He had been anxious all day - feeling like he'd swallowed a cannon ball. The moment his cell phone lit up with an unfamiliar number his breath hitched and it took all the self-control he could muster not to swipe to accept the call immediately.
Mustn't look too desperate, Killian. Don't let them know you've just been sitting here staring at the damned phone.
There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears as he heard the person on the other end of the line say the magic words he was hoping to hear.
"We'd love to have you come aboard here, Father. We think you're going to be a great fit for our church community."
Of course he'd happily accepted, with the caveat that he still needed to break the news to the Bishop and make sure they had a replacement lined up for him. He didn't want to leave the parish in a lurch, after all.
"Not a problem, Father Jones. We've got a decent pool of guest speakers to pull from. Just let us know when you find out more."
He couldn't stop smiling - and as soon as Emma showed up he felt like he'd burst with joy. For a while they just held each other tightly as she congratulated him, but with his solid body pressed into a perfect line along hers, it didn't take long for her mind to wander.
"Feel like celebrating, Father?" She said coyly as she rolled up onto her toes, pressing her hips into his gently for emphasis.
He broked into a flirtatious smile before flicking his tongue out to wet his lips.
" 'd you have in mind?" Even while he said it he reached down to grab her ass harshly - he knew exactly what she had in mind, and if he was being honest, it's exactly what he wanted.
"Well, since we don't have all that much longer to fulfill my naughty priest wishlist," she looked up at him through her lashes and he was nearly knocked back with how beautiful she was in that moment. "I was thinking maybe we'd tackle something from the list."
He didn't need reminding what was left - he'd had the bloody thing memorized since she said it - fueling his fantasies while he was in the shower, when he woke up in the middle of the night, sometimes while he was daydreaming at this desk.
Just thinking about it was making his blood boil as his pupils dilated from desire and his mind swirled with possibilities.
Seeing him go from almost boyishly excited to nearly overwhelmed with arousal sent a rush of wetness straight between her thighs.
In an instant he had pushed her up against the door and was kissing her senseless - his tongue tangling with hers as his hand slipped up to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair while his damaged arm settled at the gentle curve of her waist.
He pulled back from her enough to choke out the word "Pulpit", and her lips curved into a devious smile.
"Lucy?" she asked as he released her enough to unlock the office door.
"Gone." He huffed as he practically dragged her down the stairs to the church's main entrance.
He took long strides between the pews and she was lightly jogging to keep up with him. His sense of urgency turned her on even more as he led her up toward the pulpit.
There was a part of him that wanted to slow down, to make love to her the way he'd wanted to since they first met - slowly, reverently, with freedom from the guilt that had racked his consciousness since his first impure thoughts of her.
But he's already too far gone for her to fight it, and the thrill of being so relatively out in the open, the grand arches of the ceiling towering high above them a sharp contrast to the confines of his small apartment (which they'd fully "christened" by now), was a tantalizing option in its own right.
As he reached the steps leading to the podium his footing faltered - Emma was so eager she hadn't noticed until she overtook him, her grip on his hand tightening as he stayed still at the bottom step while she ascended.
She turned back to see his face turn contemplative for a brief moment, while he bent on one knee and made the sign of the cross. She'd seen him do it many times during mass - the best she could figure, it was like a rule.
Emma hardly had time to take in the sight before he was looking up at her with his shockingly blue eyes - his pensive expression replaced with one of unabashed adoration.
Though she would never admit it, the vision of him on one knee, looking at her like she was moon and the stars made her weak in the knees in a silly romantic way that terrified her.
Snap out of it, Emma. She chastised herself.
"Sorry," he offered, following her up the steps. "Old habits - and the way I figure it, I've got plenty to atone for already - or I plan to anyway."
He didn't give her a chance to ask any more questions, as he lunged toward her, capturing her lips in a searing kiss and pulling her tightly into his firm body - the evidence of his arousal pressing insistently against her stomach.
She gasped at the sensation, and he took the opportunity to tilt his head and deepen their already passionate kiss. Emma found herself stumbling backward a little as he continued pressing into her. He started kind of steering her with the pressure of his hips until she felt her back hit the podium.
Her hands found their way to his belt buckle as she fumbled with the metal clasp - her hand accidentally rubbing against his straining cock caused him to hiss through gritted teeth and snap his eyes closed.
She felt so empowered with him like this - utterly wrecked at even her most delicate (even accidental) touches. A new wave of lust swept over her and she continued to work at his pants while she leaned forward to devour his mouth yet again in hot, open-mouthed kisses.
When she finally wrapped her fingers around his length he groaned loudly and made a face that she otherwise would've assumed was displaying pain - but as she stroked him languidly, she knew better.
He was in agony. Blissful agony.
"Enough of that. Need you now" he spat out as he forcefully turned her around to face the empty pews - an imaginary audience to the x-rated show they were putting on.
He slipped his hand up her skirt (thank God she wore this today, he thought to himself - musing that he probably would've died in anticipation if he'd had to undress her properly).
Trailing his fingers up her hip until he found the lace of her panties, he hooked them roughly and pulled them down and she stepped out of them dazedly.
He slipped them into the pocket of his trousers and rolled his hips into her, reveling in the much needed friction. He unclicked his prosthetic and took a moment to set it on the small shelf in the podium before slowly sliding the blunt end of his damaged arm down the supple curve of her back while she bent forward for him.
He growled lowly at this sight of her like this, skirt hiked up her hips, wantonly bent over the pulpit - presenting herself to him like the most incredible of dreams. He tilted his hips so that the head of his cock nudged against her soaking entrance.
She whined at the contact, wanting so much more. He teased a little longer, nudging himself in another half-inch before pulling all the way back out. Back in a full inch, and out.
It was the most inspiring kind of torture, and by the sounds escaping her throat she was enjoying it (and hating it) just as much as he was. It was like experiencing that glorious first push over and over again.
But before long he was fully seated within her - pushing into her welcoming heat before pulling at the way back out, and once he got there, his speed picked up.
He thrust into her in earnest now, bringing his good hand to grip her hip tightly as he probed her deeply - bottoming out more than once and making her cry out in an incredible mixture of pain and pleasure.
He seemed more reckless than usual - nearly frantic in his need for her as he brought her higher and higher, the feeling of him losing control because of her drove her absolutely wild.
She started bucking her hips back into his in rhythm, and he grunted and moaned at the change in pressure, his breathing ragged and heavy.
"Is this what you wanted?" He gritted, not slowing his pace as he brought his hand down to her sensitive bundle of nerves - wanting to hear her cry out his name like a prayer in this sanctuary.
"God, yes" she said breathily, jumping at the sensation of him swiping her arousal over her clit and starting to rub tight circles over her. "Oh, fuck, yes!"
He laughed darkly at her words, and teased - "Language, darling - we're in a church after all..."
Though she couldn't actually see his face, she knew exactly the smug and coy expression he was wearing - she could hear it in the lilt of his voice.
She resolved to make him pay for that - snaking a hand down between their legs to cup his balls as he rocked into her.
"Fucking hell!" he shouted at the intensity of the feeling, and her lips curved into a wicked smile.
"Language, Father," she retorted, before pulling her hand back up to brace herself on the podium again.
He pulled his hand from her clit and grabbed her wrist (almost too strongly), and pushed it back between their legs.
"Don't you dare stop," he growled in her ear - sending yet another rush of arousal coursing through her veins.
She cupped him again, starting to gently massage in the same rhythm of his hips, his thrusts slowly picking up the pace again until the only sounds were of her whimpers, his groans, and the steady slap of skin.
All too soon she found herself right at the edge of her orgasm - the combination of him thick and hard dragging along her silky walls, his balls heavy in her delicate hand, her wrist pressing deliciously against her throbbing nub causing her to see stars.
"So close," she warned, rolling her hips in circles to chase her pleasure.
"Come for me, love" he pleaded with her. "I want to hear you scream for me."
His words were like a command she couldn't help but follow - and he cried his name out over and over again as she fell. She squeezed around his cock harshly as everything in her body tensed and shook in sheer ecstasy.
He loved it when she was loud - bucking into him wildly as she relished in the waves of pleasure he brought her. Her release triggered his own, and a string of curses fell from his lips as he jerked a few final thrusts into her - his cum shooting into her in thick creamy ribbons.
It was astounding that they were still standing - and he felt the moment her legs started to give out. He brought his arm up to support her while he shimmied his pants back up - the sight of his seed dripping down her thighs sending him headlong into another wave of lust.
He forced the feeling back down (she looked exhausted, and to be honest, he was too) and he guided her her down the steps to the front pew and laid her down softly so she could rest.
She felt the bench creak as he sat next to her, gently caressing her legs as they caught their breath.
"That was…" he licked his lips as he fought to find the right words.
"Earth shattering?" she offered weakly.
He giggled (actually giggled - like a schoolgirl), and while he recognized his silliness should be embarrassing, his brain was so awash in dopamine - he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Indeed, lass. Indeed."
They sat there in contented silence for a while - both beaming ludicrously as they came down from their overwhelming high. Eventually she sat up and turned around to lay her head in his lap, loving at the way his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed thickly at the change in position.
She blinked up at him through her lashes, emerald eyes shining with what he hoped was the same love he felt for her.
"Killian?" she sounded quiet and serious.
"Mmm," he hummed in response, tucking a stray strand of golden hair behind her ear.
"Are you worried?"
He furrowed his brow in consternation.
"About what, love?"
She bit her lip shyly before continuing. "About us."
His hand stilled for a moment.
"Should I be?"
"Well, no - I mean -" she fidgeted a little. "I mean, you're a priest. And you're giving that all up - for us. But what if… what if we don't work out? Then you gave it all up for nothing."
His heart swelled with adoration for the concern she was showing him - that kind of empathy had been all too rare in his life.
"I'm not worried, lass." He soothed, once again stroking the soft hair at her temple.
"But why not?" she questioned.
"Because… because even though the church means a great deal to me, I never really fit in here in the Catholic denomination specifically. It's not just for us. It's for me."
His adam's apple bobbed again as he gulped down the fear he felt for the words he wanted to say next.
"Darling Emma," he cooed, tilting her head a little so he could look her in the eyes. "You may not be ready to hear it, but I love you. I know that I love you. I will always love you, regardless of how you feel for me - I will always love you. You've brought me back to myself - you make me want to be the man I forgot I could be - and even if you leave me, I will never go back to just getting by, like I was before."
She felt unwelcome tears pricking her eyes at the sentiments he'd expressed. There was something incredibly poetic in the fact that she'd spent so much of her life trying to be "bad," only to be told that she inspired someone to be their best.
"Killian, I…" she started - but he cut her off gently.
"Shhh… It's alright love. I know you can't reciprocate yet. But I'm hopeful that someday you will - and we've all the time in the world." He smiled at her kindly, with all of the ease and true understanding she'd craved for years.
"It's not that," she pushed herself up from his lap and turned to face him. "Killian, I think I'm in love with you, too."
It was oddly freeing - saying it out loud. She expected to feel a pit of anxiety in her stomach over the admission, but somehow she felt almost lighter.
Now it was his turn to feel the sting of tears threatening to fall - his brother Liam's voice in his ears teasing "that's terribly emasculating, Jones. Get it together before she changes her mind, wanker."
"Truly, Emma?" His voice was trembling, and she brought her hand up to the scruff on his jawline, making sure he could read the certainty in her features.
"Yes. I think I've been in love with you for a while now, it was just… it was a little scary. I've just got a lot of baggage, you know?"
He smiled softly, "Aye, love. But I'll happily carry your baggage for you from here on out."
His chest felt like it would burst with pride - and by the time they made it back to his apartment they were both exhausted (from their exercise as well as their emotionally weighty conversation.)
When he woke in the middle of the night to her snoring on his chest he broke into a wide grin.
He was almost unbearably happy, and while he knew he had to have the difficult conversation with the bishop tomorrow, for now he was determined to revel in the moment.
That night he dreamt of their perfect life together - even of a little girl with his dark hair and her bright green eyes. He couldn't have known that something trying was headed their way - and as it often goes, the good times go by far too quickly - while the troubling ones tend to linger.