Dominic’s POV

I’d spent years preaching about purity. About temptation. About fire and damnation.

And here I was, burning alive inside a wooden box meant for prayer.

Her body was pressed against the wall, my hand clamped over her breast, the sound of our sin filling the confessional. I hated myself. God, I hated myself. But I couldn’t let go. Not of her. Not of Isabella.

“Dominic,” she gasped, her voice breaking against the dark.

“Don’t say my name,” I hissed, but the truth was I needed it. Needed her voice, her breath, the way she shattered me every time she whispered it.

“You’ll get caught....”

“Then let them catch me,” I growled, pushing harder, dragging her closer. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Yes, you do,” she whispered, her hands clawing at the wood. “You care about everything. About God. About your vows.”

“I care about you.” The words tore out of me before I could stop them.

Her silence stabbed through the dark. Then a shaky whisper: “And I care about you too.”

I should have stopped. I should have let her go right there. Instead, I pressed my forehead against her shoulder and let my hand tighten over her breast, let myself drown.

The booth rocked with our movements, every creak a warning, every groan a threat.

Then—

A flash of white light sliced across the booth’s carved screen.

My stomach dropped.

Isabella froze beneath me, her breath catching in her throat.

The beam swept slowly, pausing at the edge of the confessional. Too close. Far too close.

“Don’t make a sound,” I whispered, my lips brushing her ear. My heart pounded so loud I thought it would give us away.

Her trembling hand reached back, latching onto mine. We clung to each other in silence, waiting, praying—though we both knew we’d already damned ourselves.

The light lingered.

Then shifted.

But not away.

Closer.

The light didn’t move away.

It came closer. Heavy footsteps followed, echoing against the old church tiles. My chest tightened. Isabella’s nails dug into the wall. She was shaking, holding her breath like the walls themselves would betray us.

I had no choice.

I pulled out of her, fast, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness. I shoved my cock back into my trousers, zipped up, and straightened my collar with shaking hands. My shirt clung with sweat, half-buttoned, but I forced it into place.

The steps were right at the aisle now.

I slipped out of the confessional, shutting the door gently, hiding her inside. My heart was pounding like a hammer.

“Evening, brother,” I said, my voice steady though everything inside me was trembling.

The security guard stopped, flashlight glaring right into my face. His brow furrowed. “Father Dominic? What are you doing here this late?”

I smiled like nothing was wrong. “Finishing up prayers for the day. Couldn’t leave the Lord’s house without closing it in prayer.”

He lowered the light a little. Still suspicious. His eyes scanned the pews, the altar, then drifted toward the confessional. My chest locked up.

Before he could step closer, I lifted a hand and began a blessing over him. My voice was calm, practiced, the same tone I used every Sunday. “May the Lord protect you in your duty tonight. May He shield your family, keep you safe, and grant you peace.”

The guard softened. His shoulders eased. “Amen,” he muttered, almost embarrassed.

I gave him a warm smile, though my back was drenched with sweat. “Go in peace, my son.”

He nodded, turned, and walked out, his flashlight beam sweeping the far end of the church before fading with the closing door.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The confessional creaked. Isabella stepped out, now fully dressed, her hair still messy, lips swollen. Her eyes darted around, wide and scared.

“Dominic,” she whispered, “we almost got caught.”

I didn’t answer. My body was still buzzing with adrenaline, my soul drowning in guilt.

We moved quickly toward the side door, our steps soft, careful, like shadows sneaking through God’s house.

And in the back of my head, one thought wouldn’t let me go.

This won’t be the last time.

Isabella’s POV

I could barely breathe inside that box.

The moment Dominic stepped out to face the guard, my knees almost gave out. My heart was thumping so loud I swore the security could hear it. My thighs were still trembling, my panties wet and pushed to the side, the air thick with the smell of our sin.

When the flashlight beam slid past the box, I froze. My nails pressed deep into the wood. If that door had opened, if they had seen me—half-naked, flushed, ruined—it would have been over.

But then I heard his voice. Calm. Steady. Like nothing had happened.

“May the Lord protect you…”

That’s when I realized how dangerous Dominic was. He could sin with me one second and bless another man the next without a single crack in his mask. And God help me, it made my stomach twist with heat all over again.The door closed. Silence. I pushed the panel open and stepped out.

He looked at me with that same calm face, but I could see his jaw tight, his eyes burning. He was fighting something just as hard as I was.

“Dominic,” I whispered, my voice shaking, “we almost got caught.”

He didn’t reply. Just motioned for me to follow. His silence made me more nervous than anything else.

We slipped out of the confession box, my heels clicking lightly against the stone floor. Every sound felt too loud, like it might echo outside. I smoothed my skirt, pulled my hair down around my face, tried to look like nothing was wrong. But I could still feel him inside me. My body was still burning.

The church was dim, lit only by the faint glow of candles near the altar. I thought about the people who came here to pray, to confess, to kneel before God. If they only knew what we had just done on holy ground…

My stomach flipped. Part guilt. Part thrill.

As we reached the side door, Dominic stopped. He pressed a hand on my arm, holding me still. His eyes locked on mine, dark and unreadable.

“This can’t happen again,” he whispered.

But the way his hand lingered on me told me otherwise.

We pushed the door open. The night air hit my skin, cool and sharp. Just as I stepped outside, a sound made me freeze—

Footsteps again. Not the guard from before. Someone else.