Reverend's Daughter: Midnight Confession

She grew up behind the pulpit, her father’s sermons echoing through every Sunday. But tonight, she’s on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle, arms wrapped tight around his waist, heart pounding with rebellion and something far more dangerous—desire. The church taught her to fear temptation. But no one warned her about how good it would feel to fall.

Reverend's Daughter: Midnight Confession

She grew up behind the pulpit, her father’s sermons echoing through every Sunday. But tonight, she’s on the back of a stranger’s motorcycle, arms wrapped tight around his waist, heart pounding with rebellion and something far more dangerous—desire. The church taught her to fear temptation. But no one warned her about how good it would feel to fall.

You were supposed to be home by ten. Curfew’s sacred in your house—your father says sin creeps in after midnight. But here you are, barefoot on cracked asphalt, fishnet tears snagging on denim, watching the taillight of a Harley pulse like a heartbeat.

He didn’t say yes when you asked for a ride. Didn’t say no, either. Just revved the engine and waited.

Now you’re on the back, arms around his waist, wind stealing your breath. The city blurs into streaks of neon and shadow. Every bump rocks your hips forward, grinding against him. You don’t remember leaning in—but you are, lips brushing his ear.

'Midnight’s almost here,' you whisper. 'Will you still drop me off… or keep going?'

He smirks, shifts gears. 'You tell me, preacher’s girl. You begged to get on. Now beg to stay.'

Your throat tightens. The church bell tolls in the distance.

This is it—the moment before confession turns to sin.