Who knows how far I would have gone or allowed him to go if I hadn’t. His eyes roamed my face and hair once he took off my wimple and the intensity that I saw in them will forever be burned in my memory. I shift in bed and when I do my thighs rub together in just the right way causing me to moan. Oh no. All my life I was warned about the evils of touching myself. How selfish it is, but I’ve never believed that. I don’t believe that God would have made it pleasurable if he didn’t think we’d do it, but I am not a philosopher. I have my own opinions, but they don’t mean much.
Fiddling with the edge of my sleep pants, I contemplate how easy it would be to touch myself. Ease the ache Father O’Riley has caused within me. My sleep clothes are the only thing I kept from before. The most comfortable pants I own is a pair of Mickey Mouse pajama pants that were donated to the orphanage. I haven’t been able to part with them yet.
Just as I am about to touch myself, I hear a loud boom then nothing for a few seconds. Next, there is a loud knock on the door. Getting out of bed, I answer the door. I knew he’d be on the other side, as he is the only other person here, but I kind of hoped it wouldn’t be. He’s not wearing a shirt. Just a pair of plaid pants. His chest is so muscular, and the tattoos cover the expanse of his chest and both arms. They are either religious in nature or words in Latin. Why do I want to run my tongue over all of them? One large cross is centered down his torso crossing his pecs. It’s deliciously huge.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concerned trying to look over my shoulder into my room.
“Yes. Of course, I’m fine. Are you? What was that noise?” I ask.
“I’m good too. I am not sure what it was though. I’ll go investigate.”
“It sounded like it came from outside,” I tell him, wrapping my arms around my shoulders. I am suddenly freezing.
“I’ll check it out. Stay here until I come back,” he tells me.
“Okay. Put a coat on at least. It was still snowing when I laid down an hour ago.”
“I will,” he says, putting his hand on my cheek lightly. I lean into his touch and stupidly, I kiss his palm before he steps away. “I’ll be right back.” Then he’s gone. I close the door and wait for him in the overstuffed chair in the corner. I must have fallen asleep again because suddenly he’s shaking me awake. His hands are cold, and he did not put a coat on. “Beth, we have to go, now. Someone set the sanctuary on fire. I’ve put it out, but it’s not safe here.”
“Oh, my goodness. Did you call the police?” My hands clutch my chest.
“Of course. They will meet us at the hotel to discuss. They do things differently here, but I have to keep you safe.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll just get dressed,” I say not wanting anyone to see me like this. It’s bad enough that he’s seeing me like this.
“That’s a good idea, two minutes?”
“Sounds good.” He leaves and I am left to contemplate why someone would do this to a church? Also, how in the world am I going to survive a hotel with him? I don’t have an answer to the first question and the answer to the second eludes me. I throw my clothes on quickly over my pajamas, pulling my wimple on as I leave my room. Out in the hallway, I crash face-first into something solid. Warm and solid. Looking up, I find him staring down at me. He dressed, wearing his collar. His chest is massive, and he smells amazing. His arms wrap around my back to keep me from falling on my butt.
Closing my eyes, I revel in the feel of him. I might have moaned, but I can’t be sure because he definitely groaned. His chest rumbled with it. My eyes pop open in surprise, though I really shouldn’t be. He’s already kissed me. Wasn’t I just thinking about it when the church caught on fire? The realization dawns on me that I did this.
“Oh, no!” I exclaim.
“What?” he asks, concerned.
“I did this. I set the church on fire with my wicked, wicked thoughts.”
“What?” he asks again.
“I was thinking things that I shouldn’t have been thinking right when it happened. God has punished me for wicked thoughts.”
“Darling, no. I do not believe it works that way. What were you thinking about?”
“I can never tell you, not like this. Not in this setting. Should we go?” I ask, hastily changing the subject.