All Chapters of The Forbidden Sisterhood: A Collection Of Forbidden Stories : Chapter 261 - Chapter 270

Elena Marchetti had not been inside a confessional in eleven years.She was twenty-nine now, and she knew exactly why she was kneeling in the dark of St. Brigid's on a Saturday evening, with the last of the light bleeding through the stained glass and the whole church smelling of beeswax and old wood. It wasn't guilt. Guilt would have been simple.It was him.Father Lucien Reyes had arrived three weeks ago, and the parish had not recovered. The older women brought him casseroles. The younger ones suddenly remembered they were Catholic. And Elena, who had sat in the back pew at Mass with her arms crossed, had watched him lift the chalice with those broad, scarred hands and felt something low in her belly clench like a fist.He was thirty-four. Tall. Black hair worn a little too long for a priest, a jaw that looked carved, and a voice, God, that voice. Low and unhurried, the kind of voice that made even the Lord be with you sound like a threat.She slid the wooden screen aside and heard

He drew back and thrust forward.Elena saw stars.He fucked her like a man who had been starving. Deep, hard, relentless thrusts that slammed her against the wall and made the whole booth creak. His hand slid around her waist and down between her legs, rubbing her clit in tight, merciless circles in time with every stroke, and the double assault shattered whatever composure she had left."Tell me whose pussy this is.""Yours," she sobbed."Again.""Yours, Father, it's yours, oh God...""Louder, and I swear I'll have the whole church hear you."She bit her own wrist to muffle a cry as he drove into her harder. Her breasts bounced against the wood with every thrust, nipples still tender from his mouth. His other hand came up to tangle in her hair and tug her head back, and his mouth found her neck, teeth grazing."I'm going to ruin you for every other man," he growled. "You understand? After tonight you will lie in bed and touch yourself and it will be my name you say.""Yes," she gaspe

"Your mouth. Please, Father, I want your mouth."He gave it to her.The first stroke of his tongue made her cry out. He licked her slowly, deliberately, from her entrance to her clit, and circled the swollen bud with a patience that bordered on cruelty. He ate her like he'd been starving for it. His big hands pinned her thighs open and held them there, and when she tried to squirm away from the intensity he growled against her and tightened his grip."Don't run from it. Take it."He slid two fingers inside her while his mouth worked her clit, and Camille's back bowed off the table. The thick curl of his fingers hit the spot that no one had ever found. Her head thrashed. A high, desperate sound tore out of her throat."That's it," he said against her wet flesh. "Let me hear you. Nobody can hear us in here."He fucked her with his fingers, hard and deep and fast, tongue lashing her clit in tight, merciless flicks, and the climax hit her so suddenly that she screamed. It tore through her

"I know," said Lucien. "That's all right. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."She looked at Camille. Camille, who was lying on the red carpet with her skin still flushed from his mouth, smiled and held out a hand."You can join us," said the bride quietly. "If you want."Sister Agnes made a small, broken sound. And then she took one step forward, and another, and the rosary slid from her fingers and clattered onto the marble.***They undressed her together.Camille's fingers found the pins of the veil, and lifted it away, and a heavy fall of chestnut hair tumbled down to the nun's shoulders. Lucien unfastened the gray habit with careful, reverent hands. Underneath was plain white cotton, a simple bra, a simple slip, and Agnes shook so hard that Camille drew her down onto the steps and held her, stroking her back."It's all right," she murmured. "We've got you.""I'm so scared," Agnes whispered."Do you want to stop?""No." A trembling laugh. "God help me, no."Lucien kn

He unbuttoned her coat. He peeled it from her shoulders. Underneath she wore a plain black dress, a church dress, and he drew the zipper down her spine with one slow, careful hand and let it slide to the floor.She stood in a slip and a black lace bra and a pair of simple cotton panties, and she suddenly felt thirty-eight, and soft, and uncertain. She crossed her arms over her stomach."Don't," said Lucien."I'm not what I was at twenty.""No." He gently pulled her arms away. "You're better."He sank to his knees in front of her, and the sight of a priest on his knees in a chapel, looking up at her with those dark, hungry eyes, nearly broke her."Let me worship you," he said.He pressed his lips to her stomach. He kissed the soft curve of her belly, the tiny silver stretch marks she hadn't known how to be proud of, the dip of her hip. He drew down her panties and she stepped out of them, and he parted her thighs with his hands and looked at her, and made a sound low in his throat."Lo