Chapter 2

2

VALERIE

I knew he was different from the moment I saw him. His long, dusty coat and the worn leather fedora atop his head made him stand out like a sore thumb in our little town of Aurora. And from the second I saw Father Reed Murphy, my mind hasn’t let go of him.

Throughout his first service, all I could do was think about the strong hands he waved around while he spoke, latching onto me, digging into my hips, and pulling me into his exquisite frame. Calloused fingertips tickle my smooth, soft skin while the thick piece of meat dangling between his legs grows rock hard and ready to sin.

“It was a good service, but Father Murphy seems to have a different way of doing things. I’m not sure I fully understand it myself,” Bob Hoskins says while he shakes my dad’s hand.

They’re catching up and exchanging notes, gossiping about our new priest like two schoolgirls. It’s cute, if not a tad monotonous. I’ve dealt with it all before. Every newcomer in town catches Mayor Bob’s attention, and he puts my father on the case to do some digging. It makes sense with my dad being Chief of Police, but a prying eye on every new face might send the wrong message to folks wanting a place to settle down.

“Have you seen the state of him? He’s new age. Might be a convert,” Dad replies. “No man with that many scars has been a child of the cloth all his life. But maybe it’s a good thing. We get to see a different side of our faith. See the good Lord’s plan in action.”

Dad’s hardly one to talk. He’s big, mean, and littered with scars and bullet wounds from his years in the military. Still, he holds himself and his faith in high regard, regardless of outward appearance. I’m not surprised he’s giving the new priest a chance, even though Father Murphy looks more like someone who belongs behind Dad’s bars.

“We’re a small, isolated town. We don’t need a different side to faith. We need stability,” Bob says callously, sliding into the driver’s seat of his muscle car. “But maybe you’re right. I shouldn’t cast the first stone or however it goes.”

Father Murphy isn’t anything like our previous priest. He’s tall, handsome, and chiseled from marble. Maybe that’s what this town needs. Someone who’s seen the darker side of life in order to guide us—them — to the light.

As much as I want to count myself among the flock of blind followers, I can’t. It took one look at Reed Murphy to know my faith lies elsewhere. Still in God, but in a different pocket of His holy love.

“I’ll see you tonight for the game?” Dad changes the subject, and Bob nods his head. “I’ll invite Murphy over, too. Give us a chance to get to know the guy better without having to dip into his history.”

“Sounds swell. I’ll bring chips and dip.” Bob turns his head to the deep blue sky while he ponders what to say next. “A couple of steaks for the barbecue.”

“Now we’re talking. I’ll see you then, Bobby boy. Drive safe, y’hear?” Dad pats the roof of Bob’s car and turns toward me. “Ready to get out of here?”

“No, not yet. I want to go in and speak with Father Murphy,” I say.

Dad raises a brow. “About what?”

Bob’s engine roars to life, nearly drowning out Dad’s words. He revs a few more times before he takes off down the road.

“It’s private.” My response is enough for him to yield. I’ve done it a few times before, breaking away after church to speak with our previous priest in the confessional.

“Ah, of course.” He smiles and wraps a hand around my shoulders, walking me back up the stairs towards the church door. He’d never pry when it came to a conversation between me and God. He understands it’s none of his business as long as I’m not getting myself into actual trouble. “I’ll wait out here.”

“Of course,” I say, slipping through the door into the quiet church.

Father Murphy sits on a pew, his head fixed toward the ceiling. He’s sprawled out lazily on the firm wooden seat, hands folded over one another on his belly, and his massive physique testing the limits of his all-black vestments. If I had the time and Dad wasn’t waiting, I’d love to stand here and observe him.

Watch, like a fly on the wall, as he goes about his business. Drink in those shimmering hazel eyes and stand in awe at the sheer monumental size of him. He shifts in his seat and grabs something at his side. It’s the church’s golden holy communion chalice, and he brings it to his lips for a long glug before wiping away the remnants of red wine that spill down his cheek.

Naughty boy. Getting your kicks on the blood of Christ.

Before I say anything, I unbutton the top three buttons of my blouse until my cleavage and part of my bra are visible. In preparation—and Lord knows I prepared long and hard for this moment—I opted for the best bra I could find in my drawer. It’s dark blue, with a black lace lining in a floral pattern running along the sides. To finish off my outfit, I roll the waist of my skirt up until it hits mid-thigh.

“Father Murphy?” My voice is meek, almost scared, as I approach him.

“Ah, fuck.” Father Murphy gets a fright hearing my words and spills the wine over himself. He drops the chalice to the ground, using his feet to kick it under the pew. “Shit, you didn’t hear that,” he says before correcting himself again. “Or that.”

I chuckle at the silliness of his swears and his attempts to rectify the situation.

“I didn’t hear you cuss. Twice. Got it,” I giggle. “But what should I make of you drinking the communion wine while you’re all alone?”

He turns to face me fully, a worried look sprawling across his face. He doesn’t fumble to find words or answers to my question, instead remaining silent and stoic as he watches me walk.

“Nothing, I suppose,” I finally answer for him, “considering what I’m about to do…”

To him.

“And what exactly is it you’re looking to do?” He crooks a brow.

“I’d like to have a word with you?—”

“Of course, what’s up?” Father Murphy’s eagerness cuts me off. He gets up from his seat, wiping away some of the wine splashed over him.

“I’d like to have a word with you and God,” I say, walking slowly, swaying my hips, doing everything I’ve seen in the movies to make myself appear sexier. “Are you free for a confession?”

I can feel his eyes burning into me. He does his best to keep them on mine, but I can see them wandering downward to the unbuttoned top of my blouse. The fabric in his crotch shifts and a hard gulp makes his Adam’s apple bob nervously.

Hook, line, and sinker.

I’ve got him.

“It’s been a long time since my last, and I have a lot weighing on my mind,” I add, but the gawking doesn’t break. His hands slide under his vestments, and I watch them dance under the material until the bobbing in his crotch comes to a halt.

“Of course,” Father Murphy’s voice cracks. He clears it before continuing, “Right this way.”

We walk together, a few feet apart. With every step, I feel my cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. I shouldn’t do what I’m about to, but what choice do I have now? I’ve put myself and Father Murphy in this situation. I’m not going to back down.

Not while he’s biting into the forbidden apple from the palm of my hand.