Evie

I was relieved service was by four. Finally, a moment that was mine. I could breathe, think, maybe even beg God for forgiveness—or at least try. But even as the thought crossed my mind, a small, guilty thrill ran through me.

What I’d felt earlier, what I’d done… it shouldn’t have made me feel this alive. This aware. This… burning.

I sat on the edge of my bed, brushing a strand of hair from my face. My fingers lingered a little too long, tracing the curve of my waist, slipping lower before I realized I was lost in thought.

My stomach tightened, and my pulse sped. I bit my lip, feeling a warmth I didn’t want to feel, and then froze as a knock came at the door. My heart leapt.

“Evie,” Mia’s voice called softly, “Pastor says you need to get ready for service.”

I jumped slightly, my hands flying to smooth my dress. “Okay,” I said quickly, my voice a little higher than usual.

Mia stepped in, tilting her head. “You okay?” she asked, raising a brow. “You look… distracted.”

I flushed and waved a hand. “I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking, I guess.”

She smirked, her usual teasing glint in her eyes. “Uh-huh. Thinking, sure. Well, your dad’s waiting. Better not make him call again.”

“Right,” I said, nodding, my stomach twisting as she left and the door clicked shut. Alone again, my thoughts immediately returned to Saint.

That heat in my chest, that ache in my stomach, the way my body had betrayed me earlier… it all came rushing back. My pulse picked up just remembering how close we’d been, the way his presence lingered in the air even when he wasn’t there.

I tried to steady myself and took a deep breath, but it did nothing. I tugged at the hem of my dress, squirming in my seat. My mind wandered, imagining him sitting there in front of me, the intensity in his eyes, the way he moved, and how real and alive he felt.

I pressed my palms to my cheeks, trying to stop the flush creeping up my neck.

The walk back to church felt longer than usual.

The sermon began, and the words hit me differently today. Dad spoke about restraint and purity, and every point felt like a tiny pinch, a gentle jab at my nerves. I crossed and uncrossed my legs nervously, tugging at the fabric of my dress, feeling that familiar ache again.

“Focus, Evie,” I muttered to myself under my breath. “Just focus. Not now. Not here.”

But even as I tried, I imagined Saint’s hands, the curve of his jaw, and the way his presence filled a room even when he was silent. My chest tightened. I shifted slightly, trying not to draw attention. My mind replayed the memory of him—his laugh, his smile, that quiet confidence that made my heart ache in a way sermons never could.

“God made us to resist temptation,” the preacher said. “To guard our hearts, to remain pure, to keep ourselves from sin.”

I nodded slightly, but my fingers flexed in my lap, restless. My mind screamed that I had already felt temptation, and it had been… overwhelming.

A whisper of a smile tugged at my lips, despite myself. “Overwhelming is right,” I murmured, quiet enough that no one could hear.

My father’s glance flicked toward me again, and I quickly straightened, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

By the time the service ended, I was jittery, restless, and more aware of every little twinge in my body than I’d ever been in my life. I didn’t even go back home.

My legs carried me somewhere else, somewhere I knew I could breathe freely, somewhere I could think about him without shame. Somewhere Saint waited.

When service finally ended, I didn’t go back home. My feet moved almost on autopilot, carrying me straight to the storage room, my chest tightening with every step. I pushed open the door and froze.

He was lying there. Naked. Vulnerable, perfect, unguarded—the same way I remembered him from that first day I’d seen him.

My stomach twisted, my chest pounding like it wanted to escape. I tried to breathe normally and tried to convince myself to take a step back, to be reasonable, and to act like this wasn’t a magnet pulling me in with reckless force. But reason was useless. My legs had their own agenda.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whispered under my breath, my voice almost swallowed by the heavy, warm air of the room.

My body betrayed me, inching forward without permission, drawn to him like I had no control at all. The closer I got, the warmer the air seemed, almost alive, wrapping around us both.

He appeared asleep—or maybe just pretending—but his presence alone made my skin prickle and made my stomach coil with tension and longing. I bit my lip, heart hammering against my ribs, and bent over him, hand hovering, trembling slightly. The air between us was thick, electric, and charged with something forbidden, something thrilling that made my heartbeat fast.

I hesitated only for a moment before letting my fingers move, gently, almost shyly, tentatively, like I was testing the boundary between pleasure and sin. And then he groaned—a low, guttural sound that rattled through my chest and made my knees weak.

I froze; he was so hard, but the moment passed too quickly to regret. My body, my instincts, and my reckless need—all of it refused to stop.

“Angel…” His hand shot out, pushing me gently but firmly back.

His dark eyes opened just enough to pin me in place, the edge in his voice sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t want you soiled, okay?”

His words were soft, almost intimate, but there was a controlled edge to them that made my stomach twist with a mix of frustration and longing. “Just… pass me my trousers.”

I blushed so hard I could feel it in my ears. Desire and embarrassment tangled together, making my pulse spike in ways I couldn’t name.

My hands shook slightly as I grabbed the trousers, handing them to him without thinking. The moment felt fragile and suspended, as if we were teetering on the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating at the same time.

“Why… why don’t you want me touching you?” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly, almost breathless. I couldn’t look away; the pull of him kept my gaze fixed.

His eyes softened just a little, and he swallowed, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “It’s… too much,” he said, almost a whisper, but it carried weight, intent, and something raw. “Feels too good. I… can’t handle it.”

My chest swelled with a strange warmth, a fulfillment I hadn’t expected. It wasn’t disappointment that I felt—it was connection, validation, and the thrill of being seen in a way that mattered.

My lips curved into a small, shy smile as I nodded, letting his words settle inside me. I felt wanted, seen, and important in a way that didn’t just stroke my vanity—it ignited something deeper, almost sacred, inside me.