“You were great in there,” I say, my voice still shaky.

“You as well. You have an innate gift for making people feel comfortable, El, even in unfamiliar situations,” he replies, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Coffee?” He raises his eyebrows.

I half-laugh. “Sure. I could use one. I’ve got six more hours on my shift,” I huff.

We sit with our paper-cup coffees across from one another at our favorite small table tucked in a quiet corner of the hospital cafeteria.

Father Azreal and I have become good friends over the past several months. Both drawn to end-of-life care, we work together on the UPMC Mercy’s palliative care team in Pittsburgh.

We’ve watched so many people breathe their last together. Most were routine; all are hard in their own way. But today’s case has been especially difficult.

A close colleague, a fellow nurse, had a tragic accident that led to brain death, and ultimately, the family’s decision to remove life support.

He adjusts in his seat, slipping his forefinger into his clerical collar, running it back and forth under his jaw, loosening it.

“Is it uncomfortable?” I inquire.

“Sometimes,” he admits, laughing.

“Right,” I pause, “but I meant, is it uncomfortable being a priest?” I blurt out before my brain can stop me.

His expression drops, not angry but curious.

“I’m so sorry,” I whine. “I… I say the stupidest stuff sometimes.” I shake my head at my own awkwardness.

He smiles at me thoughtfully. “I am curious why you said that. Are you willing to elaborate?” He tilts his head; his eyes are as soft as ever.

Truth is, I’ve developed the most intense crush on this man. Priest, whatever.

But I don't confess that. He’s my colleague and friend. Instead, I add, “I guess I was just thinking, you’re my age, twenties…”

He cuts me off.

“Twenty-seven,” he adds, nodding for me to continue.

“Right. Jesus! You were ordained at twenty-six? That’s insane!” I laugh. “I just mean, it must be hard being so young and being…”

“Celibate?” he laughs.

My classic oof face appears on cue. Why am I so awkward, so nosy, so emotionally feral in public?

“I mean, yeah,” I shrug, shaking my head at my own insolence.

“It’s normal to be curious. I’d like to know more about you, too,” he responds kindly and continues speaking. “I got the calling very young. I was in Catholic schools all my life. At fifteen, I sought a mentor. Long story short, after high school, I attended St. Vincent Seminary’s college program, served as a deacon, and was then posted here at UPMC Mercy. This was my first choice: to work with the terminally ill in my hometown of Pittsburgh. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Getting posted with you was just a bonus,” he murmurs.

I smile, rest my chin in my hands, elbows planted on the table, and stare up at this gorgeous man, trying to decide whether that last confession was as flirtatious as it sounded.

Boyish good looks, charming, gentle jawline, sun-drenched wavy hair falling perfectly. “Such a waste,” I mumble.

He laughs again, and I realize I had said it out loud. “Jesus, fuck!” I squeal, pressing my face into my palms.

“You’re incredibly charming,” he says, laughing.

“Charming… right,” I roll my eyes. “Look, I’m sorry I just walked into your privacy like it’s my full-time job. No filter. I blame it on God.”

His grin widens. He stares across the table at me.

“You’re judging me, right?” I wonder. “I mean, I can’t even commit to a workout routine, and you’ve committed more than half your life to God. And here I am, questioning your choices.” I scoff quietly at myself. “Bold of me. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “I’m not judging you.”

“Then what?” I press, “You’re thinking something.”

He watches me for a long second, then quietly says, “I’m thinking… if you’d come into my life sooner, I don’t know if I would’ve had the strength to enter the priesthood.”

My chest tightens. “Meaning?”

He leans forward, taking my hands like he’s grounding himself. “It means you make me doubt the only certainty I’ve ever had.”

I freeze. Silence stretches. My mouth goes dry.

He pats my hand and grins, unreadable eyes, but that grin makes my stomach flip. “I’ve been thinking about this a long time, but your questions today made me feel you may actually be interested in me.” He tilts his head, searching my eyes. I nod but can't form words.

“Is that a yes? You’re interested in me, like curious… or really interested,” his voice warm but sharp-edged.

I swallow hard. Interested? Fuck yes, I’m interested. He’s been my fantasy for nearly a year.

All I manage is, “The latter.”

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor, causing a few heads to turn. “Can we go back to my office?”

I nod, my eyes wide. We leave the cafeteria, and I follow him to the pastoral care area, where he has a private office.

We barely get inside before he turns, urgency in his movements, and pulls me into a kiss. Clumsy at first, surprise mixed with nerves, then something clicks. The world narrows to our heat and breath.

He steps back, breathless, eyes glazed. His chest heaves. “Does it always feel this intense?”

“No,” I giggle. “I’ve never felt like that.”

“I’m afraid I’ll make a fool of myself. Will you teach me?” His voice was exposed and timid. My eyes give me away before he adds quickly, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to lay that on you.”

I scoff lightly. “It’s okay, it's just I’m not that experienced myself,” I admit.

I step closer, running my fingers through his hair. He lets out a breath, shoulders relaxing, eyes drinking me in.

His hands slip around my waist. His fingers find skin between my shirt and the hem of my scrub pants, catching my breath. He smiles, continuing to explore as I pull him into a deep kiss.

He’s backed against his desk, and I plant myself between his legs. I pull back, find his waistband, and unzip his pants.

His breathing shallows as I start unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom up. I pause at the collar, looking into his eyes. “Are you sure?” I whisper.

He doesn't hesitate, pulling the collar out in a single motion and letting it drop.

He’s perfect. I run my palms up his chest. I pull my hands back quickly, still unsure, searching his eyes. “This could ruin everything for you.”

“Then do it slowly so I don't forget a thing,” a sweet grin spreading across his face.

My nerves dissolve, and I lower myself slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on his. His jaw tightens. Fingers curling against the desk, knuckles white.

“I’ve imagined this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across my cheek and jawline. “So many times.”

I never look away as I sink lower. The desk creaks under him, holding himself steady while everything else breaks loose. With the simple drag and roll of my tongue over the tip, he moans loudly, whispering my name.

“El.”

Hearing him moan sets off something feral in me, and I don’t hold back. He’s made his decision, and so have I. He shudders as I pick up the pace. I push all the way down until his erection thrusts against the back of my throat. His breath hitching, and without warning, he spilled his heat all over me.

I try not to act surprised or disappointed, and I’m not really. I smile, looking up at him as I use my tongue to lap up what he’s left on himself.

“Oh god,” he groans, his voice vibrating through me. I rock back on my heels, his head swinging forward, eyes glossed over, utterly undone.

“Damn,” he whispers, looking down at me, his face unreadable.

Hesitantly, I ask, “Was that the sound of regret?” I pause. “Or relief?”

“You’ve never looked more beautiful,” he breathes, brushing hair from my forehead.

I smile, feeling relieved. “So you don’t regret it?”

“Those eyes,” he growls, clicking the inside of his cheek. He reaches for my hands, pulling me up. “It was those eyes that undid me.” He grins. “No, El, I don’t regret that. And I’m not going to regret this either.”

He spins me toward the desk, moving items as he pulls my scrub pants and panties down.

I gasp at how quickly he regains his edge, pressing against me, hungry, and I welcome it. I tilt my head back against his chest, reaching down; I guide him in as his face presses into my neck.

The desk rocks under us. I take his hand and lead it to where I need it most. He fumbles at first, and I guide him gently. “Here,” I moan as he rolls my clit between his fingers.

I turn, lifting myself onto the desk, the glass top on the wood cool against my thighs. I draw him close, peeling off my scrub top and bra. The moment my skin is bare, his mouth is there, hungry, reverent, unthinking.

“Is there anything you need, baby?” I whisper against his ear. “Anything at all. I want to give you everything. Don’t hold back.”

He holds my gaze, lifting my legs, guiding me open. My feet rest on the edge of the desk as I sink slowly, the moment stretching, heart racing.

He lowers himself gradually, as if savoring every second, his attention focused entirely on me. He lingers, his mouth hot between my legs, slow, deliberate, and all-consuming, until I ache. Every nerve ignites, every touch pushes me closer to the edge.

He stays there, his tongue rolling over every inch of me as I squirm and soft moans escape me. He’s a natural. I don’t have to say a word; he’s got me so close to losing control.

“Baby, come back to me,” I beg softly, my voice breaking.

He stands, peering down at me, and he brings his fingers to his mouth and then between my legs. I guide him back between my legs, but even lower. His breathing slows, eyes widening. “Are you sure?”

I nod and close my eyes. “I need all of you, everywhere.”

He is taking the bigger risk and sharing his first experience with me, so I want to share something unfamiliar with him. Now we are standing in unfamiliar territory together, neither of us entirely sure who is leading the way.

My body tenses at first, and he pauses, careful and attentive, but the need to give myself to him outweighs everything else, and I let go of the hesitation.

The tension breaks violently, rippling through us as control vanishes. First, my center tightens and constricts tightly around him as he, too, releases in rolling surges.  All that remains is the rush, the release, the sounds we can’t stop making: nothing gentle, just the truth of what we have just done.

He slumps over me, breathing ragged. “Are you okay?” I whisper, still unsure if reality and regret may be setting in.

He rises, hands threading with mine. “El, if I'm honest, I thought I’d feel regret.” He turns me slowly, putting his hands on my face. Staring and holding my gaze. “But all I feel is alive.”

“So now what?” I ask.

“Dinner date?” he shrugs.

I stare. He straightens, brushing his thumb down my cheek, smirk in place. “Well, I’m assuming marriage is off the table.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Well, I can't imagine I'm a worthy partner; clearly, I’m not one to keep my vows,” he teases.

“Okay, dinner it is,” I chuckle, as we get dressed and straighten ourselves out before returning to the unit. “But only if it’s served with another side of sin.” I smile, closing the door behind us.

You know, growing up, I always thought I had the perpetual devil in one ear and an angel in the other. But now that I’ve had a priest risk it all to be inside me, I realize maybe they were never good and evil at all. Both voices are mine, and maybe one has always been whispering, What do you want? While the other asks, But what will they think?

Well, honestly, who the fuck cares what they think?

I think that was hot as fuck. And when Father Azreal slaps my ass and winks at me as we walk back to the unit, I’m pretty sure he does too.