The First Betrayal by A. M. Clarke Page A

licked her own juices from her lovers lips, Mike nearly lost his mind. They kissed like teenagers on a first date, devouring each other as if their very lives depended on it. He withdrew to the sacristy and from there out to his house. Aching with a newfound desire, Mike paced the floor in the sitting room, swallowing gulps of a large whiskey.
    Was God testing him, to make the right decision, or did He expect him to fail. Something was very wrong, over the last two days; he had felt a sinister presence on the island. Stephen thought he was being paranoid, but there was definitely more going on than mere coincidence. The more whiskey he swallowed, the aching became tolerable. That was until Evelyn entered the room. She was either very quiet, or Mike had been so caught up in his own misery, that he hadn’t heard her.
    ‘Hello Father Mike, I hope you don’t mind my intrusion. I just happened to be in the area, and thought I’d stop by.’ Mike didn’t know what to say, so said nothing.
    ‘I know you were there Father Mike, I could sense you watching. Did you enjoy what you saw, or were you jealous perhaps?’
    ‘Why would I be jealous?’ and damn it, he could hear the tremor in his own voice.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you here?’ Mike tried to regain some semblance of authority. He thought his voice sounded more like his own, but the look on Evelyn’s face said otherwise.
    ‘You were watching us Father Mike, and, you were enjoying our little show. Ill ask again, did you enjoy our irreverent behaviour, I refuse to believe that you are immune to normal sexual desires. You may be a priest, but you are still a man. A man in which I have smelled a wretched yearning. Like it or not Father Mike, you are just like every other man, horny and human.’  Evelyn dropped on to the sofa, draping herself seductively across its flowery fabric. Her beauty spoke without words, eyes greener than a fresh mown lawn and she smelt even sweeter.  Hair like coloured mahogany wood nestled on her shoulders, the curls sitting happily on her buxom breasts. She was arrogant in her self-assurance, and almost repulsive in her sexual exuberance.
    Mike was lost. Words that hadn’t even formed dyed in his throat, a libido he never knew existed, burned in his loins. He was in turmoil over the effects that his body had developed since meeting this bewitching woman. She was a temptress, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could resist. Rummaging up all his will power, he drew upon the sermon that he had written only a short while before, and sucking in his gut and groin, inhaled some moxey. He was an ordained priest, and he held his vows seriously. Some random woman wasn’t about to undermine his lifelong beliefs and desecrate the holy order that he held more dear than life itself.
    Dear god, the smell of her was overwhelming. It was like burnt roses with a splash of freesias. Sultry and sweet.
    ‘I think you should leave. Your futile efforts to seduce me are disrespectful and comical in there transparency.’
    ‘I might be transparent, but I know weakness when I smell it, and Mike, you positively reek. In fact, I have seen your weakness bulging, so do not kid yourself. You want me and I want to desecrate you and your chaste vows.’
    ‘For the last time, get out. My body might be showing weakness, but my head and heart will always overpower and defeat.’
    ‘All right Father Mike, Ill go, but I don’t like to lose, so I won’t be giving up.’   
    Mike slumped into the nearest chair, his legs suddenly losing the ability to hold him up. His heart was thumping in his chest, a mixture of temper and shame burning his face.

 
    Chapter Twenty Five
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    The trees were closing in, trying to pull her into their grasp. The naked limbs pale and ghostly, made an eerie noise, like dried brittle bones chaffing each other. She ran on, blind with panic and tears. Her screams were indistinguishable from the owls