Tasting the Forbidden - A Mayhem Erotica Anthology by Les Joseph, Kit Neuhaus, Evelyn R. Baldwin, L.J. Anderson, K.I. Lynn Read Free Book Online Page B

irresistible pull. I began to wonder if the devil had infiltrated our temple, offering me the apple I knew was meant to tempt. My mouth watered for the forbidden fruit so I reverted to my safety net, the only way I knew to gain answers and understanding: prayer.
    So when she would genuflect and begin her spirited ritual, I began to do the same. My mind would go to God, searching for his wisdom, seeking answers to unmet questions. But my heart...my heart was never with the Lord during this time. It was still occupied with a woman who I’d become increasingly obsessed with, yet never met.
    Ϯ
    “Miss?” It had taken me three tries before I was successful in calling out to her. Her startled expression told me I’d been stealthy in my approach.
    “Father!” Her eyes indicated she was surprised to see me standing before her, her tone anything but. It was as though her voice was telling me she’d been looking for me for ages.

    I folded my hands in front of me, remembering Seminary and the lessons on appearing non-threatening. “Please, call me Grady.”
    She looked like she wanted to argue with my attempt at being casual, but held her tongue.
 “I’m Elizabeth.”
    Saint Elizabeth: devout and steadfast...
    “Are you familiar with Saint Elizabeth...” It was a lame opening on my part, but given my discomfort with the situation, I defaulted to a topic of conversation with which I was most comfortable. “She was the cousin of Mary, you know.”
    Her smile was sly as she nodded. “Yes, I have an extensive knowledge of the history of Christianity.” Her gaze turned shy while her cheeks colored, but within a few seconds, her smile turned genuine as she continued with my conversation starter. “She was also the mother of John the Baptist, a miracle since she was deemed barren.” I wasn’t prepared for the effect her voice had on me.
    While there was nothing provocative about the discussion, she somehow managed to stir something in me. “She was also the patron saint of expectant mothers,” I added, realizing this was becoming blindingly ridiculous. I’d been attempting to talk to this woman for several weeks, and why we were talking about biblical women was beyond me. I was wishing I’d thought about a better opening to transition our discourse to a more suitable and amiable topic.
    Unfortunately, my haste to shift to a more carefree topic left me with, “Can I ask what brings you to Saint Peter’s?”
    If this were baseball, I’d be on strike two and looking to bunt. I guess it’s better to have a swing and a miss, than no attempts at all. Somehow, that rationale didn’t make me feel any better about our stilted exchange.
    I hadn’t needed to worry, though. She’d turned back toward the sanctuary and was lost in petition once more. I stood by awkwardly, wondering what I could possibly say that wouldn’t indicate I was a creepy clergyman begging for the company of a woman, regardless of the truth it held. Fear settled in my chest at the prospect of walking away, leaving her without further interaction. I did the only thing that seemed to lend any decorum to the situation; I sat down and silently began my own invocation.
    Ϯ
    “Father Grady?”
    Her voice startled me since we’d silently prayed together for the last ten days. I hadn’t expected her to address me after our first interaction where I’d mimicked an adolescent boy, talking to a girl for the first time. I’m sure I looked like a crazy owl as I stared at her.
    “Ask me again.”
    My grimace gave away my confusion. “Your pick-up line.”
    Cue rapid blinking.
    “Sorry. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I’ve delivered an inappropriate joke that was apparently not very funny.”
    “What?” It was the best I could come up with given my confused state. She rose from the kneeler and settled back onto the pew.
    “Last we spoke…” She paused, making sure I recalled our moment the week prior. “You asked what brought me to Saint