riding up her thighs in an almost obscene way. Her dark brown ponytail, once impeccable, had loose strands stuck to her sweaty neck, and her green eyes, now wild, shone with a hunger she could no longer deny. The stranger's words echoed like a flame burning her skin. His touch on her thigh, grazing her damp panties minutes before, had left a trail of electricity that still made her tremble.The car was empty, the white lights flickering with the movement, the sound of the tracks mixing with the hum of the air conditioning. The stranger was beside her now, his imposing body invading her space, his dress shirt with its open buttons revealing a firm chest sprinkled with dark hair. His messy hair fell over his forehead, and the shadow of stub