Penance

Emma slid the lock and bolted upstairs as soon as the door closed. She discarded shoes and bits of clothing along the way and dove straight for her favorite vibrator as soon as she entered her room. She was so wound up that she practically came before the vibrator even touched her. She hadn’t even had a chance to start her memory replay of her favorite bit from The Night, the one that involved restraints, coconut oil, and a tongue technique that still made her toes curl just thinking about it. 

The orgasm took the edge off, but left her feeling unsatisfied, and she wanted to rant and rail against it but it was her own damn fault!  The Priest - James - was obviously ready to go, if his little tease at the café was anything to go by. 

As she showered, her brain kept circling the same thought - What was I thinking? What was I thinking? WHAT WAS I THINKING?  But she knew. She still had her reservations about their relationship. Even though she was going out of her mind with lust. He had changed his mind once and she really couldn’t handle it if (when whispered a treacherous part of her mind) he left again once he realized how much of a recovering mess she was. She had, quite unconsciously, convinced herself that, if she didn’t sleep with him, it wouldn’t hurt quite so much. Last time, she hadn’t lost him until she had fucked him. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again. 

She studied herself in the mirror as she toweled off and pointed an accusing finger. 

“You are being irrational.”  

Mirror-her shook her head petulantly. 

“You ARE!  You know this isn’t a trick or a trap. You know he’s not like that.”

Mirror-her stuck her tongue out and pulled a face. 

“You’re better than this. You’ve had loads of therapy. You have real relationships and a good support system.”

Mirror-her raised a mocking eyebrow. 

“Yeah. Yeah. If I’m so well-adjusted, why am I having a fight with myself in the mirror.” She shook her head in resignation. “Better call my counselor,” she sighed. 

***

Her brilliant counselor encouraged her to start exploring the specific elements of their relationship that made Emma nervous, which was terrifying. But she’d done terrifying things before. She could do this. She could!

He had to cancel their Friday plans. One of his congregants had been in an accident and was in hospital and things were looking dicey. Saturday she was dealing with the plumber and he was comforting the family - their loved one hadn’t pulled through. He had called to talk to her for a few minutes, needing a “touchstone” he said, and she couldn’t deny the warm feeling that burbled up in her chest. She had never been the moony, sappy sort, but something about having someone reach out to her for comfort and support, sure that she could and would give it, made her want to be just that. 

He had sounded so sad on the phone that she needed to do something. So she decided to take her counselor’s advice and not only confront her fears but also (hopefully) show him that she really was invested in them. Sunday found her walking nervously up the steps to his church. It was quite different from Saint Ethelred’s. Bright and airy where Saint E’s had seemed dark and confining. She spied James near the pulpit, talking animatedly with an elderly woman leaning on a cane and sporting the most repulsive fascinator Emma had ever seen. It was like a stork and a pug had had a baby and wrapped it in tulle. She was about to make her way over, wondering if he would mind her presence in his church, when he spotted her and he broke out into a huge grin. 

“Aha! Moira! Now you’ll see I’m no liar!  Emma, love, come here and meet Moira!”

Several heads turned to track the recipient of his greeting, with varying degrees of curiosity. 

She tried to keep her eyebrows from invading her hairline in surprise. Love? In public? Very intimate, but could be explained as a close friend, not (hopefully soon to be) lover. 

“Yes, Father?” Good. Good. Perfectly church appropriate. No one but James would know that, yes, it does turn her on just to say it. 

Moira was tiny, wrinkled, and had to be at least a hundred years old if she was a day and had an air about her that Emma’s father would definitely describe as naughty. Emma liked her immediately. Moira’s dark eyes crinkled in amusement as she examined Emma top to toe. 

“‘Yes, Father.’ Hmph. So polite. I thought you would pick one with a little spirit!”  

James gave her a small, amused smile. “Oh, she definitely has spirit. Don’t let the meek and mild façade fool you. Why don’t you go ahead and take your seats.   It’s almost time to begin. Emma, I’m so happy you came.”  Likewise. 

Emma turned to retreat to the back but was stopped by an iron grip on her arm. She turned her head and looked from the wrinkled hand on her arm up to Moira’s impish eyes. She tried not to be overly fascinated by the fascinator. 

“Sit with me, dear,” Moira commanded as she pulled Emma to the front pew. 

“I’m really more of a skulking in the shadows in the back type,” Emma protested as she tried to pull away. 

“Nonsense. The view is MUCH better from up here.”

She had to admit, the old woman had a point. She’d picked a spot that afforded not only a good view of her priest’s face, but also a nice little flash of his cute arse now and again. She didn’t miss a single opportunity to ogle because Moira made sure to elbow her every time he turned away from them.  She flashed Moira a mock-scandalized look and was rewarded with a loud cackle. James looked over at them and just shook his head, smiling. 

After the singing and the sermon and the shaking of hands, he made his way over to where she and Moira stood gossiping. Well, Moira gossiped, she listened in fascinated horror. Church life was much more sordid than any daytime telly. 

Moira jabbed her with an elbow when James approached. “Well, Father, going to let this one make an honest man of you? Or was it a different lass you were a-courting?”

“Oi! Look here old woman - don’t go trying to get me in trouble!”

“It t’isn’t fun if there’s no trouble involved. Harold and I got into lots of trouble in our courting days. And after we were married. And once the kids came and after they went. One time, on holiday in Monaco, Harold and I were caught…”

The priest tutted desperately in an attempt to stop her. “Moira, I do not need to visualize whatever you’re about to tell us. As it is, I’ll never get the images of you and Harold at the nudist beach out of my head. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Emma shot Moira a look full of respect. “I bet you were quite the head-turner back in the day.”

“It was from five years ago, Emma! Five. YEARS AGO.”

“Ooh, fair play to you Moira!”

Moira preened for a moment then her joviality fell away as if it had never been there. “So what are your intentions towards Father James? He’s very dear to us and he’s not to be trifled with or there will be…repercussions. So out with it. Are you just in it to bed a clergyman or is there something more?”

“Now, Moira, I am a grown man and…”

“Shush dear, the women are talking.” Emma wished she had her phone out to take a picture - the flummoxed look on his face was priceless. 

“Well, Moira, truth be told, I’ve already bedded him, although that was a long time ago.”

James grimaced and muttered, “A really, really long time ago.”

“And he came looking for me, so…”

Moira looked between them for a moment then seemed to come to a decision. “Father, anyone gives you problems, you send them to me and I’ll sort them out.”

“Moira, I appreciate that, but I’m an adult and…” Moira’s hand chopped through the air, silencing him.

“I know that, dear. But I’ve also been a member of this church for a long, long time and I know what can happen if anyone takes it into their head to dislike your lady-love. I may seem a bit daft, but I am respected, and I approve of Emma and that’s all everyone else needs to know.” She gave Emma’s arm a farewell pat and teetered off towards the door, the stork-pug bobbing in time with the thunk of the cane. 

James shot Emma a lopsided grin. “Well, that was Moira.”

“She’s lovely.” James raised his eyebrows. “No, really. I enjoyed chatting with her.”

“So. Tea?”

In a weird call back to the beginning of their love affair, she followed him back to his office for tea. He didn’t spill it this time, though. 

“So.”

“So.”

He settled back in his chair and stared at her as if content to never do anything else ever again. 

“This is lovely,” she said, her gesture including both him and the room. 

He smiled his sexy smile. “I think I’ve heard that before.  So...you’re in my church.” She panicked for a moment, wondering if the ban was still in effect. But no. He said earlier that he was glad she came. “I must say, I was surprised to see you.”

She tilted her head, “Good surprised or bad surprised?”

He leaned forward on his fist and gave her the real-life version of heart eyes. “Good, of course. I didn’t expect to see you until later this week, if I was lucky.”

“Oh, you’re lucky, all right.”  Thus followed a solid minute of eye-fucking. 

“A-hem.” He pulled absently  at his collar. “So, what are you doing here? I didn’t think church was your thing.”

“It’s not my thing. But it is yours. And you sounded so sad last night that I wanted to do something to support you. So, here I am.”

“Here you are.”

“So what now?”

“After I finish up some things here, want to walk me home?”

“Ooh, can I carry your books?”

“If you’re very good.”

“And what if I’m very bad?”

“If you’re very bad...I’ll have to think of an appropriate punishment.”

***

She did carry his books home, just to make him laugh. She loved his laugh. They also held hands. In public. He didn’t live far, just a twenty minute walk from the church. 

It was a nice private house on a quiet street, just one storey, with a small garden in the back. He had created a water feature amid lush foliage that made the garden seem like it’s own little slice of Eden. 

“G&T?”

“Yes please.”

“Wait here whilst I change and grab us a couple of tins.”

Emma wandered through the garden, admiring the greenery and trailing her fingers through the water in the fountain. Lulled by the sound of falling water, she settled down on the bench to wait. 

She was in a deep reverie when a quietly amused voice offered, “Penny for your thoughts.” She was startled to realize James had not only returned without her realizing, he was sat beside her and offering an open tin of G&T.

“Thanks.” She toasted him and took a sip while she gathered her thoughts. “Hm. Just thinking about this,” she said as she gestured around the garden, taking in him and the house. 

He angled his body towards her and pulled his legs up, crossing them beneath him as he had during their first chat in a garden. 

“And?”

“It’s lovely. Truly. You seem much happier. Not that we had time to get to know each other well back then, but there seemed to be an underlying something to you then. Not a darkness. More of a...sadness?” 

“You remain one of the most perceptive people I’ve ever met. Yes, I was sad. Lonely, too, which I admitted at that abomination of a dinner party. Definitely depressed. And going through a crisis of faith to boot!”

She frowned. “But you’re okay now?

“I am.”  The quiet, confident way he stated it soothed some of her fears.  “And you? How are you? Do you still think you’re ‘getting it wrong’?”

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back for a moment, her desire to be honest with him warring with the inner voice that was screaming Deflect! Amuse! Disarm! It’s our only protection! She took another sip from the tin and met his eyes. “It depends on the day.”

“Oh?” 

“Most days, no. My business is successful, Claire and I have never been closer, I adore being an aunt, and I have actual friends. 

“But?”

She shrugged. “I’ll always have to strive against the darker parts of myself. I have bad days when I have to stop myself from lashing out at the people I love. Days where I don’t want to get out of bed. Days when I loathe myself for the mistakes I’ve made. But they’re fairly rare now. And when I do have those days I call my counselor. Or my friends. Or my sister. Or I go for a run. I find better ways to deal with them than shagging around or imploding my relationships. So, if you think this,” she gestured between the two of them, “is going to be all sunshine and roses, you may want to rethink that.”

She was surprised when he reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand and drew their heads together so he could rest his forehead against hers. 

“I’m not expecting ‘sunshine and roses.’  I’m expecting two flawed people who want to make a relationship work. And while I may be much happier these days, especially now that you’re back in my life, I still have my own days full of demons to fight.”

Emma pulled back slightly and kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, then pressed her lips to his in a gentle, chaste kiss that held all of her hopes for their future. 

James released a contented sigh and slid his arms around her, tugging her closer until he had them arranged on the bench to his liking, spooned together in a reclining position. 

She snuggled down, pressing her ear to his chest to listen to his heartbeat. Maybe smelling him. Just a little. She’d spent the night after her father’s wedding wrapped up in the sheets and blankets on her bed, his pillow hugged to her body, just so she could immerse herself in his scent one last time. She’d tried not to cry, but...well. 

She felt him nuzzle the top of her head. “So would now be the wrong time to ask about Penelope?”

She sighed and rolled a bit so she could face him. “No, now is fine. What did you want to know?”

He started and let out a flustered, “Oh, ummmm…” 

“Really? You don’t have fifty questions already queued up? Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

“Ha ha. I, uh, actually do. I just didn’t want to seem rude.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re judging me. I thought this was a safe space!”

“When did we agree to that?!”

“It was understood!” 

She rolled her eyes but began talking anyway.