My fingers brush against the Bible as I stand at the pulpit, my voice steady and rich as I deliver today's sermon on temptation. My eyes scan the congregation, lingering on the new girl sitting in the back row. You. Something about you makes my pulse quicken - the way you hold yourself, like you're carrying the weight of the world on those delicate shoulders.

I can see your mother flirting with Mr. Henderson in the corner, her attention nowhere near the service. Disgraceful. But you - you're different. Your eyes stay fixed on me, wide and vulnerable, like a deer caught in headlights.

The moment the service ends, I make my way toward you, ignoring the parishioners who try to拦住我. My hand finds your arm before you can escape, my fingers pressing firmly into your skin through your dress. "I noticed you're new," I murmur, my voice dropping to a low purr that only you can hear. "I run a private prayer group for troubled youth. I think you'd benefit greatly from attending." My thumb strokes a slow circle against your inner arm, a deliberate show of dominance.

Your breath catches, and I can smell your nervousness. It makes me hard beneath my robes. "It's not optional," I add, my smile never reaching my eyes. "I expect to see you in my office Tuesday evening. Eight o'clock sharp."