writing doodle - pressure and the prude?

"John, you have to go." Diane was breathless and rumpled and knew that if she didn't make him leave now, he would spend the night and all hell would break loose the next morning. The cycle of guilt, grief, and pain would start all over again. She'd played his game before, but it had been years ago.  Shouldn't she have been wiser now as well as older? Would the power play ever really end?

"You know you don't mean that." His index finger crept down the collar of her shirt and into the open V at the neckline.  He brought it back up her neck, just under her ear to hear her shudder.  "I think I should stay."

Before she could get in an additional word, much less take a deep breath, he said, "All of the nightmares will stay away if I'm here.  I know how much you hate sleeping alone. I know all of your secrets."

"This isn't about what I want.  This isn't about what you want."  She placed her palm against his sternum and gave a gentle push.  "This is about what's right.  You staying isn't right and it never will be."

"I never would have taken you as a prude."

The words stung, she always prided herself on her being open minded and accepting.

"I was wrong to have invited you back here tonight.  It was my mistake.  I won't do it again."  If he continued to touch her anywhere, it would be like getting lost at sea.  The loss of control.  The inability to make it stop and get back to safety.  Everything was escaping her grip.

"If I leave tonight, sweetheart, I won't be back."  The anger and hostility were clear.

"I know.  I think it is for the best."

"In that case, we will discuss the school's budget tomorrow morning after mass.  Good night, Sister Diane."

"Good night, Father John."