Parker's POV
His shirt fell off his shoulders, and I just stared. My head was spinning, heart pounding so loud I could barely hear anything else. He stood there in front of me—Padre Sergio. The priest. The man who prayed over Mario's grave just hours ago. Now half-naked in my private lounge, eyes looking into mine like he saw something more than just an Alpha lost in grief.
Then his hands moved to my shirt.
He touched me softly, like he didn't want to scare me. My breath hitched. I should've stopped him. I should've said something. But I didn't. Because of the alcohol. My arms just stayed still as he slowly unbuttoned my shirt. My heart was racing, and my mind screamed this was wrong—but my body wasn't listening.
I was drunk, I told myself. He was too. That had to be it.
But the way he touched me… it didn't feel like something casual. It felt… tender. His fingers brushed my chest, and my whole body tensed. I looked at his face again. He wasn't rushing. His eyes looked almost sad. Soft. Loving?
What was this?
He leaned in and kissed me again, slower this time. Like he was trying to tell me something with his mouth. Something deeper than words. His lips moved to my jaw, then to my neck. My hands gripped his arms without even thinking. I felt like I was floating. Like I wasn't even inside my body anymore.
He pulled me closer and whispered, "I want to feel you."
That voice… soft but thick with desire. It shook something inside me.
My breath caught again.
"Sergio…" I said his name, unsure what I even wanted to say. Maybe stop. Maybe don't stop.
He kissed me again, deeper this time, and pressed his body against mine. I could feel his need. It matched mine. I didn't even realize I had started to undress until my own shirt dropped to the floor, and his hands were at my waist.
Then he looked up into my eyes.
"Do it with me," he said.
Just like that.
His voice was gentle, not forceful. But it stunned me all the same.
My eyes widened. "What?"
He nodded once. "I want you."
The room felt too small. My throat closed up. I was still trying to process his words when he kissed me again, and this time, there was no hesitation. I let go. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the emptiness inside me. Maybe it was the fact that for one second, I didn't feel so damn alone.
The next moment, our belt unbuckled and our trousers fell to the floor. We effortlessly stepped out of it and then I was going to bend, I'd always been the one fucking but seeing how he initiated the act, I thought he would take this position from me.
"No." He groaned. "Fuck me!" His voice felt like a soft, romantic plea in my ears. Sergio brushed over me, bending over the bed and spreading his asshole before me. Adrenaline rushed through me like lightning. My eyes flickered and my hands grabbed his ass. My cock was now rock hard. My breaths were heavy. Each moment I delayed, it seemed as though my heart would burn. I had to do this quickly.
With one fiery pull, I thrust into him. We released a loud groan in unison. Pain and ecstasy mixing together. We wanted this. I pushed harder, while fiddling with his nipples. My hands grabbing his breasts pushed his body up, when my lips rested on his neck, kissing and biting so hard.
With each second, the thrusts went deeper and deeper and the groans grew louder and louder. We moved together, his status forgotten. His body was warm, skin smooth under my hands. He made soft sounds that sent sparks through my blood. It was like the grief and the guilt vanished for a moment. Just his breath in my ear, his body on mine, his fingers tangled with mine.
I forgot about everything else.
The pain.
The funeral.
The world.
It was just us. Two broken men, so I thought. Clinging to whatever warmth we could find.
When we were done, we lay there in silence. Our breathing slowed. The room smelled like sweat and firewood. His head rested on my shoulder. My arm wrapped around his waist.
We fell asleep like that.
___
But the morning didn't care how peaceful and pleasurable the night had been. Sunlight leaked through the windows. The fire was out. The room was cold. My mouth was dry. My head is heavy, but not drunk. Just… tired.
And then I felt him shift beside me.
I opened my eyes slowly.
Sergio was already awake, sitting up on the edge of the bed. The blanket wrapped around his waist. His back was to me, but I could see the way his shoulders were hunched. Like he was carrying a new kind of weight.
I sat up too, the ache in my chest returning like a slow punch.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at the floor. Then, after a long pause, he said, "I shouldn't have done that." His voice was flat. Quiet. But not confused. He knew exactly what happened. And he regretted it. I said nothing. My throat was tight.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh. "This was a mistake."
That hurt more than I expected.
I stared at him. "You said you wanted it. Besides, you initiated it."
"I did," he said quickly, almost like he was trying to defend himself. "I still do. That's the problem." Then he looked at me over his shoulder, and his eyes looked pained. "But I can't, Parker. I'm not supposed to."
I swallowed hard. "Because you're a priest?"
He nodded. "A werepriest. A missionary one at that. I don't even belong to a single pack for a long time. I can travel off at any time, so I don't need to get entangled with anyone on my missionary work. I go where I'm sent. Different towns. Different packs. I'm not... allowed to stay."
He turned to face me fully, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.
"I shouldn't even be gay," he said, almost to himself. "That's not how the life of a priest is supposed to be."
I blinked at him. My stomach twisted.
"You think it was just wrong because I'm a man?" I asked slowly.
"No. No," he said, eyes wide. "That's not what I meant. I mean... It's wrong because of what I am. What I swore to. The vows. My mission. Everything."
I nodded slowly, biting down on the hurt inside me.
"So last night meant nothing?"
He looked away.
"I didn't say that," he whispered. "It meant something. Too much, maybe. That's why I can't let it happen again."
I stared at him. My chest was tight again. That same choking feeling from the funeral. I should've known better. I really should've. He stood up and started putting his clothes back on. My eyes stayed on the floor. I didn't want to look at him anymore. Didn't want to see the guilt on his face. It only made the pain sharper.
"I shouldn't have stayed back last night," he said as he slipped his shirt on. "I let emotions and wine mess with my head."
"And I didn't?" I snapped, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "You think I planned this? Oh goddess!!!"
"Mario must be turning in his grave, I couldn't even wait for him to turn into a skeleton. Here I was having fun with someone else and here you are, adding more salt to my wound with everything you're saying."
He paused, hands stilling on his collar. "No. I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."
Silence.
Heavy. Ugly silence.
I stood up, pulled on my jeans, and turned my back to him.
"I get it," I said finally. "It was just one night. We'll assume we never formed that bond. One day, you'll leave here to whichever country they send you to next. And I'll stay here, pretending last night didn't matter."
He moved closer. "Parker..."
"Don't," I said, not turning around. "Just go."
He didn't argue. I heard him walk toward the door. Then he paused again. "I did care," he said quietly. "I still do." My heart cut and tears sprouted from my eyes. My wolf howled in pain at seeing him go. I hadn't even completed my heat cycle, besides it was more than that. My wolf accepted him after Mario.
Then the door opened. He was out. And closed. I was alone again. Just like before.
I walked to the window and looked outside. The sun was too bright. The world felt like it was moving on too fast.
It was supposed to be just the grief I was feeling. Now it was grief, regret and hurt.
And something else I didn't want to name.
My chest ached, but this time it wasn't from Mario. It was from something fresh. A new wound layered over the old one. I let myself feel it. Then I forced myself to shut it away. Because the truth was simple.
Padre Sergio is a priest. A werepriest. A missionary. He wasn't mine. Could never be mine.
Whatever happened last night… it was just that.
One night.
And that was all it would ever be.