Page 11 of Forgive Me, Father

Eight

Olivia

I roll over in bed, curling into the soft pillow and slowly open my eyes.

Confusion jolts through me for half a second before I remember where I am and everything that happened last night.

I stretch, feeling a delicious ache in my muscles and between my legs.

My hips are stiff, my thighs tight, my skin tender where I likely have bruises.

Gabe’s side of the bed is empty, but as I slide my hand across the soft, rumpled sheets, I find it’s still warm.

I listen for sounds of him in the bathroom, but when I don’t hear anything, I sit up, clutching the sheet to my chest.

His clothes are gone. There’s no trace of him beyond the lingering scent of him on the sheets.

I brace myself, waiting for the regret to hit.

Waiting to feel guilty over selling my virginity, over Gabe breaking his vow of celibacy.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel calmer than I’ve felt in a long time.

I sit in bed and watch the dust motes float through the early morning sunshine streaming in through the windows.

We forgot to close the curtains last night, too wrapped up in each other to remember something so trivial.

I stretch my arms overhead again and take a deep breath.

I feel peaceful. Not just peaceful, but at peace with what happened.

I hope Gabe does, too.

It’s completely quiet in the hotel room, the only sound the faint hum of the air conditioner.

I slip out of bed and pad into the bathroom, sucking in a sharp breath at the biting cold of the tiles beneath my feet.

I do what I need to do and as I’m washing my hands, I glance up at myself in the mirror.

I go still, the water still running, suds still clinging to my skin.

There’s a woman staring back at me that I don’t recognize. Her normally sleek hair is a complete mess. Her lips are swollen and pinker than usual. There’s a mark on her neck, a pinkish-red spot just below her jaw.

I smile at my reflection, and after I’ve rinsed and dried my hands, I lift my fingers to my neck, touching the mark Gabe left on me. Immediately, I remember the feeling of his mouth on me, his teeth grazing. My nipples pebble and my stomach dips and swirls.

But…where is he? I leave the bathroom and fish my phone out of my trench coat pocket. It’s past nine. Panic starts to rise, tightening my throat. Did he leave? I mean, obviously he left the hotel suite, but did he leave as in he’s not coming back?

I might not be filled with regret, but is he?

I take a deep breath and push the intrusive thoughts away. I remember the way he looked at me. The words he said, the promises he made. No, Gabe wouldn’t just leave me alone here without a backwards glance.

I sink down onto the bed and that’s when I see a folded note sticking out from between our two pillows. It must’ve slipped down when I moved. I pick it up, my heart pounding.

Went to get breakfast. Be back soon. - G.

Relief floods me as I stare at his neat, blocky writing. I fall back onto my pillow, clutching the note. He didn’t leave. He’s coming back. And suddenly, I’m starving. For food, for him, for a future that looks very different than it did just twenty-four hours ago.

I hear the faint beep of the lock on the door, and then it swings open. Gabe enters, holding two coffees nestled in a cardboard tray and a paper bag stamped with a bakery’s logo.

“That smells amazing,” I say, and he grins, kicking the door shut behind him. His eyes go molten as they rake over my naked body. I blush from my head to my toes, which is a little silly given how intimate we were last night. But, things feel different in the daylight. More real, somehow.

His eyes still on me, I watch as he sets down our breakfast, then pulls off his shirt, his pants, everything until he’s gloriously, wonderfully naked.

I can’t help but stare at the visual feast before me.

He’s magnificent, all thick muscle and smooth skin, hairy in all the right places, just like a man should be.

His cock hangs between his legs, impressively long and thick given that he’s not hard right now.

And he’s mine.

He grabs our food and then climbs into bed with me, the mattress dipping under his weight. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips before pulling back.

“Breakfast in bed,” he says, grinning almost boyishly.

I’ve never seen him like this. It suddenly hits me that there’s so much I don’t know about him.

He passes me a coffee and then the bag of pastries.

I pick out a chocolate croissant, then pass the bag back to him.

He pulls out a Danish and takes a huge bite.

I wait for the awkwardness to hit, but there isn’t any.

There’s just us, sipping coffee, eating the most delicious pastries I’ve ever tasted, and talking about anything and everything.

He tells me about going to university for social work, and then deciding to go to seminary school after spending a summer doing mission work in South America.

He tells me about his family, about how he grew up, about joining the priesthood.

I tell him about losing my parents, about how difficult it’s been trying to keep Alessandro in line.

He already knows some of this, but he doesn’t know how bad it’s been.

He doesn’t know the worst of it. I was never looking for pity, and kept some things back.

Things like the crushing stress, the almost unbearable loneliness.

He strokes a hand down my arm when I go quiet. “You don’t have to carry any of that alone anymore,” he says gently. “We’ll figure it all out, together.”

I nod, my eyes stinging with tears. I’ve been on my own for so long that having someone to share the burden with is a relief. It’s a blessing.

He wraps me in his arms, holding me tight against his chest. Tears streak down my cheeks, but for once, they’re not desperate tears of sadness. They’re tears of relief. Tears of hope.

After several moments, he pulls back and gently wipes my tears away, kissing my forehead and my cheeks.

“It’ll be okay, Liv. I promise. I’m here now, and I’ve got you.”

I shoot him a watery smile, marveling at the turn my life’s taken over the past twelve hours. “I believe you.” And I do. I really do.

We keep eating, the conversation moving to lighter topics.

We talk about movies and music, about books and favourite places in the city.

We both love Game of Thrones and Coldplay, the beach in the summer, skating at Nathan Phillips Square in the winter.

We both love comedies and fantasy novels.

We’re more alike than I would’ve guessed.

And I love learning all of these little facts about him.

They’re precious little tidbits that bring who he is, not as a priest, but as a person, into sharper focus.

He loves video games, is a total history buff, and enjoys working out (yeah, I noticed).

He has two brothers, both of whom live in the city.

One is a detective, the other a high school teacher.

Both are married with kids, making him an uncle three times over.

He speaks fluent Italian and some Latin.

I store every single one of these tidbits away, hoarding them the way a dragon hoards gold.

He feeds me bites of every single pastry in the bag, and once we’re finished eating, he sips his coffee while his free hand wanders over my bare skin, tracing patterns on my shoulder, drawing circles on my thigh.

“You were incredible last night, angel,” he murmurs, a huskiness creeping into his voice. “I can’t believe how well you took me.”

I glow from the inside out at his praise. “You don’t regret—” He cuts me off before I can finish my question.

“How could I ever regret claiming what’s mine?”

I blush furiously at his words, despite the fact that we’re lounging naked in bed together. “But…what about your job? Your whole life?”

He smiles faintly. “Obviously I’ll have to make some changes, since I don’t plan on ever letting you go.

” He sighs. “Knowing how you feel, I wish I’d known.

All this time, I could’ve been looking after you.

” He kisses my neck, my shoulder. “Nothing has ever felt as right as being inside you, angel. Nothing. You’re my calling. I see that now.”

Oh, my heart. “Maybe I was always meant to be yours.”

He grins, that tendril of hair falling over his forehead. God, he’s so impossibly sexy. How is he mine? “No maybe about it, Liv. You and I both felt it from the start.”

I nod. I’ve always been drawn to him on a level beyond physical attraction.

His fingers trail over my hips and he tuts quietly at the faint bruises emerging where he gripped me. “I was too rough with you.”

I shake my head. “No. You weren’t. I loved every second of it, Gabe.” I bite my lip as our eyes meet. “I like the bruises.”

His eyes flutter closed for a moment and he lets out a long breath, as though he’s wrestling for control. “How sore is your pussy today?” he asks, cupping me gently. I moan softly and press into his touch.

“It’s pretty sore,” I answer honestly. I don’t want him to feel bad, but I don’t want to lie to him either.

He leans down and presses a kiss to my shoulder, his mouth warm against my skin. “Lie on your stomach and let Daddy take care of you.”

I moan softly, my body responding immediately to the word Daddy. It might be taboo or messed up, but I don’t care. It feels right in a way that nothing else ever has.

I roll over, pressing my cheek into the fluffy pillow as Gabe disappears into the bathroom. He returns with a small bottle in his hand, bearing the hotel’s logo on the label. Climbing back onto the bed, he straddles my thighs, his weight a comforting pressure.

My ideal weight is my priest on top of me. Ha.

God, I can’t remember the last time I felt light enough to make jokes, even if only to myself.