Chapter 1**Delia's POV**
"Father Cain's running a fever. Doctor's on his way, but someone needs to check on him now."
Mother Superior's voice is heavy with worry. She's holding a tray loaded with soup and tea.
"Is he gonna be okay?" I didn't realize he was this sick.
"With God's grace, he will be." Her expression crumbles for a second.
"Take this to him, child. He has no one else." She places the tray in my hands.
I nod fast.
But inside? Pure anxiety.
How the hell did I end up taking care of the one man I've been having the DIRTIEST thoughts about?
At first, I thought I was just surprised. A priest this young—early thirties, maybe—showing up out of nowhere.
But then I realized.
This wasn't surprise.
It was something else.
Something so wrong.
I've been a nun for over twenty years. Mother Superior drilled it into us: *Live like Christ.*
But the other day, when he prayed with me, his hands were rough and warm. All I could think about was how they made me feel... hot. Tight. Restless.
That night, I dreamed about him.
I was crying in my room. Don't know why.
But I wasn't on my bed.
I was on Father Cain's lap.
His arm wrapped around my waist. Protective. Comforting.
I rested my head on his shoulder while he whispered soft words. His hand rubbed my thigh over my nightgown.
Then this heat bloomed low in my stomach.
It got worse the higher his hand moved.
"Feel better, Delia?"
I nodded. Shy. But God, I felt *more* than okay.
I wanted him to touch my bare skin. Wanted to feel that warmth everywhere.
And just as his hand got close to the space between my stomach and thigh—
I woke up.
The dream was innocent.
But my panties weren't.
They were soaked.
Oh no. Did I get so excited I... peed myself?
---
I take a deep breath and knock on the heavy wooden door.
"Get it together, Delia. It was just a dream."
I stand there for three minutes.
No answer.
Of course not. He's probably too weak to get up.
I should just go in. Drop off the tray. Check on him.
That's it.
I tighten my grip on the tray and push the door open with my foot.
I swallow hard and look up, expecting to see him sleeping. Or praying.
But NO.
He's sitting on the edge of the bed. Legs spread wide.
Hand wrapped around his cock, stroking it slow.
I gasp and spin around fast, the tray shaking in my hands.
But not before I see the look on his face.
Pure horror.
*Oh God.*
"I—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to just barge in—"
My voice is all over the place.
I feel that weird tightness again when I remember what I saw. His cock. Hard. Thick. In his fist.
Shame burns through me and I squeeze my eyes shut.
God. I shouldn't have looked. Why didn't I knock harder?
"Delia..."
His voice is soft. Embarrassed, maybe.
"Please forgive me, F-Father."
I'm stammering like an idiot, gripping the tray so hard my knuckles hurt.
Then I hear fabric rustling. He's probably covering himself.
Will he tell Mother Superior? Please. No.
My eyes start to sting. I'm gonna cry.
This is the worst day of my life.
"Delia."
He says my name again, but I can't respond. My throat's too tight. My face feels like it's on fire.
"Delia, look at me."
His voice is sharper now.
I flinch.
Oh God, he's pissed.
He hates me.
"I'm so sorry, Father. I thought you were asleep or praying. I didn't know you were... washing up."
I don't know much about men. But I figure he was rubbing himself because of the fever, right?
That's gotta be it.
"Stop apologizing and come here. I'm not mad."
His voice is rough, but there's something gentle underneath.
I bite my lip and turn around slowly.
My body's still trembling, but I walk over.
---
Chapter 2
**Delia's POV**
I stop a few feet away.
Now, I can see him clearly.
He's covered up.
But his face is flushed. Hair wild like he's been running his hands through it.
He really does have a fever.
I almost forgot why I came here in the first place.
"Mother Superior sent me to check on you. How are you feeling?"
My voice sounds steadier than I feel.
"I'm fine. Fever's gone."
He shifts on the bed.
"Come. Sit with me."
I hesitate.
Every time I'm near this man, my body does things I can't control.
But I can't say no to him.
So I sit down next to him.
I look up.
He's already staring at me.
I don't want to bring up what just happened.
But I'm curious.
"Does it help?"
I blurt it out before I can stop myself.
His eyes widen.
"What?"
I glance down at his lap, then back up.
"Does touching yourself there... help with pain? And fever?"
I point vaguely at where I think... it is.
"Y-yeah. But not the way you think."
He pauses.
"Sometimes men get... overwhelmed. By thoughts. And rubbing it is the only way to make it stop."
I nod and look away.
My eyes wander around the room. Candlelight flickers. The space feels like him. Calm. Mysterious. Safe.
Then I see it.
A laptop on his desk.
MY photo is on the screen.
It's the picture we all took before taking our vows.
Why does he have it?
And why is it open *NOW*?
Father Cain notices where I'm looking. He gets up fast and shuts the laptop.
He turns to face me.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
"Why?"
My voice is barely a whisper.
"Delia..."
He sighs.
"Sometimes looking at you helps me... relieve the tension. You excite me."
I freeze.
*I excite him?*
Does that mean he feels it too? The way I do when I see him? The heat. The tightness.
I'm about to ask when I notice something.
"Wh-what is that?"
My voice shakes as I point to the bulge pressing against his cassock.
He looks down.
"It's just my body reacting. Human nature."
He covers it with his hand.
"I'll take care of it later."
I don't say anything.
Because I don't understand.
But what if he feels the same thing I do?
The dreams?
The heat?
The wetness?
If so, I need to tell him. I need help.
I stand up and walk closer. He towers over me.
"Father, I think I'm feeling what you described too. My body's been... reacting."
He raises an eyebrow.
"Reacting to what, Delia?"
"I get this weird sensation when I think of you. Like an itch I can't scratch."
I choke on the words.
"Like your presence makes something pool low in my stomach... down to my... vagina."
My voice cracks as I press my hand between my legs to show him.
His eyes darken instantly. His Adam's apple bobs.
"What are you talking about, Delia?"
His voice sounds strained.
"I don't know, Father. But I—"
I stop and stare at the tent in his cassock again.
"Delia—"
"No, Father. I know what you're gonna say. It's normal. But I can't keep feeling like this."
I step closer.
"You said touching yourself helps. Will it help if I touch myself too?"
"Delia, no. Just focus on something else when it happens. It'll go away."
His voice sounds tight. Like he's holding something back.
But what?
I shake my head.
"No, it won't. I can't avoid this anymore."
I step even closer.
"Please. Teach me what you do."
---
Chapter 3
**Delia's POV**
"Delia, this is wrong. You can't think like this."
He's telling me.
But it sounds like he's telling himself.
"I know it's wrong. I've tried to fight it, but it keeps coming back."
My voice is breathless.
"Like right now. This room feels ten times hotter just being near you. There's this weird feeling between my legs. And I swear my nipples are bigger because they keep pulling."
Father Cain closes his eyes for a second.
When he opens them, something's changed.
His gaze is dark. Dangerous. Hungry.
Like he wants to devour me.
I ignore every warning in my head and close the distance.
I grab the front of his cassock and pull.
"Please, Father. Help me stop this fire."
He shakes his head.
Once. Twice.
"You don't know what you're asking for, Delia."
His jaw clenches.
"Maybe I don't. But I know you're the only one who can help me."
"Fath—"
He grabs my neck before I finish and drags me to him.
"What you're feeling is LUST."
He groans and pulls my face close to his.
"Tell me. Have you ever been touched before?"
"Y-yes."
I can feel his heat. I want to close the space and drown in it.
"By the nuns. During prayer."
He laughs darkly.
"Not like that. I mean touched *here*."
His hand moves to my chest, just above my breast.
The second his hand lands, something gushes out of me.
"Mmm..."
The sound escapes before I can stop it.
"That's it. Tell me what you feel."
His hand moves down and cups my breast. He molds it in his palm. Then squeezes.
I feel a pulse between my legs.
A throb.
He grabs my neck tighter with his other hand and pulls me flush against him. His lips hover over my ear before he bites the top.
"Ahhh..."
I cry out—not from pain, but from how my body reacts.
His hand trails to my nipple and pinches it between his fingers.
"F-Father..."
I throw my head back. I start rubbing my thighs together without thinking. It feels *so* good against the ache.
"You like that, little one?"
His voice is rough in my ear. The vibration shoots through my whole body.
"Y-yes. Yes. Please don't stop... mmm."
"This is only half of what you'll feel when you let me scratch that itch."
His hand slides down my body. He stops just below my stomach.
Then he cups me between my legs and squeezes.
Like he's trying to pull something out.
And maybe he is—because the next second, I cry out as my core clenches *hard*. My eyes roll back from the sweet, shocking pleasure.
*God.* What is this man doing to me?
I can't think. My vision blurs. I feel like I'm floating.
"That's it, little one. Cry out. Show me how much you need me to satisfy you."
"Yes, Father. Satisfy me. I never want you to stop."
I press my legs together as his finger rubs a swollen spot. It's more sensitive than the rest. And *oh my God*, it feels incredible.
I almost think I'm dreaming.
"Mmmphhh... yes, yes, Father, touch it more. Press it harder."
I start moving my hips against his hand, making it even more intense.
"Fuck... you're so wet. Your juice is soaking through your habit."
He releases my neck and grabs my chin. He slams his lips onto mine.
When he bites my bottom lip, I gasp—and he shoves his tongue into my mouth.
He pulls his hand away and breaks the kiss.
My body feels weak. Electrified. Dreamlike.
His eyes watch me like I'm something precious. Something he wants to unwrap for himself.
He pushes the wet finger into his mouth.
My eyes go wide.
That's—that's—I don't even have words.
"Mmm... you taste even better than I imagined."
He pulls the finger out slowly.
He grabs my waist and pulls me hard against him. Then his hand moves to my ass.
He squeezes.
I yelp.
In the next second, he lifts me onto the table behind him.
"Wh-what are you doing, Father?"
My face is burning from everything. It's like I've been living in the dark my whole life and now I can't wait to see more.
He doesn't answer.
Instead, he grabs the hem of my habit and pulls it up until it's bunched around my waist.
Cold air hits my thighs.
I look down.
I'm fully exposed.
Every moral instinct kicks in and I grab my skirt to pull it down—but Father Cain grabs my wrist.
"F-Father, you can't see me naked."
I remember his sermon from last Sunday. About our bodies being temples of God.
"Have you ever been worshipped, Delia?"
His voice is thick. Hoarse. Like something's stuck in his throat.
---
