Thandi stood at the kitchen window of the old Boksburg missionary, her fingers mindlessly smoothing the white fabric of her habit. Outside, the high-veld sun beat down with a relentless heat that made the air shimmer over the dry grass. She watched Uncle Abu. He was a slim, corded man from Angola who moved with a quiet grace that made her chest tighten.

Back in Cape Town, Thandi had known every kind of fire. She had burned through the clubs of Long Street, chasing the high of expensive gin and the touch of men who never stayed. When the drugs nearly took her soul, she fled to this quiet sanctuary to bury that wild girl under layers of prayer and penance. As she watched Abu wipe sweat from his brow, his dark skin glistening like polished stone, she realized the fire had not died. It had just been waiting for oxygen.

She prepared his lunch with trembling hands. When the door creaked open, she did not have to turn around to know he was there. The smell of him, reached her first. It was the scent of damp earth and the sharp musk of hard labor. Abu moved behind her, his presence a sudden weight in the small room. He was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his chest against her back. Thandi felt his hands reach for her waist and she stiffened. "Abu, stop," she whispered, her voice cracking. "We should not do this. I am a woman of God now."

He did not listen. He spun her around slowly. His dark, rough palms began to pull the heavy white robes over her head. As the fabric fell away, it revealed the body Thandi had spent years trying to hide from the world. She was perfectly shaped, with wide hips and a narrow waist that spoke of her youth in the city. Her yellow bone skin glowed in the dim kitchen light. The only thing she wore beneath the habit was a tiny white thong that cut deep into her soft curves, a lingering habit from her days as a wild child.

"Please," she said again, though her hands were now resting on his sweaty shoulders instead of pushing him away.

Abu looked at her, his gaze pierced into her with a raw hunger that saw right through the nun and straight into the girl she used to be. The resistance in her legs turned to water. When he pressed her back against the heavy wooden prep table, Thandi did not pull away. She leaned into him, her eyes closing as the guilt of the church was washed away by the heat of his skin.

He took her right there in the heart of the missionary. It was rough and urgent, a collision of two people who were tired of being quiet. Thandi gripped the edge of the table, her head thrown back as she finally gave in to the hunger she had tried so hard to starve. He moved with a rhythmic intensity, his sweaty body sliding against her golden skin until he finally finished, leaving his seed deep within her.

The silence of the kitchen felt heavier than before as he stepped back and adjusted his trousers. He did not look ashamed. He leaned in close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I can not wait for tomorrow lunch," he murmured.

He turned and walked back out into the blinding Boksburg sun. Thandi was left alone in the shadows, her golden body still humming, realizing the slow life of the church had just become very fast again.