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Summary
Father Jacob had noticed her from his first day at the church. He had stolen a glance or two each time she came to his office after mass to ask him to prayer over her. He had let his hand linger on her forehead each time he blessed her, her warmth teasing his thumb as he drew the cross. He had breathed in her distinct jasmine perfume each time she brushed past him on her way out of his small office after the choir practice on Saturday evenings, that she never missed.
He had allowed himself the guilty pleasure of consuming her beauty in these small moments, little bites that always left him more hungry. But so far, he had been able to fight his ravenous desire for her through prayer, through Him. Whispering a 'Hail Mary' every time his mind wandered below the neckline of her churidar, or behind the shawl draped across her chest. An 'Our Father' when his pants started feeling snug in the confession box during her whimpers. He had held on so far.
But now, she was standing at the door of his rectory, soaked to the skin—to her soft, warm, radiant skin—bringing his worst temptation yet to his doorstep.