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“Shh,” he hissed. “Gertrude is mad at her son for still wearing black.”

“Faulkner stumped you but Shakespeare is getting through?” I rolled my eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t sandbag Lit to make my life a living hell.”

“Faulkner sucked,” he said, looking up to meet my gaze. “This is okay. And I was already failing Lit before I even knew you were here.” He let out a soft sigh. “Andy, I wish you’d let me apologize.”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Why?”

“Because if you apologize, then I’m going to forgive you. And if I forgive you then I’m going to kiss you. And if I kiss you then I’m going to absolutely lose myself.” I gave him a weak smile. “I always wanted to be a priest. I knew I could never bring shame on my parents by being openly gay, so it wasn’t like a relationship was ever going to be possible anyway. And faith is comforting. And I love the romanticism of studying and learning and burying myself in tomes that haven’t seen sunlight in hundreds of years.”

“Plus the wardrobe,” he added, nodding. “Very sexy.”

“Stop it.” I chuckled softly. “This is what I want, Trevor.”

“But you want me, too,” he whispered.

“Yes, I do,” I admitted, my fingers still carding through his hair as if I couldn’t even bear to not be touching him. “You’ve always confused the hell out of me. For the longest time I didn’t know if my reactions to you were because of you, or because of what you were doing to me. If my pain and pleasure circuits were wired wrong or something.”

“Did you figure it out?” he asked, his tone almost cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer or not.

Honestly, I didn’t want to tell him. But we’d come this far tonight in our honesty, and I didn’t want to start lying to him now.

“Sort of,” I admitted. “I tried confession, I tried therapy, I tried ignoring it…but eventually, I just had to know. So in the year I spent between high school and college I went away and tried to figure it out for myself.”

“So you have been with other guys?” There was no judgement in his voice, which was good. Because he had no room to judge me. I didn’t owe him my virtue or anything else. “You’ve been hurt by other men?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“And?”

“And I like pain,” I said. “But it’s different with you. My body has never reacted to anyone the way it reacts to you. You’re like a goddamned drug. Once I got that first taste…I was fucked.”

We stared at each other for a long time. It could have been seconds, or minutes or even hours. Like the incident in the classroom, my brain sent the moment to the time rift, where it just didn’t matter. It became unlike real life completely. Because it had to.

“I’m sorry, Andy.”

“I forgive you.”

He lifted up toward me as I bent forward and our lips parted as our mouths slid over each other’s, tongues running slowly against one another as my eyes closed and Trevor’s hand cupped my jaw.

As the kiss deepened, his fingers moved lower, squeezing over my throat gently, drawing a low moan from my chest.

Why? Why did it have to be so fucking good?

Without breaking the kiss, or his contact with my throat, he shifted his body so he was straddling my lap, his erection pressed against mine, his fingers tightening slightly as his other hand slid into my hair, tugging the strands firmly to urge my head back further.

God, I wanted him.

“I can’t do this,” I said, breaking the kiss as I pushed him off of me. I climbed out of bed to put distance between us then turned back to face him. “Trevor, I’m going to be a priest. I can’t keep doing this with you.”

“You were going to be a priest when you let other guys touch you last year. Let men hurt you. Why is this different?”

“Because it is,” I insisted. “Last year I wasn’t in the program yet. It was like…I don’t know…a gap year that didn’t count because I wasn’t on the path yet. But now I am.”

“Sounds like semantics to me,” he challenged, getting to his feet and standing in front of me. “Sounds like an excuse.”

“It’s all semantics,” I said. “You draw a line for yourself. This is my line. St. Catherine’s was the line.”