Confess Crossword Clue Novels & Stories

I demanded, raising my eyebrows until they touched the ceiling. “What shall I get?” he winked suggestively. When I refused to answer, he continued, “Well, it's the fourth coffee of the day you've had, ma'am” He was so sharp and observant. “That’s because, I’m a coffee addict, look..forget it..anyway, that's not why I called you...The sink wasn't working. It really wasn't...I lied convincingly hoping he'd buy it. “I’d almost believe you but you don't know how often that happens... holy shit...I fucking get it...But how do you do it?” he quizzically asked.

his hoarse voice cracked. I did not speak again. I heard him sigh very loud and deep before pulling himself up. He struggled to stand up, as if he was very weak. My lips parted, but I stopped myself from talking. Slowly, he went behind me, and pushed my wheelchair towards the elevator. The cold and harsh wind kissed my face as soon as we got in the rooftop. He looked at me, so weak and lifeless. I lifted my chin. “Tell me everything.” I saw how he swallowed hard. Is he having a hard time confessing about his lies, or he's hesitating because he doesn't want to let me go? I will choose the latter, but I don't wanna get my hopes so high again.

He kneeled on the ground, clutching her white coat like a beggar. “I’m begging you to give me an address. Just tell me where they’re buried.” The head nurse turned her face away coldly. “I don’t know. This is Dr. Holdsworth’s private matter. Please leave and don’t disturb the other patients.” Two security guards lifted him by the arms and dragged him out. “Please tell me where my wife is buried. Please…” He cried uncontrollably, kneeling outside the hospital as he begged. No one answered him or took pity on him, though. After all, it was his fault.

"You can't possibly do that. What about school?" "I don't care as long as you learn that your confessions are non-negotiable." "You're fucking crazy." I shoved his chest, but he didn't move an inch. He leaned into me. "Tell me the truth dorogoy. What are you really afraid of? Are you afraid that you don't like it or is it that you're afraid that you like it too much? That it makes you wet?" I gaped at him. "You're delusional." I tipped my chin and straightened my back. I didn't falter as I took determined steps towards his confession room.

Completely bare in the middle of her boss’s living room while his wife looked at her without blinking. Lydia’s voice stayed quiet. “On your knees.” Claire dropped. Lydia sat back on the sofa, spread her thighs, and drew the silk slip up to her hips. She was bare underneath, already glistening. She crooked two fingers. Claire crawled forward and licked her open.

The confessional booth was a small, dark wooden box tucked into the shadowy corner of St. Augustine’s cathedral. It smelled of old incense, polished oak, and the faint, lingering scent of sweat and shame. Father Marcus, known to his parishioners as a stern but compassionate man of God, sat inside, waiting. His heart beat a slow, heavy rhythm in his chest. It was past midnight, a time when no official confessions were scheduled, but he had received a private, handwritten note slipped under his office door earlier that day. It read simply: “I need to confess. Not during daylight. Midnight. Alone.”

We were in the middle of a conversation when we heard Declan's voice. "Hello, ex-couples. Today, we introduce the confession room to you all, and starting today, you are free to enter it as you please if you have something to confess about you or your ex. Today, let's start by confessing what you felt from the game earlier. Let's start with Alice." One by one, they left to go to the confession room where only the audience will be able to see or hear whatever we confess. "It's your turn, Deena."

Hilda explains with her eyes burning with honesty. The truth of her words hits my brain like liquid silver. Images of the murder scene begin to flash in my mind as I search for something, anything that I missed. "It's over with, Crow. I just wanted to point out that it probably wasn't rogues—nothing you can do now. I am assuming it has been a few years judging by your mark, so any evidence is long gone by now," Hilda says, and my rage-filled eyes snap to the brilliant female who just shattered my world all over again.

This was a career-ending sermon. Confessions were just as bad. As a priest, I obviously could not judge them, but it was quite something. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I lusted after my neighbor’s wife with desire in my heart,” the man confessed. I nodded sagely, trying to focus. “And how many times—” “But she looks just like that dangerous-hot looking Norwegian ex I had. Her ass is round and perfect and…” I coughed to get him back in order.

The conference room was packed with doctors from every department, each one poised for the case review. I cleared my throat, started up the prepared PowerPoint, and began. "This case is for Jason Hamilton, male, five years old. He was first diagnosed at age three and has been on dialysis for two years now..." As I spoke, murmurs started among the crowd. I turned to the large screen behind me, realizing something was wrong. To my horror, my patient report was swapped out for a presentation called "Confession of an Affair”.