For when you need that quick fix.
A collection of romance short stories: including fluff, drama, and smut (18+; there will be a disclaimer on the respective chapters!).
***Taking requests! Just DM me a prompt/trope and any details you have in mind...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Sophrosyne (n): an ideal of excellence of character and soundness of mind, which when combined in one well-balanced individual leads to other qualities, such as temperance, moderation, prudence, purity, decorum, and self-control.
-PART TWO-
"Is it- is it wrong to want to feel good?" Iyana questioned.
Father Jethro smiled at her. "Now that's a complex question. Is there something more specific you are referring to?"
"I think I have contracted some sickness, Father."
He tilted his head back, assessing her. "What do you mean?" He asked, voice low.
"I feel so warm all the time. I cannot focus. My mind keeps wandering. I keep– I keep aching. And even when I massage myself it doesn't always help." She got out in a rush.
Father Jethro took a few steps closer to her until they stood face to face, in between the first row of pews. He placed his hand on her forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever. Your whole body aches?"
"No. Just a certain part."
"Where?"
Iyana looked down in embarrassment.
Father Jethro took in her disposition and reevaluated her words before understanding. "It's okay, my child, we all are tested by temptation." He sat back down and took her hands in his. "Tell me what happened."
"I keep wanting, Father. It feels so good when I touch myself there. Is it wrong? Sister Denise was so upset. Is touching myself there so wrong?"
"What you were feeling– that insatiable want– is lust, my child."
"Lust?"
"Yes, have you never felt aroused before this?" The priest almost sounded shocked.
Iyana shook her head.
"What brought this on all of a sudden? What changed?" The priest asked, his intrigue piqued. The girl was young but not that young.
Iyana remained silent, her hands fiddling with the cord tied around her waist.
He gently shook their conjoined hands once, firmly. "Look at me, Iyana."
Iyana pursed her lips, her eyes trailed up his exposed forearm, along his jaw, and met the dark eyes of the man before her. She could feel the neurons at the tips of her fingers again.
His hand came up to rest on her cheek and her breath caught in her throat. Jethro took in the young woman's flustered state. Confidence pulsed through his veins. He knew exactly what had aroused the naive postulant that stood like a chastised child.
