PURITY LESSONS

The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and honey, warm enough to make my stomach ache, but the air was sharp with cruelty. Clarissa and Isabel sat perched at the counter, their polished nails tapping against their juice glasses as they watched me scrub dishes at the sink.

“You missed a spot,” Clarissa said sweetly.

I clenched my jaw and scrubbed harder.

“Don’t bother,” Isabel said, twirling a strand of her hair. “She’s too distracted. Probably daydreaming about her next little meeting with the pastor.”

Heat crept up my neck. I turned slowly, gripping the wet sponge. “What are you talking about?”

Isabel’s grin was all teeth. “Mother said he asked for you again. Another private session. Guess yesterday wasn’t enough.”

Clarissa leaned back in her chair, her smirk widening. “Bet he’ll lecture her until she cries. Or maybe until she smiles. Hard to tell with her.”

“Shut up,” I snapped before I could stop myself.

Their laughter rang out, sharp and cruel.

“Or what?” Clarissa taunted. “You’ll pout? You’ll run to Mother? Maybe you’ll run to him.”

“Enough.”

The voice came from the doorway.

I froze.

Nathaniel stood there, his broad shoulders filling the frame, his tie already loosened as if he had rushed home early. His eyes were cold and sharp, fixed on my sisters.

“Out,” he ordered flatly.

They scowled but slid from their stools, muttering as they stalked away. The kitchen fell silent but for the drip of the faucet.

I turned back to the sink, shoulders tense.

“What did he say to you yesterday?” Nathaniel’s voice came quieter this time.

My heart stuttered. “Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His footsteps approached, his presence pressing against my back like heat.

I swallowed hard. “He said temptation clings to me. That I’m dangerous.”

A hiss escaped through his teeth. “Bastard.”

I turned to face him. He was closer than I expected—so close I could see the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, smell the faint spice of his cologne.

“You stay away from him,” he said hoarsely. “Do you understand me? He’s not a man of God. He’s a predator.”

My lips parted before I could stop them. “And what are you?”

His eyes darkened, unreadable. “Worse.”

The word hung heavy between us, thick with everything neither of us dared to say. His hand twitched at his side, as though it wanted to reach for me. Then, with a curse under his breath, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the kitchen.

I sagged against the counter, trembling with shame—and something darker.

---

Pastor Gabriel’s office smelled of incense and candle wax. He greeted me with a smile that seemed gentle on the surface, though his eyes betrayed something else.

“Come, child,” he said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”

I obeyed, folding my hands in my lap.

“You’ve been struggling,” he said softly.

“Yes, Pastor.”

“With temptation.”

I nodded, my cheeks burning. “I try not to.”

“Temptation isn’t something you can simply avoid,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “It follows you. It clings to you.” His eyes swept down my body and back up, lingering. “Men see it. I see it.”

My chest rose and fell too fast. “But I don’t want to be dangerous.”

“Then you must let me help you.” He rose, his steps slow, deliberate, until he stood over me. “You must learn discipline. Obedience. Control.”

His hand came down on my shoulder, heavy, possessive.

“Do you want to be saved?” His breath brushed against my ear.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Then confess,” he murmured. “Confess the thoughts that plague you.”

My lips trembled. “I… I think of things. Things I shouldn’t.”

His eyes gleamed. “What things?”

I couldn’t say it. Couldn’t admit that my nights were filled with visions of him… and of Nathaniel. My throat tightened. “Bad things.”

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, his hand sliding lower on my arm. “To take the burden from you. To purify you.”

His hand slid lower on my arm, fingers brushing the swell of my breast.

God , I thought why didn't I wear a bra today. My nipples we're sticking to the material of my blouse. My face flamed as Gabriel noticed the pointed nubs.

“Look at you, temptation hovers all around you. Making people close to you weak at the knees."

He rubbed my nipples through my blouse, pinching them at intervals. My body was hot all over, I pressed my hands to my mouth to stop the moans from escaping my mouth.

As if he was in a trance, he removed his hands abruptly and pushed me aside.

“Leave my office. You're a temptress. A seducer".

I gaped at him but left anyways.

---

When I left his office, the air outside felt too thin. My body trembled with a mix of guilt and hunger I couldn’t name.

And of course, they were waiting for me.

Clarissa and Isabel stood near the pews, arms crossed, smiles sharp.

“So?” Clarissa purred. “Did he remind you how wicked you are?”

Isabel snickered. “Or did he let you pretend you’re pure again?”

I pushed past them, but their whispers followed like knives.

“You love it,” Clarissa hissed. “Every second of it. You’re nothing but a slut. Even God knows it.”

“And the pastor knows it,” Isabel added sweetly. “So does Nathaniel.”

My breath caught. I spun around. “What?”

Her smirk was vicious. “Don’t act innocent. We see the way he looks at you. One day he’ll stop pretending, and then…”

I shoved past them harder this time, tears stinging my eyes.

---

That evening at dinner, their laughter rang too loud, Mother’s chatter too sharp, but all I could feel was Nathaniel’s eyes on me. He barely touched his food, barely joined the conversation—his gaze fixed on me as though daring me to meet it.

I couldn’t eat. Couldn’t breathe.

When the dishes were cleared, he rose abruptly.

“Come,” he said, his voice clipped.

Mother frowned. “Where?”

“Study.” His tone brooked no argument.

My pulse raced as I followed him down the hall, into the room that had begun to feel like a confessional of its own. He shut the door behind us, the lock clicking into place.

For a moment, he only stared at me, his breathing ragged. Then his voice came low and raw.

“If he touches you again, I’ll kill him.”

I gasped. “You can’t—”

“I can.” His fists clenched. “You’re mine. Not his. Mine.”

The words seared through me, hotter than any insult. My chest rose and fell too fast, my body trembling under the weight of his claim.

I stepped closer before I could think better of it. “Then claim me.”

His jaw locked. His hand lifted—hovered—before dropping again as if scorched.

“Get out,” he rasped.

But his eyes told me what his words didn’t: this battle between us was far from over.