Rid Me Of This Troublesome Priest Novelas e Histórias

Father Chris’s gaze locked on us — on me — and the hunger in his eyes mixed with pure rage. The three of us stared at each other in the candlelit room, the air thick with the smell of sex and sin. And for the first time, I realized I wasn’t just falling anymore. I was already burning.

“What’s your problem, Kristopher?” Kris glowered at her. ”Why are you still hanging around with him? Is he threatening you or forcing you into something? You don’t have to submit yourself to him.” Liam almost wanted to laugh out loud at the ridiculousness of this unknown man. “What nonsense are you spouting? No one is threatening anyone.” Nora replied, annoyed. What was this guy cooking up in his head? Kris looked at her unbelievingly. “Is that so? Then why are you in a room alone with her?”

“It’s becoming scary…” Damien shifted back, feeling uncomfortable. “What’s becoming scary? Talk to me, Fred.” Fred shook his head for a while. “Talk to me. You’re making me scared,” Damien said. Fred locked eyes with him and said— “The priest is missing.” Damien’s eyes widened.

The kind that could make any woman feel something sinful stir deep inside her. But the man speaking wasn’t a mafia boss. He was hot, tall—yes. But he was also a priest. A fucking hot priest. One I lusted for. Obsessed over. The one who made me touch myself at night, desperate and aching in ways I never thought I could. Enzo Romano. A walking sin wrapped in holiness. Long black hair he tied back into a ponytail, piercing gray eyes that looked right into your soul, and features so divine they made you believe God really did have favorites.

“From what I know, though, the man is the devil, and he corrupts the priest, makes him kill people on the altar, fuck him in the blood. Real deep shit.” My hand tightens on the wheel. “I want to read,” Serena shouts, climbing into the back and knocking me. “Are you two for real right now?” I glare at them. “A priest and a devil, fucking in blood on an altar?” Rich grins and nods. He’s delusional. Utterly lost it. “You’re not serious, are you?” I ask, my grip on the wheel tightening. “You’re telling me that’s what you’re reading? That’s what’s keeping you occupied back there?”

Valerik roared in rebellion and rage. He staggered forward, fatigued from what had happened, free from his fear, and caught himself. It was when he realized it had stopped. Not taken back as he did his, but simply cut off. "That's what you did to those men that night, isn't it?" The priest's voice was a hoarse, emotionless, soft baritone. In his short time in the priesthood he had most likely been shouting a lot. Most likely one of the priests who'd been sent to the west border to hold off the Merdendi horde come back to report. Add a little emotion to the voice and it wouldn't have fit the man's eyes which remained indifferent and oddly blue...

FORGIVE ME, FATHER, I HAVE SINNED. Marie, a newcomer to a church, is drawn to the twin priests, Father James and Father John. Her impure thoughts lead to a passionate encounter in the confessional, where the priests help her with her 'spiritual struggles' ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Marie steps into the dimly lit church, her heart racing with anticipation. It's her first time attending a service here, and she's heard rumors about the twin priests who lead the congregation.

He retreats with a growl. Blood drips down my chin, vision blurring. My mouth is bruised and numb at the same time. A hangover hammers my skull. I’m going to pass out. “I said I won’t kiss you until we’re married, and when I do, you’ll bleed,” Tristan’s tone drips with sin. “Look at you, bleeding for me. My beloved husband.” An altar servant vomits. The priest trembles so badly the Bible falls. Someone in the pew screams, “Abomination!” which earns him a gunshot to the head.

My fingers twitched with the sudden, violent urge to reach out and see if his skin was as cold as his gaze. "You’re late," I whispered as he stepped onto the dais beside me. "I had to wash the smell of your basement off me," Julian replied, his voice a razor-thin blade. "Though I doubt this house will ever be truly clean." The priest, a man who had been on the Moretti payroll for twenty years, didn't bother with the traditional homily about love. He knew the stakes. He hurried through the Latin, his voice trembling as he reached the final vows.

I thought I could even sense a hint of bitterness, but hopefully, I would soon be forgiven. "Seeking your advice, Padre," I said in Latin, proving I knew the holy language. "What crimes have these men committed?" "They’re Scots, my child," the priest answered in the same language, looking down on me like he literally thought I was a child. Oh God, I hate men, I thought bitterly to myself, and had to fight the urge to literally want to scratch his eyes out. But I remained in character and played on my innocent appearance. "They’ve committed crimes against the Crown by inciting scurries and talk about---"