“Forgive me, Father.”

Your voice reverberates against the cold, stone walls of the near-empty church, your plea hanging in the still air like a fragile confession. You kneel before him at the foot of the altar.

Lowering yourself completely, your forehead touches his thighs above his habit. The contact is almost reverent, but it’s enough to send an unexpected jolt through Father Charlie’s body.

As your head lingers there, pressing lightly into him, the thoughts he’s worked so hard to keep at bay stir uneasily beneath the surface. Father Charlie stands above you, and he exhales as he reaches down, his hand trembling slightly, fingers threading through your hair.

With a firm motion, he lifts your face, compelling you to meet his gaze. The tear-streaked vulnerability in your eyes strikes him harder than he expects, a lustful reaction surging through him. He shivers, not from the cold of the church, but from the illicit thrill that runs down his spine—the sight of you excites him in a way he can no longer deny.

"For I have sinned," you breathe out, the words shaky, laden with unshed tears.

He offers you a smile, but it’s strained, as though torn between reassurance and something much darker, something he knows he should hide. His hand stays in your hair longer than it should, fingers sliding gently, almost absently, over the strands, tracing a path that feels too intimate, too close.

His hand cradles your head more deliberately, a quiet possessiveness creeping into the gesture as he strokes your hair. Your breathing stutters, catching on a sob you manage to suppress as you grip his habit tighter, the pressure sending a pulse through him again.

"I doubt there is any sin too great to be beyond redemption," he finally speaks into the silence, his voice a low murmur, almost coaxing. His thumb brushes your temple as he cradles your head closer, the gesture soothing in appearance, but something darker lurks beneath it.