Beautiful Sinner (Priest! Barba AU), Prologue & Ch. 1
Priest! Barba x f! reader | SVU au
Rating: NSFW for language, graphic smut, basic desecration of religious upbringing.
WC: 8.6K
AN: I am so going to hell. One way ticket for lil old me.
AN2: Big thanks to @beccabarba for reviewing and being my soundboard.
Prologue:
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been, It's been too long since my last confession.”
“Go ahead,” the voice behind the screen began. “Tell me your sins.”
You shivered at the tambor of the words spoken. And you know that your sins were also their sins.
“I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father. I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do,” you clarified. Your voice was soft.
“That’s not how this works,” the familiar voice replied. “What exactly are you going to do?”
You let out a shaky breath and heat flushed your cheeks. You began to unbutton your blouse. “I think you already know, Father.”
— Ch. 1—
*six months earlier*
It was a blistering summer day in Manhattan, the sun beating down relentlessly, casting sharp shadows on towering skyscrapers. The pavement radiated intense heat, mirages shimmering above the asphalt street. The air was thick with a suffocating blend of exhaust fumes, unpicked garbage bags and urban heat. City dwellers sought refuge in shaded pockets, and the city seemed to pulsate with the collective desire for relief from the oppressive heat.
It also happened to be your first weekend in your new home-a nine-story walk up in Hudson Heights.
You received your pink slip and had to make the hard decision to move. Your aunt was subletting her apartment while she traveled across the Borneo rainforests. Transitioning to a more modest apartment was a challenging shift. You had to adapt to a different community vibe and recalibrate your lifestyle expectations. You had introverted tendencies but you tried to remain resilient, focusing on navigating this life change as a time to reset.
You opened the window and stuck your head out. Spanish music played outside loudly and the normally traffic filled street was closed, with people milling about. It was the annual block party for the neighborhood, with vendors and entertainment alike. The food smelled wonderful and your stomach growled in response. The sound of a knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You ducked your head, making sure to avoid giving yourself a concussion. “Coming!” You called out as your bare feet padded the floor. You knew who it was - Maria, your next door neighbor who you met on move-in day. Maria was friendly with your aunt and you knew that she had promised your aunt that she’d keep an eye on you. She was close in age to you and immediately offered you a helping hand, helping you bring up boxes. You thanked her with pizza and beer and the two of you were on your way to becoming fast friends.
When Maria had texted you earlier in the week,” ‘Block party! Want to come with?’ it was an easy yes.
You opened the door and let Maria in. “Just need shoes and my bag. Help yourself if you want anything,” you called out, heading back towards your bedroom.
You heard your fridge open, the cacophonous sounds of beverages clanking together followed by the click and hiss of a can opening. Soon enough, you were both on your way.
–
Time flew and you found yourself really enjoying yourself. Eventually Maria had to leave - she was meeting her boyfriend and his sister to head into Queens to catch the Mets game.
You were still beyond hot, the humidity was thick, almost choking you. You pulled out a claw clip from your bag and pinned your hair up. Just even having the damp strands off the nape of your neck provided some, albeit, minimal relief. In that moment, you missed your pixie cut from years prior.
The local fire department had opened the fire hydrant and there was a gaggle of kids playing in the water. You looked at the water longingly before you internally said ‘fuck it,’ and ran through the open fire hydrant. The force of the water was stronger - and colder - than you had anticipated and you let out a shriek. You ran through it once more - this time not as close to the hydrant - enjoying the water washing over your overheated skin. Sufficiently cooled off, you continued on your way through the neighborhood.
There was a generalized area with a tent set up for community outreach. Curiosity piqued, you moseyed on over. You picked up a pamphlet - St. Blaise Church. You were religious as a child, it was as how your parents raised you. As an adult, you found yourself straying away, not agreeing with the church’s ideals which contradicted your more liberal beliefs. Sometimes, though, you found yourself missing it - especially during Christmas and Easter, when the congregation would meet up together in mass throngs. There was something about community that made you wistful.
“Interested in the Church?” a voice questioned. You looked up and you locked eyes with a handsome man. That was an understatement. He was obscenely good looking. Almost as if it hurt to look at him straight on. You felt a jolt straight to your core. No one should look as good as he did.
He took your breath away with his green eyes and thick, fitted build. His hair was dark with flecks of gray at the temples. His salt and pepper beard neatly framed his jawline. The man gave you a smile, his eyes crinkling. Crow's feet gracefully fanned out from the corners of his eyes, evidence of a life rich in laughter and stories. Dressed in comfortable yet stylish summer attire, he exuded a casual sophistication. He wore a fitted polo with fitted shorts that were borderline criminal. The polo was slightly unbuttoned, which allowed for a hint of chest hair along sun-kissed skin to peek through. Immediately your brain went to the gutter.
“Miss?”
You blinked. It was as if your brain broke and you had no idea as to how to respond. He raised a brow and inwardly you melted, feeling warmth bloom through you.
“Uh, sorry. The heat is just getting to me,” Nervous laughter accompanied your lame excuse.
“No worries, it happens to the best of us. I’m Rafael Barba.” He offered his hand and you took it. As you shook his hand, warmth bloomed through you.
He offered you a beer from a cooler and you happily accepted. And over beer, you find yourself enamored with every word from his lips. You suspected Rafael was involved with the church with how passionately he spoke about it. And when he invited you to attend the Adult Fellowship group after Sunday’s mass, you found yourself agreeing.
“...the fellowship hour following the Liturgy provides opportunities to develop friendships, meet parishioners or simply exchange information of mutual interest. There are monthly birthday celebrations and seasonal events, such as Christmas and Easter parties, as well as a spring picnic. We are always looking for more—”
Rafael’s cell rang and he apologized before excusing himself. You nodded and rocked on your heels, once again taking in the scene before you as you finished your beer.
This new neighborhood was already looking up.
—
As Rafael took the call, he couldn’t help but turn around to look at you once more. His eyes raked over your form, fully drinking you in. He swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. He could feel a slight stirring in his pants, and furiously shook his head.
‘No,’ his brain argued. ‘No.’
He was not being turned on right now. Rafael tried to push the thought away and turned his attention back to the phone.
After the Householder case and resigning from the D.A.’s office, Rafael decided he needed to get away from it all. He spent the next three months holed up in his apartment, avoiding anyone and everyone.
Even if he didn’t want to - there was no one who would understand what he did. His mother was horrified and stopped talking to him. He received more than one gloating, sneering call from the recidivist he should have blocked — Alex Muños. Even Yelina spurned him.
He was truly alone.
So what was an acquitted, former ADA to do?
He prayed.
He had lapsed from religion. After working in the DA’s office and seeing all the especially heinous, depraved, evil out there - he was convinced there was no God.
He couldn’t explain why he did what he did - he did what he had to. Something called him to do it.
Was it God? Was it the Devil?
He wasn’t sure. So he prayed some more.
And then one night it came to him. The calling from God.
After a lengthy period of hemming and hawing, weighing the pros and cons, he contacted the local diocesan vocational director and began the requisite training. That training looked like pre-theology for 2 years followed by a tenure at a major seminary where he studied languages—some of which he already knew -Latin, Spanish, Greek. He also took graduate level studies in theology, including Doctrine, Canon Law, Church History, Scripture, and Liturgy.
He called St. Blaise’s home for three years. He found joy in community and spreading the Gospel. He gave to the community as much as he could possibly give. He thought it would be weird - that people would recognize him and call him a baby killer. And if they did - they never did it to his face. Rather, the community embraced him.
He was still busy as ever - mass was everyday, there were funerals, baptisms and weddings. He did outreach with the youth and began a fellowship for parishioners who were in a similar age cohort. Having saved quite a penny as an ADA, he lived off his savings. A priest’s salary was meager and he still had to pay taxes. So his salary sat in another account which went towards that.
The summer block party was an annual event, but very nubile - only in its third year. It’s where he felt he could give most back and the community could truly come together.
He hadn’t felt an attraction to any form of secular life in ages.
Until you just now.
He could use the excuse that he was a man after all. A man who used to be sexually active with both men and women alike. But before you, he was able to steer his thoughts away and put that energy into something else for the betterment of the church and community.
And then you came along, soaking yourself as you sprinted through a pump before going back for more.
His eyes traveled over you again. You were soaked, the material of your clothing sticking to you. Your tank top - now sheer - showing off your nipples which were diamond hard due to the combination of the cold water and air.
‘Fucking hell, get a grip.’
But he turned around to get yet another look, while yes’ing the person on the phone. His eyes trailed over the shorts you wore, perfectly molded to your ass and thighs. The rest of your legs were equally toned and for a split second, he could imagine them wrapped around his hips.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake.’
He wanted to talk to you more but this phone call ate up his time. Finally after what seemed like forever, he was free again. He decided at that moment, he needed to clear his head, so he sat back down and willed his cock to deflate. He closed his eyes and was about to cover his face with a hat when you interrupted him again.
“So what’s a lapsed Catholic to do if she wants to rejoin the church?”
Rafael lifted the hat off his face and sat fully. He cocked a brow. “Well, you can start by coming to mass tomorrow.”
“I suppose,” you sighed. “It’s been awhile.”
“How long is a while?” Rafael inquired gently. He gave you a kind smile. You looked away, embarrassed. Heat flooded your cheeks.
“Years,” you supplied.
Rafael nodded and then cocked his head. “Are you familiar with the parable about Jesus and the lost sheep?”
You nodded. “I’m the one that Jesus is looking for?”
Rafael nodded. “Maybe. But what about coming to mass first and checking it out before making any commitments?”
You nodded again. “I’ll think about it.”
“Hey stranger! Long time no see!” a familiar voice called out, interrupting the conversation.
You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Maria, now accompanied by her boyfriend.
“I thought you were going to the city,” you asked, chucking your beer in the garbage can next to you.
“Changed our minds. Plus Robbie’s sister is being a little bitch.”
That earned a ‘hey!’ from Robbie before he acquiesced. “Yeah, she is being a little bitch.”
You turned back around but Rafael was nowhere to be seen. You looked at the pamphlet once more before folding it and tucking it away for later.
“I cannot believe you spoke to Fr. Barba like that,” Maria continued.
“Wait - what? He’s a priest?”
Maria nodded. She then pointed to your still soaked appearance. “You can see your tits through your tanktop. Wrong day to not wear a bra. You look like you could win a wet-tshirt contest.”
You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment as you looked down and realized Maria was in fact correct.
“Probably thanked God - that celibate life must be rough,” Robbie laughed. “He’s been a priest for how long? I can’t imagine not having sex.”
You weren’t listening though, too consumed in your embarrassment and attraction. Of course the hottest man on the planet is a fucking priest. ‘And of course I would basically flash him.’
Later that evening at home, you poured some kibble in a bowl for your cat and heated up a quick meal. As you waited for your food to finish, you rifled through your closet for something to wear to church. Your eyes landed on a sundress that you knew was probably much too short for church. You frowned and kept looking until you found the perfect outfit.
You told Maria that you were going to attend mass. You had already promised the hot priest you’d come to the fellowship group. If you didn’t show, then you would be a liar, and you couldn’t lie to a priest - right?
—
The following morning you found yourself at church with Maria.
“I want to sit up in the front,” you whined as the both of you shuffled into the pew.
“I’m too hungover to sit in the front,” Maria grumbled. “You think I can get away with leaving my sunglasses on?”
You rolled your eyes. “This is probably the one mass you can get away with that shit,” you replied before slapping your mouth with your palm. “I didn’t mean to curse, shit, oh no, God damnit!”
Maria laughed at your foul mouthed word salad. “You can confess to Fr. Barba after.”
The organ began to play and you stood. You motioned to Maria to stand and she ignored you, instead choosing to rest her head on the back of the bench of the pew in front of her. You watched as the altar servers carried in the items needed for mass - Cross, the processional candles, incense and Bible. Your eyes followed as Fr. Barba walked behind. He wore green vestments and you vaguely recalled that the color of the robes indicated where you were along in the church calendar.
Mass went as typically as you remembered. You sang from the hymnal, prayed along the congregation, and actually listened to the homily instead of daydreaming about being anywhere else. Fr. Barba was straightforward, discussing Jesus’ anger.
“Paul commands us in Ephesians 4:26, be angry and do not sin; don’t let the sun set on your anger. I’ve heard a lot of sermons on the “but do not sin” part: anger can give opportunity to the devil and birth all manner of hell in relationships. I’ve also heard a lot of sermons on the “do not let the sun go down on your anger.” But I haven’t heard any sermons on these two words: be angry.”
Fr. Barba paused before continuing. “Be angry. As we look upon a world of injustice and abuse, even in the church, we can learn how to be angry in love together. And we learn this the way Paul did: from Jesus. Jesus got angry. Regularly. And we see a pattern in his anger: whenever someone vulnerable or powerless suffered injustice at the hands of the strong and powerful, Jesus opposed this injustice with loving anger.”
The Liturgy of Word concluded and then transitioned into the Liturgy of the Eucharist. You watched intently as he performed prayers and rites in Latin that had existed for thousands of years.
It was time for Communion but you didn’t feel up to receiving. So instead, you just watched. As you scanned the church, your eyes locked with Rafael’s. He was watching you, a frown on his face. You felt your cheeks grow hot once more and you turned away out of embarrassment.
Mass concluded shortly after. The fellowship hour was immediately afterwards, held in the basement of the church. Maria had zero interest in attending so you parted ways before heading down. The smell of incense and something very “churchly” permeated in the air as you walked down the dimly lit stairs.
The basement was as expected, acoustic tile ceiling, fluorescent lights, that unique slight churchy smell, boxes of various items, beige metal folding chairs, long tables, pillars in the middle of the room holding up the sanctuary one floor up. There was a life-size nativity in the back, with a Joseph whose hand was broken and an unfortunate beheaded sheep statue. Someone was setting up a coffee maker and someone else was plating store-bought cupcakes.
You chit-chatted with some congregants, majority of whom you met at the block party.
As you made a cup of coffee, you were unaware of Fr. Barba entering the room. It was only when you heard his voice and the sound of people shuffling to sit. You turned, sipping your coffee as you did so. No, Fr. Barba was no longer in those ceremonial robes that hid away everything. Instead, he wore fitted dark denim with a black shirt and his collar.
Your eyes tracked him as you continued to speak with others. You made sure to glance back to the folks you were speaking with - implying you were listening when you really weren’t. You watched as he moved easily through the room, greeting people, making jokes. What a waste of good looks.
People began to slowly sit, the chatting quietly winding down. Eventually, you took a seat. Everyone sat in a circle and you felt as if you were in an AA meeting.
“Welcome,” Fr. Barba began. “Thank you all for taking the time to come today.” He turned his gaze to you and stretched his arm in your direction. “We have a newcomer.” He gave you a small smile, his eyes crinkling in the corner.
You gave a small smile and waved, before introducing yourself.
There was a more in depth discussion of the readings from the mass. You hung onto every word Rafael said. Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba, Fr. Barba you chanted in your mind as if you were trying to ensure that stayed in your mind.
He’s a priest you told yourself. He’s Father - not Daddy.
—
You became a regular at church and also at the afternoon fellowship. You were usually quiet, opting to listen more so than anything. Today was different.
Fr. Barba asked the group to share their most favorite parts of scripture; he had anticipated the majority of responses - Genesis, one of the Gospels, Proverbs. Your comment made his stomach flip.
“I personally enjoy Song of Songs,” you offered. “It celebrates sexual love.”
“Jewish tradition reads it as an allegory of the relationship between God and Israel,” Fr. Barba offered.
“In Christianity, it is read as an allegory of Christand his bride, the Church,” you countered.
“I am my beloved’s, and his desire is for me,” Fr. Barba responded.
You flushed. “His mouth is sweetness itself; he is altogether lovely. It is an unabashedly sensuous, even at times quite erotic, paean to love,” you continued as you leafed through the Bible you held.
“No matter what interpretation you choose to believe, the book is a powerful and profound reminder of the beauty and depth of God’s love for us. It is a beautiful book that has been celebrated for centuries and one that can still bring joy and comfort to believers today.”
There was a pause and then Rafael clapped his hands. “I think that’s enough to stop for now. Thank you all for coming. I’ll see you all next week.”
You hung back, helping to clean up. Slowly the group dissipated, leaving you and Fr. Barba alone.
“You’re still here.” Fr. Barba’s voice was thick and dark. You shivered in response.
“I really enjoyed myself today,” you replied softly as you approached him. You closed the gap between you and him. You could press your hands to his chest if you wanted to.
Oh how you wanted to.
Your nipples strained against the confines of your top. You wanted to drop to your knees and show your worth - take another type of communion.
‘Behave,’ you told yourself.
“Did you now?”
His expressive, bright green eyes are now dark and stormy. His jaw is tight. You swallow hard.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, but I won’t have it,” he continues. His voice is clipped and you shivered in response.
You shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not playing at anything Father. I’ll see you next week.”
Rafael didn’t reply. He watched as you turned about and walked away with a deliberate sway of your hips. His eyes were focused on your ass. All he wanted to do in that moment was to haul you over a pew and spank your ass for your insolence. His cock ached and twitched in his pants.
You turned back towards him, a full smile gracing your face. “I’m really looking forward to being a member of this congregation.”
Once you were gone, Rafael sat down on a folded chair dismayed.
He was so screwed.
God almighty help him.
—
It was a delicate dance. There was a part of you that enjoyed toeing the line with Fr. Barba. And part of you felt a smidge guilty. But fuck, he was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at him.
As Fr. Barba. Well, you weren’t alone in the desperate want and lust you were feeling.
He played with you in his fantasies. He knew what he was getting into when he became a priest. He swore to God to not know another’s body. It was the least he could do considering he killed baby Drew.
He wasn’t supposed to have these kind of thoughts.
It had been so long and he was under your spell.
After the group meeting, he had to hustle back to his home - a small home attached to the rectory. He made quick work of removing his clothes. He hissed as grasped his aching cock. Stroke, stroke, stroke.
Self pleasure was also a no-no.
Masturbation involved lust. It’s to use another person for your own selfish pleasure. The person becomes an object and it denigrates their dignity as a human being.
When he was around you, he wanted to throw everything into the wind. The image of your soaked tits haunted him. He threw his head back as he continued to jerk himself. Desire. You made him fucking feral.
He imagined kissing you after the meeting the second you and him were alone.
His lips crushed against yours. He pressed your back against the wall, his knee parting your legs.
One hand tangled in your hair, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot of your skin.
It was as if you released a part of him that he had kept tucked away for so long.
He stripped away your top, before mouthing your tits before dropping to his knees. Your hand moved through his hair.
“Taste me,” you’d beg. You’d beg so nicely and who was he to deny his lamb?
He imagined grabbing your ass, pulling your dripping pussy to his mouth. You would drape a leg over his shoulder, grounding yourself hard against his mouth.
“Fuck, right there. Just like that.”
He would put his thumb on your clit, rubbing circles as he pushed his tongue inside, tasting, licking, and sucking.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” you’d moan. “Don’t stop. Oh God, I am going to come. Please, fuck me.”
He would undo his belt and drop his pants, grasping his cock in his hand. He’d rub the head of his cock along your folds, teasing you until neither one of you could stand it before burying himself deep inside of you.
“I want everything you’ve got. I want to feel it all.”
“Is that what my little lamb wants? To be fucked hard like a whore?”
“Yes,” you’d beg. “Please.”
“Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”
“Come for me little lamb,” he’d encourage. You’d fall apart at his words. He could imagine how your wet, soft, pussy would suck his cock in, deeper and deeper. He would imagine thrusting deep and hard, his cock dragging against your sweet spot. He’d come hard, deep inside of you, his come painting your walls.
In reality he grunted and groaned as his cock kicked. He came all over his hand and belly. He panted, waiting for his breath to even out.
‘Shit.’
—
It was a gloomy Tuesday morning as Rafael worked in his office. Homilies were a lot like closing arguments. Instead of trying to sway the jury, he had to connect with his congregants. Instead of evidence, it was the gospel.
He was distracted. His mind kept wandering to you. Were you some kind of a test for him?
You were under his skin. An itch that couldn’t be scratched. Or stroked. You had consumed his thoughts.
He tore the yellow sheet off the pad before crumpling it.
Rafael tried very hard to live a holy life, especially as he had known what life was like, could be like, outside of the church.
And until now, through God’s grace, he had done very well.
He looked at the time. Confession was to start soon. Confession wasn’t popular. Usually before the bigger high holidays, people would come in droves. But a regular, run of the mill Tuesday? Not a chance.
He had his regulars though, who would come without fail. They were long standing members of the community. Being bilingual was a big boost for the church.
Rafael put on his collar, and changed into dark slacks from jeans and then headed out.
—-
You peeked into the booth. Seeing that it was empty, you made your way in and sat down.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been… um, years since my last confession.”
Rafael was stunned. It was you.
‘Focus.’
You began with some menial, ordinary sins. Rafael focused on what you were saying, ignoring the throb of his cock.
“And, of course, this… all leads to the most wicked one.”
Rafael swallowed hard. “Go on.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“Me?” Rafael questioned. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ “What do you mean?”
“You’re so kind and thoughtful. I probably shouldn’t say this because it’s so inappropriate, but you’re so fucking handsome. And it’s resulted in some wicked behavior.”
“Wicked how?” His hands ball into fists before he grabs the tops of his thighs hard, trying to steel his thoughts.
“I— I’m sorry. I need to go.” You’re stammering over your words, your heart racing.
Rafael heard the panic in your voice and he frowned. The confessional creaked as you stood. Rafael was filled with an overwhelming need to get you to stay. “We all sin. Including myself. God made us imperfect and can he really get to be disappointed in us when we do imperfect things?”
“I— I’ve never felt the way I do about you with anyone else. And I am filled with despair about wanting what I can’t have,” you reply softly. “What can I do about this? Can I say 10 Hail Mary’s or something?”
You continue. “And can I be absolved if I don’t feel bad about what I’ve done or said in the past? They’re all things I wanted to do.”
Rafael wracked his mind on what to say.
And before he could, he heard you open the door and leave. He stood quickly and pushed open the curtain. But it was too late. You were already gone.
—
Sunday mass came like clockwork.
As Rafael led mass, he scanned the pews for you. He was disappointed when he didn’t see you. He saw your friend and he made a mental note to talk with her afterwards.
“Fr. Barba, great service,” Maria commented as she shook Fr. Barba’s hand.
“Thank you. I- I am glad you came. You had been coming with your friend—“
“Oh! You mean — yeah, she couldn’t come today. She had some stuff to take care of. She’s new to the area and I know she could really use the community support,” Maria replied. She looked past Rafael and smiled brightly. “Oh there she is!”
Maria called your name. Rafael turned around and he saw you across the street. You were dressed more conservatively and he felt a wave of disappointment.
You half jogged across the street and before Rafael knew it, you had materialized in front of him.
“Hi,” you greeted as you tucked your hair behind your ear. “Sorry to have missed mass.”
“It’s okay,” Rafael laughed. “It’s not like God is keeping tabs.”
You smiled. Maria turned to you. “Was just telling Fr. Barba how you could use some community.”
“Uh,” you blanched. “Yeah, something like that.”
“Well, help is always needed at the community center or food pantry,” Rafael offered. “Meet plenty of people that way.”
“Yeah, sure. I - I saw in the bulletin you were looking for someone to go over your books.”
Rafael shifted. “Um, I was looking more for a CPA—“
“Well you are in luck!” Maria hit your arm. “You’ve got your own CPA here.”
“I-I am not a CPA. I was treasurer of my sorority years ago,” you explained. “But I lost my job and I need money,” you shrugged. “That’s all.”
Rafael sighed and rubbed his neck. As much as Olivia was a bleeding heart, he was too, especially with his roots. “Um, stop by the rectory sometime next week and we can talk it through.”
You smiled brightly. “Oh that would be great! Really! Thank you.”
Rafael nodded. You turned to Maria. “We have to go. Reservations?”
Other congregants had started to line up to speak with Rafael. He turned towards the line, but not without glancing back, watching you walk away.
Rafael admired you from behind, appreciating how your jeans hugged you in all of the right places. A flash of heat coursed through him.
‘God damnit, what are you doing?’
—
You never came by. Or to mass. Rafael thought you might have had a change of heart. Perhaps your flirtation with religion had flamed out. He found himself longing to see you but also increasingly frustrated with himself. He busied himself as much as possible so that he couldn’t even think of you. You were the absolute last thing on his mind.
When you rapped on his door two and a half weeks later, Rafael was more than surprised. He was downright startled, like a horse with thunder. He had been knee deep in the church’s financial books.
“I’m sorry, I hope I am not intruding. I know it’s late.”
Rafael relaxed. “No, not at all. Please, come in, sit.”
You slunk in the chair with ease and eyed Rafael’s outfit. “You don’t look like a priest.”
Rafael arched a thick brow. “And what do I look like?”
“Like a regular guy. Someone I would meet at a bar,” you shrugged as you waved your arm as if to make a point. Rafael was wearing dark jeans with a button down, sleeves rolled up and brown brogues.
Rafael laughed. “Well, there was a point in my life where you would have found me there. Speaking of bars, would you care for a drink?”
“I thought priests could only drink church wine.”
Rafael laughed again. “No, no, we can drink more than church wine.” You heard the clatter of glass and the sound of liquid pouring. “Here,” Rafael turned to you, his arm outstretched, holding a lowball glass with amber liquid. “Macallan 18.”
You took it from him and swirled the liquid before sniffing. You closed your eyes as you took a sip. You hummed, pleased. “This is good. Dangerously good.” You took another sip. “Oh this goes down way too easy.”
‘I bet my cock will go down easy.’
Rafael coughed and shook his head. “Uh, yeah, it does.” He took a large swallow of his glass and then poured himself another glass.
“You’re wondering why I’m here now. Instead of two weeks ago.”
Rafael perched himself on the corner of his desk. “I am.”
“I wish I had a reason that made sense, but I don’t. The truth is…” you glanced around the office and it became very apparent that the room was decorated more like a legal office than what you assumed an office in a church would be like.
“The truth is?” Rafael prodded.
You stood and started walking around the room. Your hand trailed the spines of the stacks of books lined up. It was then when you spotted the law degree in the corner.
“Wait - you are a lawyer? And a priest? How does that work?”
“Was,” Rafael clarified, before taking a long sip of his drink. “Was a lawyer.”
“You don’t practice anymore?”
“No,” Rafael shook his head. “Not anymore.”
You walked up to the bar cart and poured yourself another drink. You took the chair and pulled it until you were sitting directly in front of Rafael. “Tell me.”
Hours passed. Rafael unloaded everything on you - his time at SVU, baby Drew, the why to choose a life of faith.
And that bottle of Macallan?
You stood very close to Rafael. Your hands pressed on his chest. You swayed slightly and Rafael placed his hands on your hips, steadying you.
“Hire me. I’m really good with numbers.”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “We aren’t going to have sex.”
You scoffed, before almost losing your footing. Rafael’s hands gripped your hips tightly. “Who said anything about us having sex?”
“Do you think I don’t realize what game you’re playing?”
“Game? I’m not playing a game. I need a job.”
“Don’t play dumb.”
You rolled your eyes. “I am not. Besides, do you even know how?”
Rafael pushed you away slightly. “Did you not just hear the story of my life?”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Father.”
“The how?”
You walked back and closed the gap between you and him. “Yeah. The how. To fuck.”
Rafael’s eyes darken. He cupped your face and you leaned into his palm. He slowly walked around and behind you. He dropped his mouth to your ear. “I know how to fuck. I’ve fucked plenty. Men. Women. I know how to make someone come.”
A rumble emanated from Rafael’s chest. You spun on your heels and looked up at him. Rafael loomed over you, your eyes growing wide. Your breath hitched. “Is that so?”
Your faces were inches apart. You were breathing each other's air, growing dizzy over the shared breath. Your heart was thumping and you were so needy in that moment you thought you were going to burst.
“Little lamb, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
You let out a whine. “Please.”
Rafael lifted your chin with his finger. Your eyes searched his before settling on his lips. His beautiful pink lips that you knew they knew how to kiss. And lick. And fuck. And make someone come.
“You’re a good priest Father Barba,” you whispered. “But you’re also a good man. And doesn’t a good man deserve a little indulgence every now and then?”
The tension in the room was thick, the air electric. You almost felt moved to tears in the desperate way you wanted him. And he wanted you.
The sound of sirens blaring broke the spell. You both jumped apart. You both stared at each other. Rafael couldn’t help but notice that you were flushed, and that flush was making its way down. You worried your bottom lip.
“It’s late,” you rushed. “I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.”
You spun on your heels and was about to dash out the door when Rafael gripped your wrist, pausing you in the middle of the door.
You looked back up at him with wide eyes.
“You start Monday,” Rafael gruffed. You nodded, unable to say anything.
You managed to squeak out an ‘okay.’ And before you realized it, the door was shut in your face.
—
Your first week was completely uneventful. As is the next. And the week after. You’re the epitome of well behaved and professional much to Rafael’s relief.
That still didn’t mean he didn’t imagine kissing you and then some. Or how when you leaned over his desk, he didn’t imagine lifting up your skirt and plowing into you. Or that when you chewed on your pen cap, he didn’t imagine his cock between your plump, soft lips.
Under the collar, he still was very much a man.
And you didn’t let him forget it. He lost track of the amount of times he had to get himself off. And still it didn’t nothing to quell the ache for you.
You threw yourself into the work and you actually found it quite fulfilling. You made plenty of friends and found yourself volunteering in other parts of the church - like working at the food pantry or singing as part of the church choir.
Summer ebbed into Fall. The air grew cooler. The days started to grow shorter and the leaves, once a vibrant green, were now tinged with yellow and orange, painting the city in a fiery palette.
You were working in the rectory that morning. When Myra, the arthritic receptionist, ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, you eagerly took over the job. You were busy enough with church duties as it was but it made sense for you to take over.
Utilizing your skills from past work experience, you ended up bringing St. Blaise into the 21st century thanks to Intuit and Microsoft.
Since you started, the more Rafael was able to get to know you. In turn, the more he wanted you. He did everything in his power to not even look at you for too long, at least when you were not not looking. It was hard - but Rafael was a glutton for punishment. Being around you made Rafael addicted.
It did seem as if you heeded his words - you were the utmost professional. You did such a good job that Rafael wondered if maybe he had misread the signals altogether and that one night was just the booze.
Then one particular evening, Rafael saw you walking with Maria, her boyfriend, and another gentleman. He didn’t want to stop and say hi - if anything he wanted to avoid it altogether and cross the street but you and him made eye contact. It would have been too awkward to avoid you by that point. It ended with the five of you at the local watering hole - where this gentleman who had his arm wrapped around you. Rafael didn’t enjoy how jealousy washed over him - he knew he did not have any right to you, or your body. And he would never be - you were never together like that.
You were waiting at the bar, ordering another round when Rafael joined you. You looked over at him and gave a small smile.
“So you’re on date then?”
You looked at him incredulously. “Rafael—“
“You live here, you can go on any dates and with whom.”
“He’s just— you and I— we never…
The bartender arrived with your drinks. You went to pay, but Rafael stopped you. “I got it.”
“Don’t you have to take a vow of poverty?” you asked as you grabbed some of the drinks. Rafael grabbed the remainder and the two of you walked back to the booth.
“One of the most common misconceptions about the Catholic priesthood is that all priests take a vow of poverty. In fact, most do not. Diocesan priests do not even make vows, they make “promises” of obedience to their bishop: chastity and to pray the Liturgy of the Hours. Vows, on the other hand, are typically made by members of religious orders, such as Franciscans, Benedictines, Dominicans, etc.”
You nodded. “Got it.”
You walked ahead of Rafael, a sway in your hips as you did so. Rafael’s eyes narrowed and he sucked in a breath as he followed, exhaling slowly.
When your date - Eric - as he later learned - began mouthing off about theology and religion, Rafael rolled his eyes. Still, he wasn’t going to let himself get bested and using the skills he acquired from all the cross examinations he had ever done, basically annihilated the other guy. You snickered behind the glass of your drink but Rafael saw it and felt his chest puff.
At one point - Eric whispered something in your ear. Whatever he said was enough to make you blush and shift in your seat, smiling to yourself like you had a secret. Rafael didn’t miss it at all and he felt himself stiffen and his jaw tighten. Your eyes met once more, and you witnessed the visceral reaction he was having, saw that little flex of his jaw and the way his eyes glittered with something primal and possessive. You could see that part of him would gladly punch Eric, and even as Rafael’s eyes locked with yours, he didn't hide it. Briefly, the kind and generous priest was all gone. Even the smart and sassy lawyer was superseded: you saw the man, capable of lust and jealousy. Over you. The thought of inspiring those feelings in him made heat pool in your body, and you squeezed your thighs together. His eyes registered your expression: you were certain he knew how you felt.
By end of the night, you went to hug him good night but Rafael dodged you. You frowned and bid him adieu as he dipped his head in acknowledgement. Rafael continued to head home - and had he turned around, he would have seen you still standing, watching him.
Another week went by.
The pounding on the door stirred Rafael awake. He looked over at the clock - it was a little after midnight. A breeze blew through, causing a chill to run through his body.
He tugged a t-shirt on and groused that he was on his way.
Rafael was not expecting to see you.
“Father,” you greeted. There was a very large bottle of Macallan in your hand. Your eyes trailed over the very sleepy priest in front of you. His hair was askew and he looked adorable. You swallowed at his tight white shirt and low slung gray sweats.
“What is going on?” Rafael asked. He reached in his pocket for his glasses.
“Fancy a chat about my existential crisis?” You thrusted the bottle of scotch into his arms and walked in, pushing slightly past him.
Rafael got a whiff of your shampoo and it sent all blood straight immediately to his cock. He looks back outside and satisfied not seeing anyone else, closes the door behind him. “Existential crisis?”
“Do you have any glasses?” You ask, ignoring his question, as you look around. You hadn’t ever been inside a priest’s dwelling and you were surprised at how normal it appeared.
“Wow.” You stopped misstep and looked around. “This is not what I expected.”
Rafael rubbed his neck. “Huh? Oh, what did you expect it to look like?”
“I don’t know. More holy? Crosses everywhere. Stacks of bibles? Not something out of an architectural digest - with a kitchen island!”
Rafael laughed. He took the bottle from your hand and walked over to the island where he placed the glasses. “A lot of this is from…” he waved his arm around. “Before.”
“Pre-priest Rafael.” You clarified as you walked over to where he was and took an amber filled glass.
“Yeah,” Rafael replied before taking a long drag of his drink.
You nodded and hummed before taking another sip. “When you were just a man. Who had sex. A lot.”
“I’m still a man.”
“Come on, you know it’s not the same.”
You knew better. You knew you shouldn’t.
What would your friends say, what would they do if they ever find out? What about the congregation and surrounding community?
This was bigger than you, bigger than him. What were you thinking?
But it’s Rafael. Fr. Rafael Barba. Not that it matters - he’s not actually yours. He belongs to God.
But now when he’s staring down at you the way he is right now, teeth catching his full bottom lip, sleep-tousled hair and stormy, smoldering eyes, you can’t help but fall from grace.
“Kiss me.”
“You know we can’t.”
“So? Kiss me anyway.”
“I’m a priest.”
“Kiss me anyway.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
Rafael swallowed the remainder of his drink and let out a huff. He pointed a finger toward you. “You…you’re trouble.”
You closed the gap between you and him. The room felt electric. You pressed your hands onto his chest. “So? Kiss me anyway.”
Rafael sucked in a breath. You press yourself even closer, your hips automatically seeking his. Rafael pushed you away gently. “I told you we can’t. I told you I can’t.”
“Why are you denying what’s between us?” Your hands shook as you poured yourself another glass. You turned and leaned against the island. “God made us to be sexual creatures. It’s his design. It’s his idea, his gift to us.”
Rafael sighed in irritation. “Our sexual desires are no surprise to God. He made us, and He gave us a strong sexual desire to enjoy within the proper context.” He pointed to you and then to himself. “This is not the proper context. If I wasn’t a priest, then it would be different. This is real life. What we do has real consequences.”
“If you weren’t a priest,” you murmured. You swallowed the remainder of your drink and slammed it on the island. Warmth flooded your body and you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or him or a combination of both. Likely the latter. “Tell me you want me. Tell me I was never imagining things.”
Rafael remained silent.
“You have the right to lose control. I know you think—”
“You don’t know what I think,” Rafael acerbically spat. “And no, I don’t have the right.” He began to pace. “You don’t know the misery I live in when you’re not around.”
“And you think I am not?” you questioned. Your voice wavered and your eyes welled with unshed tears. “It’s never been like this with anyone. Never. I want you. I can’t have you. But please - let me live in the solace that you want me too. That I was never imagining any of it. I am going crazy.”
Rafael paused mid-stride and looked at you. He took a deep breath.
“What’s it gonna be? I am begging you.”
It was like something in him snapped when you said that. Rafael slammed his own drink before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He walked over and pressed you against the island. You let out a squeak in response. You could feel how hard he was against your belly. He brushed some of your hair back. Your breath hitched and a flush spread along your skin.
“Say it again.”
“Tell me you want me.”
“No - repeat what you said at the end,” he all but growled. You chewed your bottom lip and nodded.
“I beg you.”
“God help me. You beg so prettily,” Rafael murmured. He pulled at you, hands grabbing at hips, lips crashing into yours in a bruising kiss. It was over before you could register and you pulled back to look into his eyes. You wrapped your hands on his face and then dove back in, returning the kiss, equally as hard.
The momentum was desperate, frenzied, hands everywhere. You let out a gasp as Rafael backed you against the kitchen island. The scruff of his beard dragged against your skin, his lips working your jaw, your ear, moving down your neck, and you let out a strained moan. You pressed your hips upwards into his, feeling his erection. Rafael had to stop and inhale sharply before resuming his attack on your skin. The tips of his fingers find skin under your shirt, and dig into your flesh. One of your hands is twisted in his shirt, the other grasping the waistband of his sweats as he felt a leg curve around his; it was as if your body functioned in tune to keep him as close as possible.
Rafael’s lips found purchase on the hollow of your neck. You let out a groan as you sagged against him, melting into his embrace. The want was overwhelming.
His hands made way to the front of your jeans and he nimbly undid the button and fly before shoving his large hand down your panties. “So wet for me.”
And you are. You’re so fucking wet, it’s obscene.
The tips of his fingers drag through your slit.
“Fuck,” his teeth scraped along your jaw. “You’re soaking.”
He slid two fingers deep inside of you. You keened wordlessly into his shoulder, biting down on his shoulder to suppress a moan.
“No, no, pretty lamb. Look at me,” Rafael husked, his voice laced with an edge of dominance.
You pulled back and met his gaze. His fingers drove deep up into you, pumping, long and needy. His thumb rubbed against your clit. Your blood is boiling, your body vibrating. You’re close. You know it. He knows it. His fingers continue their momentum, finding that spongey spot inside of you that most folks couldn’t ever find.
The walls of your pussy ripple against his fingers. “Be a good little lamb and come for me.” It was Rafael’s turn to beg. “Be my good girl and give it to me.”
You chanted his name as if it were prayer as you come around his fingers. Your body is abuzz, vibrating. You whine out his name in three syllables as you coat his hand with your arousal. Rafael swallowed your cries as he covered your mouth with his. The kiss, which was initially passionate, slowed in intensity, to just soft, slow licks that almost felt reverent, worshipful. Eventually he pressed his forehead to yours and you both drank in each other’s air, breathing heavily. You whimpered as Rafael removed his fingers from your cunt. You watched him with wide eyes as he slipped his fingers into his mouth. His eyes fluttered close as he let out an appreciative sound.
“Do I taste good, Father?” Your voice was laced with lust.
“My sweet, decadent little lamb,” Rafael complimented. “But we cannot do that again.”
“Do what?” You asked as you pushed him off slightly to give yourself room to drop to the floor. You palmed his cock through his pants, pleased with yourself as he groaned with want and need.
A car backfired and the sound caused you both to startle, effectively ending the spell. Rafael helped you up from the ground. “This cannot happen again.” His voice was firm. And before you could protest any more, you found yourself back outside, the door shutting in your face.
Rafael leaned against the door, his head pounding, his cock aching.
‘You idiot! You shouldn’t have done that. Shouldn’t have given in to your melodic voice and sparkling eyes. You had no business being in his life.
But the crack he left open for you made him believe that he had more to lose now than when he met you at the block party all those moons ago.
He rubbed his face, tired and frustrated. And he went back to bed to once again to take matters in his own hands again. ‘Fuck.’
TBC.
59 notes
·
View notes
high infidelity (Enzo Vogrincic x Fem! Reader)
Capítulo 1: https://www.tumblr.com/analisword/742694471701037056/high-infidelity-enzo-vogrinc-x-fem-reader?source=share
Capítulo 2: https://www.tumblr.com/analisword/742809931904925697/high-infidelity-enzo-vogrincic-x-fem-reader?source=share
Capítulo 3: https://www.tumblr.com/analisword/742966287515402240/high-infidelity-enzo-vogrincic-x-fem-reader?source=share
Capítulo 4: https://www.tumblr.com/analisword/743085967194390530/high-infidelity-enzo-vogrincic-x-fem-reader?source=share
Capítulo 5:
Alana no trató de cerrar la puerta silenciosamente cuando regresó a casa a las casi 3 de la mañana, después de firmar los libros de Enzo, se quedaron unas horas más tarde conversando sobre temas banales y bebiendo casi todos los litros de té, para cuando Alana sintió que ya era demasiado tarde, el chico la acompañó hasta su casa en un taxi, cuando se despidieron él la abrazó y le entregó una copia de las llaves de su propio departamento para que Alana fuera a escribir ahí cuando se sintiera lista.
—¿Se puede saber dónde estabas?—preguntó Sebástian parándose bruscamente del sillón una vez que la vio entrar, Alana lo miró de arriba a abajo, se había afeitado la barba y su mirada se veía más relajada a pesar de la preocupación que su tono de voz emanaba, Alana no pudo evitar preguntarse si ambos se encontraban mejor separados—. Son las tres de la mañana, Alana—le recordó cuando ella sólo procedió a quitarse los zapatos.
—Por ahí—dijo, no le apetecía contarle a su novio la maravillosa noche que había pasado a lado de Enzo, probablemente la mejor noche que había pasado en meses y la primera vez que se había sentido escuchada en mucho tiempo.
—Te llamé cientos de veces.
—Y yo te dije que estaba bien.
Sebastián suspiró y se restregó la cara con las manos con frustración.
—La próxima vez que te vayas a desaparecer durante horas, al menos avisa a dónde vas.
—¿Próxima vez?—cuestionó—. ¿Entonces admites que habrá una próxima vez dónde tenga que irme de la puta casa porque no puedes estar cinco minutos sin gritarme?—irónicamente, Alana gritó.
—Ya, amor—exclamó Sebastián acercándose a ella, el labio de Alana tembló, hace mucho no le llamaba de esa manera—. No quiero pelear más—tomó su rostro entre sus manos, pero Alana apartó la cara.
—No estuvo bien la manera en la que me hablaste—dijo—. Acepto tus sentimientos, pero hay manera de expresarlos sin tener que atacarme.
Sebastián parpadeó pesadamente, mordió el interior de su mejilla pero no dijo nada.
—Me iré a dormir—anunció Alana dándose la vuelta dispuesta a irse a su habitación.
—Perdóname—dijo Sebastián a sus espaldas y tomándola de las caderas—. Fui un idiota, no sabía lo que decía—mumuró en su cuello, Alana apretó los ojos, sabía que eso no era cierto, Sebastián había sonado más lúcido que nunca cuando le dijo todas esas cosas hirientes, pero Alana suspiró y se giró hacia él.
—No volvamos a pelear, ¿vale?—murmuró ella, Sebtián le regaló una sonrisa triste y procedió a besarle los labios, Alana se sintió aliviada, pero no sintió nada más.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
—Uy, qué rico—exclamó observando el gran desayuno que había en la mesa mientras Sebastián le servía algo de café.
Habían pasado varios días desde su pelea y las cosas estaban significativamente mejor, después de unos días considerando la propuesta de Enzo, Alana sintió que estaba lista para escribir de nuevo.
—Lo sé—dijo él—. Oye, ¿crees que puedas revisar lo que escribí anoche?—preguntó Sebastián casualmente mientras se sentaba a su lado, Alana le dio un profundo trago al café, no había conversado con Sebastián sobre volver a escribir, pero sabía que quería hacerlo, tenía que hacerlo.
Enzo la estaba impulsando a hacerlo.
—Ehh—dijo Alana rascándose el cuello—. En realidad estaré ocupada hoy—informó—. Termino de desayunar y me voy.
Sebastián frunció el ceño al escucharla y Alana sintió que su corazón escapaba de un latido, no quería volver a discutir con él.
—¿Tienes junta con Maricia?—preguntó confundido, Alana negó con la cabeza.
—He estado pensando—dijo—. Voy a volver a escribir.
Su voz salió firme y decidida, Sebastián dejó caer el tenedor sobre la mesa y se tronó los nudillos, Alana tragó saliva en seco.
—Alana…
—Quiero hacerlo—lo interrumpió—. Necesito hacerlo.
—¿Por qué haces esto?
—¿Por qué hago qué?
—No te importa lo que te dije el otro día.
—Sebastián, no me puedes obligar a no hacer lo que me gusta, también es mi trabajo, los gastos de este departamento también corren por mi cuenta—a decir verdad, la mayoría de los gastos eran cubiertos gracias al dinero de Alana.
—No necesitas trabajar—replicó.
—¡Pero quiero hacerlo! ¡Quiero escribir!
—Estás ayudándome con mi libro.
—No soy una editora, no conozco ese género, ni siquiera recibiré crédito.
—¿Por eso estás haciendo todo esto? ¿Por qué quieres crédito? Pues te lo doy.
—No quiero tu crédito—replicó—. Quiero crear mis propias cosas, extraño hacerlo.
—No mencionaste tener una nueva idea.
—Porque no saldrá nada si no me siento a escribir una jodida palabra, Sebástian—alzó la voz—. Ni siquiera sé si terminaré, no sé si será bueno o si lo que escriba será publicado, lo único que sé es que no puedo seguir encerrada aquí desperdiciando mi vida.
—No tenía idea que eso es lo que sientes a mi lado, que estás desperdiciando tu vida.
—Sabes que eso no es a lo que me refiero.
—Pues vale, haz lo que quieras—exclamó él tomando su plato y dirigiéndose hacia la cocina.
—No estoy cómoda si estás enojado conmigo por hacer lo que más amo en el mundo—gritó Alana caminando tras de él.
—No estoy enojado, sólo estoy decepcionado, pensé que estábamos completamente comprometidos con mi libro.
Alana tomó una bocanada de aire, ¿cómo era posible que la persona que más creía conocer en el mundo luciera como un completo extraño en estos momentos?
—Te sigo apoyando, pero también debo hacer lo mío.
—Entiendo—suspiró—. Tienes razón, no puedo prohibirte de escribir—Alana asintió al escucharlo.
—Bueno, me voy.
—¿No vas a escribir acá?
Alana lo miró con obviedad.
—No me siento cómoda escribiendo aquí…Renté una pequeña oficina por la ciudad, estaré escribiendo ahí—mintió, no tenía intención de contarle a Sebastián que la supuesta oficina en realidad era el departamento de Enzo.
Su novio tardó un tiempo en asimilar la información hasta que habló.
—De acuerdo, que te vaya bien.
Alana apretó los labios y asintió, salió del departamento directo al hogar de Enzo.
El departamento de Enzo estaba vacío, como era de esperarse.
El actor le había informado que estaría todo el día filmando y que le había asignado un lugar para escribir a un lado de su habitación, Alana pensó que se sentiría como una intrusa al entrar al departamento por su propia cuenta, pero no lo hizo, se había estado mensajeando un montón con Enzo, la mayoría de las veces el chico la motivaba a que retomara la escritura y cuando ella le informó que finalmente lo haría, él le dijo que arreglaría un espacio de inmediato.
Era un poco extraña la situación, por un lado, aún le parecía raro asimilar el hecho de que su actor favorito era su nuevo amigo, pero por otro lado, conversar con él se sentía jodidamente familiar.
No podía pensar en alguien mejor para relacionarse en la ciudad y confesarle sus más profundos secretos.
Alana cerró la puerta a sus espaldas y caminó hacia el estudio que Enzo había preparado para ella.
Cuando ingresó a la habitación quedó completamente embellecida, había un escritorio algo antiguo enfrente de la ventana, Alana sintió nostalgia, en México era justo así como escribía, recordó habérselo comentando a Enzo sin intención aparente, pero el chico claramente había tomado esa información de la manera más adecuada posible.
El lugar tenía ese característico olor de incienso de lavanda, Enzo se había tomado la molestía de mudar un par de libros y cuadros de la sala a la habitación y había llenado el lugar de flores naturales, Alana se encontraba sin palabras, lo único que había pedido era un escritorio y una silla, pero Enzo hasta había decorado el lugar.
La habitación tenía un precioso color verde, Alana no pudo evitar pasar sus manos por la pared, sin embargo, una humedad las recibió, Alana se miró los dedos y los encontró ligeramente manchados.
No podía creer que Enzo había pintado el lugar de su color favorito.
''Me encanta, gracias'' le escribió sentándose en la cómoda silla del escritorio y procediendo a sacar su laptop.
''No es nada. No puedo esperar para leer cualquier cosa que vayas a crear. Buena suerte (que no la necesitás)''.
Alana sonrió al leer el mensaje, apenas colocó sus dedos en las teclas de la computadora, no paró de escribir en todo el día.
36 notes
·
View notes