Page 29 of The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past #2)

TWENTY-SEVEN

Dunwich, Suffolk

Avery woke up with a start, unsure of what woke him.

His cell at the priory was as dark as a tomb and just as cold.

An icy draft seeped through the shutters, and the wind outside sounded like the howling of a wolf.

Avery shifted on his narrow cot, suddenly aware of what it was that jolted him out of sleep.

He was aroused. The feeling was so unexpected that he nearly laughed out loud at the irony of it.

He’d spent the past twelve years learning to deny every desire.

It had been hard at first, especially since he thought of Petra often and couldn’t help remembering the weight of her breast in his hand or the silky skin of her inner thighs.

Those first two years had been torture, but eventually, the physical memories faded and Avery applied himself to suppressing his every physical need.

He fasted for days, spent hours on his knees, and looked at every comely woman as if she was nothing more than God’s vessel and not an object of desire.

He thought he’d won his battle against emotion and lust, but one hour with Petra and he was undone.

His body throbbed with need, and his mind whirled with thoughts, images of Petra as bright and beguiling as a stained glass window depicting the Virgin Mary herself.

Avery flipped onto his stomach with a groan.

He was in agony. His body had betrayed him, and so had his mind.

All he wanted was to go to Petra, tell her how much he still loved her, and take her in his arms. He wanted to remove the barbet that hid her hair and run his fingers through the golden tresses that had been like a field of ripe wheat the last time he’d seen it.

He wanted to cup her breasts and slip his hands beneath her skirts.

He wanted to feel her arousal and know that he was in a position to satisfy it.

Petra had changed since he’d last seen her.

How could she not have? Her figure was fuller after carrying three children.

It was no longer the coltish body of her girlhood, and her breasts looked larger than the pale, firm globes he’d suckled so long ago.

But to him, she was even more beautiful.

She was no longer a willowy girl but a grown woman ripe for the picking.

He could smell her scent when they’d dined together.

She had that intoxicating womanly smell that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

He wanted her so badly it hurt, and he groaned with frustrated desire, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep.

Avery got out of bed and sank to his knees.

The stone floor was icy and hard, and his knees cried out in protest as he put all his weight on them and began to pray for forgiveness, guidance, and strength.

Avery prayed for nearly an hour, but God in his wisdom did not see fit to hear him.

Instead of devotion and purity of thought, all he felt was molten desire coursing through his veins.

It would not abate, and he couldn’t get the image of Petra out of his mind.

Avery finally gave up and lay back down.

He hadn’t touched himself in twelve years, not even when bathing.

He avoided any physical contact which would remind him what it felt like to feel pleasure.

He thought he’d won, his body becoming nothing more than a hollow husk belonging to God, but at this moment it belonged to Petra, even if she didn’t know it.

Avery trembled as his hand slid downward, his fingers closing around his shaft.

The feeling was exquisite, and he went to work, exploding in a storm of sensation, his body going limp with release, his mind blessedly empty of remorse.