This is awkward.
The priest, or headmaster, or whatever, is hot AF.
Second, he’s feeling me up. Like palm on tit. Fingers brushing my bullet hard nipple and I swear, his black eyes flash with desire.
Aren’t priests sort of above it all? Sex, I mean.
Which makes no sense because this man?
He’s built for all things unholy.
Tall, dark, broody and the poster child for triple-X temptation. Dark ink laps at the sides of his neck just above the hard line of his clergy collar. Is it called a priest’s collar? I have no idea. I’m not Catholic or Anglican or whatever it is my mother and stepfather told me was the religious bend to where they were sending me.
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. Dry as a bone. But that’s certainly not true about what’s happening down in my southern hemisphere.
After I froze for a split second, memories of last night flooding back at the feel of his hand on my tit, the floodgates opened. I freeze as he unknowingly gropes me, my roller bags forgotten on the horrible purple carpet as the hum of the baggage claim area disappears behind the rushing of blood in my ears.
I slide my hands down the solid planes of his chest, desperate to find my balance as I realize I’ve just gone to second base for my first time with a priest. All my thoughts about where I’m going to live after doing my time wherever it was my mom and her new husband were sending me, evaporate.
Where am I going to go after? What will I do with my life? I have no scholarship; my cat is gone and I’m broke.
Who cares?
Not me. Not right now.
Except, about my cat. I’d do anything to find her.
The endless well of his black eyes connect to mine and the dance of a million lusty fingers tickle in my center as I take in his stone-carved face. The thick waves of his black hair are slicked back, curling behind his ears and never, never did I imagine the headmaster of the school that is supposed to reform me would look like this.
I expected a rotund, bald, oily faced, puffy lipped old white guy with bad breath and body odor because somewhere in my mind, priests don’t wear deodorant.
Clearly, that was misguided. This guy smells like Jesus if he just took a shot of whiskey then bathed in some black-bottled body wash called Soak her Panties.
A hundred tiny hammers are trying to poke holes in my cranium. My belly rolls and the nausea from this morning has turned into a gnawing hunger but not for the puny pack of peanuts I ate on the plane.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter as I right myself.
His hand retreats from under my shirt, his face a mask as I let my eyes fall from where they’ve been superglued to his perfect lips to my bag laying on its side on the floor. The way the TSA re-taped it shut after breaking the zipper has left a clear view of the purple silicone dildo inside.
Which is vibrating.
Shoot me now.
Hank knocked on my window at 4:30 am, still drunk and looking to shatter my V card which had become pretty much his narrow focus in our times together. In my still half-intoxicated state, I blathered on about being sent away. I was still sobbing, unable to sleep after finding out I might never see my cat again and he offered to take my virginity for me as a parting gift.
Or a consolation prize.
Yeah, Hank is an asshole.
But, at least he knew what ‘no’ meant.
He was no prince charming, but he paid attention to me and I was primed for working out my daddy issues with a truck driver that got off on buying booze and weed for his underage sister’s friends. When I told him it was a no go on sneaking into my bedroom, he ran back to his beat-up Ford sedan, returning with ‘something to get me warmed up for when I came home’.
Yeah. Asshole. But, what was I going to do? Leave the purple hymen destroyer at home for old Hoover to find and use on my mother?
I can’t even.
“No apologies needed.” My new warden’s voice is like liquid sex dragging through gravel, with a detached calm that only delivers another soaking punch to my underwear. “I am here to help. I’m Father Martin, headmaster of Saint Margaret’s.”
I release a shaky breath, the world feeling soft around the edges and surreal like only a good tequila hangover can deliver, then return my eyes to his, refusing to show weakness or let on that I spent the whole journey quietly crying.
He glances down, “Something in your suitcase is buzzing.”
Fuck, why does his voice have be so sexy?
It’s bad enough he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever been this close to, but you put that rumbling baritone of sultry goodness on top and I’m already figuring out how to tempt this man of the cloth into breaking his vows.
As though I’d know how, but that doesn’t seem to matter when I look up at his six foot plus plus frame and practically puddle into the airport floor.
“Yeah,” I start, clearing my throat. He raises a single brow, his tongue dancing on his incisor. “I mean, yes, it was a gag gift from my friend. A parting gift, I guess.”
“I see.”
His Adam’s apple shifts as sweat trickles down my back. I realize I’m staring in awe at the hard angle of his black scruff-covered jaw, the frown lines around his mouth and the overall perfection of his black suit and, God help me, that white collar around his neck. It’s all designed to make me ache in the most unexpected places.
“Seems we have some work to do.”
A muscle in his cheek ticks as I look up. Even in my five-inch platform boots, he towers above me. This is not what I expected when I boarded the plane heading to reform school at 6 am, bleary eyed with my mother’s hopeful encouragement and her new husband standing by looking at his watch every five seconds.
Did either of them think maybe, maybe, it was their behavior that was making me act like such a brat?
I’m glad to be anywhere but there right now, and even a stinky airport was acceptable, but now that I’ve seen my new steward, the day is marginally looking up.
Ignoring the buzzing in my bag, I cock my hip as heat marches up the sides of my neck and seats itself solidly on both my cheeks. “So, Saint Margaret’s is not far, I hope? I could use a shower and a bed. I barely slept last night.”
Darkness covers his face as he takes a step back in a sort of reflexive recoil as a long breath escapes through his kissable lips.
“Not far. You’ll get plenty of sleep while you’re under my roof. But, you are not going to a resort. You are coming with me for more than relaxation.” He gives me this look of concern that makes my insides turn gooey, then starts to take off his jacket as he glances around at the other people in the baggage claim.
And I have to swallow against the sudden tide of feelings going on. The sight of him removing clothes. The urge to look down, to see what’s going on between his legs. My body is telling me to climb on whatever train this man is on and ride it down the tracks to put-me-on-my-back-and-call-me-yours station.
My nipples are doing their best to punch holes through the front of my hoodie as he puts the jacket around my shoulders.
“That’s better. I don’t want you catching a chill,” he explains. And I’m about to apologize and try to cover my pebbling nipples when he continues, “We’re a long way from Florida. I’ll get these.”
He reaches down and grabs my bags, setting them upright as he eyes the buzzing purple silicone that’s stuck to the duct tape holding together the broken zipper.
“Can we just pretend that’s not there?” I swallow back the lump lodged in my dry throat as he grazes his front teeth with his tongue, making me sigh.
“I can ignore it if you can.” He sets the slightest of smiles onto his sexy lips. “I’ll take good care of you, Kitty. You just have to trust me. Come with me. The car is waiting.” He spins on the heel of his mirror-shined black shoes and I stumble along behind him, my toes numb from these stupid boots, but right now I’d follow him anywhere. He takes a look at me over his shoulder, cocking his head toward the door. “Come on. It’s okay.”
His calm, confident manner should scare me, but instead I’m a puppy wagging behind him, blissfully ignorant of who my new master could be, but sure in my heart that all is going to be fine as long as I do what he says.
You just have to trust me.
Watching him walk in that stern black suit, firm butt filling out his pants in just the right way, is dropping the throbbing in my center downtown. It feels like my sex is being barraged with those foam bullets from the Nerf guns I used to shoot at the daycare teachers.
Father Martin turns, a glance of no more than a second to make sure I’m following, and my mind disintegrates into pixie dust. There’s so much that happens in that one look. His eyes start at the top of my head but end down at my feet after a lick of his lips and I’m on fire.
“Almost there. You doing okay?” He pauses for me to catch up, lips parted, and all I can think about is how heavy his body would be when he came down on top of me…
