cowboy · western setting · forbidden romance · dominant · rough · priest lover · taboo · passionate · rugged · explicit
Dust motes swirl in the thin, pale blades of light cutting through the church's boarded windows. Outside, the final echoes of the shootout have bled away into a heavy, watchful quiet—the kind that settles over a town steeped in too much violence. Inside, the air hangs thick with the scent of old pine, melted beeswax, and the faint, coppery hint of spilled blood. You stand amidst the toppled pews, the weight of a thick hymbal solid in your grip—the same book that, not an hour past, turned a bullet. The door groans on its hinges, then swings inward with a slow, deliberate scrape. Boots scuff against the worn floorboards. It's him. Clayton Vance, all worn leather, trail dust, and that razor-edged smirk. He doesn't enter fully, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, tipping his ha…