Damian Priest Age Novels & Stories

"You left the family and became a priest and you met me in a confessional and we fell in love and you fought a war to protect me." "A priest?" He pulled his hand away. "Now I know you're lying, I'm not exactly the religious type and I definitely don't fall in love with teenage girls." "I'm nineteen and you're thirty-five and this is real." I was begging now. "You have to remember, you have to fight to get those memories back." "I think you have me confused with someone else." Damien was looking around the room like he was planning escape routes. "And I need to get back to my father before he thinks I've betrayed him."

Damien replied, his voice filled with disdain. "Is that not what you wanted in the first place?" the priest inquired, taking a sip of his coffee and maintaining his calm demeanor. Damien averted his gaze, lost in his thoughts. "He is living the life you wanted for him, so please visit him, praise and congratulate that ominous lunatic yourself," the priest remarked, continuing to sip his coffee while fixing a slight grin on his face as he observed Damien intently. Damien let out a sigh and stared out the window, absentmindedly twirling his fingers in mid-air, deep in contemplation.

I wasn’t to gather any information, just pick up any red flags during my interview. Oh, what else? Right Damien is left-handed. He had a sweet tooth, he loved watching football. He even played in high school, until a knee injury. His knee pains when it’s raining or cold. Damien makes a mean sandwich but can’t cook to save his life. He loved eating Mia’s food the most. I’ve also learnt Mia isn’t the help, more like the protector of all the Priest secrets. Damien has degrees in business, finance, and sports administration. He’s lifelong goal is to buy a football team. He’s looking into Phili or the Chief’s.

Then, he scoffed arrogantly and looked the other way. Damien had already reached the meeting room and was now sitting with the elders. "What is the matter? Why did you people sound so worried?" Damien inquired. If it wasn't as important and they made it seem, he was ready to make them pay it disturbing him. These old fogies had the tendency of exaggerating the situations most times so he wouldn't be surprised if their alarm wasn't valid.

The Priest didn't move like a man of God. He moved like a shadow seeking a place to rest. He kept the pistol leveled at the center of Damian’s chest, his finger draped casually over the trigger with the practiced ease of someone who had extinguished more lives than he had blessed. ​Damian stood perfectly still. I could feel the heat radiating off his back, a solid wall of charcoal wool and repressed violence. My own heart was a frantic bird caught in the cage of my ribs, beating against the spine of the journal I still held. I looked at the paper on the portable press. The ink had finally stabilized, the deep, authoritative black etching a single word across the 17th-century linen.

To protect him. Her fingers clenched the rosary she’d stolen from her father’s study, though she hadn’t prayed in years. She whispered anyway: Please… don’t let him fall tonight. The cathedral doors groaned open. Damian entered like a storm given flesh. His presence filled the chamber before he even spoke, his black coat dripping with rain, his gaze cutting through the shadows. Every elder stiffened. Every rival measured their chances and faltered. Isabella’s lips curved in triumph, though her fingers twitched against her skirt.

Holding onto the railings, he slowly came downstairs. Holly looked at Damian. He looked to be at least 80 years old, which was around Trevor's age. Damian was in a white shirt, and he had silver hair. Although his face was covered in wrinkles, he had a clear gaze when he looked at others. Damian was habitually spinning a pen in his hand. When he arrived downstairs, Trevor nudged Holly toward him and showed her off. "Damie, this is my new mentee, Holly. She's also the Master of Restoration's granddaughter and a talented young lady."

The office felt charged, the scent of sex thick, her submission to these older men, especially Damian, fueling the forbidden heat. Damian stood, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over her petite frame. He grabbed her wrist, yanking her up roughly. 'Not done yet, red. Time to really show you off.' His voice was gravelly, commanding, the age gap between them—his forty-seven years to her twenty-five—making her feel small, owned. She stumbled to her feet, legs wobbly, cum trickling down her thighs.

“But, what?” “Damien has a rough history.” Father sighed, running a hand down his face. “He became a co-ruler along with King Dominic when he was only 300 and after the late King’s death, he took the crown for good. I’ve never had any qualms about the way he ruled…but I’d known the child long before he became King and he didn’t have a happy childhood.”

"Yeah, I am. Damien assured me that the movie crap isn't him and he doesn't run around killing people. So, yeah, I'm okay with it. I may have to take a vacation after this, but I'm okay with it." He was getting more comfortable around the two and he relaxed more into the chair. He finished his coffee before it got cold. He was sitting there thinking about his conversation with Damien and that he spoke Latin. Roman Latin to be specific, according to Damien himself. Did that make him a priest before he was changed? Latin? Why was that sticking in his head? OH YEAH! Now I remember! My brother had a t-shirt and the school suspended him for it. Mom and Dad would never tell me what it said. What w