Monsignor Timothy Howard's preoccupation with Mary Eunice raged; furious, heated, throbbing. He ventured on obsession, until it was she he thought about at every moment of every day. The Lord knew. How it must look, the recesses of his mind. Unsettling for a common man, repulsive for a man of the Church. The Sister didn't help things; she'd taken up an especial interest in him recently, as if she knew his secret, as if she could smell it.
She'd been kneading dough in the bakery when he'd wandered in for a spare cookie off the hot baking rack. He'd expected one of the charges. He found Mary Eunice, her fingers crawling delicately over the dough, mashing it down into the flour, lifting it carefully, and repeating the process again. She didn't even look up, but he knew she was aware it was him.
"Sister," he said gently, walking right by her but feeling her proximity like delicious static.
"Monsignor," she said to the dough. A slight smile was playing on her lips, her hands playing in the dough.
He knew he should have taken the cookie and left, returned to his office where he could eat it in silence, by himself, his lap hidden under his desk. But he couldn't. Instead, he sat down at a chair across from the table Mary Eunice was working on.
"Might snow," she muttered, flashing her eyes briefly to the ceiling. They caught the light of the fire and flickered something inside.
Monsignor Howard took a final bite of the still-warm sugar cookie, dusted his fingers off and put a leg up over his knee. "That would be pleasant, wouldn't it? I always found snow quite calming."
"I always liked trying to catch it on my tongue," Mary Eunice smiled to the side, pausing from her kneading and suddenly exactly like innocent, sweet girl that he'd known for so long.
She went back to the dough and it was lost in the shadows of the flickering firelight. The Monsignor wondered if she wanted him to leave. She was magnetic.
Absently he though of something to talk about, something to break the silence, in which he could almost hear her soft breathing and feel the warmth of her skin, though she was many feet away.
"Miss Jude," she stated. He thought it was probably a question.
"I had to release her," he said gently, unsure if she was speaking for herself. "She's… well, she's in our care now."
A curious smirk split across her face, but she said nothing.
"In fact," He stood. "I'd best be getting on. I have much to attend to in her absence."
Mary Eunice turned from the dough and leaned against the table. "If you need anything, Monsignor.. any… help…"
He avoided letting his eyes trail down her body to her long, beautiful legs. Instead, her eyes held him. He felt as though he would burst, and miraculously pulled himself out the kitchen with only a nod. He walked back to his office trying to clear the image of himself lifting her up onto the table, sliding up her skirts and taking her, the flour streaking her pantyhose and her hands holding his head…
He walked past Jude's former room and office, and something caught his eye. A soft red cloth was hanging out of a box of her things, and it burned brightly against the bland room as if it were on fire. He picked it up. The fabric was silky and he instantly recognized it. It was the nightgown Sister Mary Eunice had worn in his many dreams, both asleep and awake. But how had he known?
He stared at it with an excited horror. He'd never seen the garment before, yet it haunted him repeatedly.
"Apparently she had quite the secret in her life," her voice was as velvety as the garment. She'd followed him.
"Sister," he smiled, trying to look innocent and lowering the nightgown guiltily. "You startled me."
"I'm just putting away her things," she smiled, setting a stack of black clothing in the box.
She saw the nightgown and her eyes burned again. She walked over to him and picked it up off of his lap. "I wonder who she was fancying when she wore it."
She was holding it up close to her own body. He could see it, the strap falling off her left shoulder slightly as she raised and lowered herself on top of him, her smooth voice whimpering irresistibly.
As if lost in his own mind, he barely noticed or heard her as she lowered herself the chair before him and said something about filling Sister Jude's shoes. He snapped to just as her deep eyes looked up at him and she said, "I'm here to serve you. I want to help you save souls… all the way to Rome."
Her severity and lowered voice, the begging in her eyes… she might as well have told him to take her, because that's what she was implying. She knew the effect she was having, and her eyes were dancing over his trousers., her fingers crawling up them. He felt himself inhale, hoping it would give him the strength to pull away from her, scold her for her actions, tell her how nervous he was and how innocent…
But he said nothing, and instead found his hand sliding the veil off of her head and revealing the golden locks beneath. Her rosary glared up at him from around her neck, and he absently brought his hand down to it and slid it around to her back, hiding the Lord's eyes from the sin he could no longer resist.