Come in From the Cold

by Tymber Dalton

  “If she’d been a Church employee, maybe I could have. But she wasn’t. I couldn’t have done any better for her than a women’s shelter, and I wasn’t going to turn her away. I couldn’t have kept her there in the rectory with me without repercussions. It was the…easiest solution.”

  It was a momentary hitch in Douglas’ voice that Connor would let pass for now, but he would nail him on it when they reached home.

  “Takes a special kind of man to nuke his personal and professional life of fifteen years to claim a bastard child that’s not even his.”

  “I’m not special. I’m just a man. And I did love her.”

  “But she knew about me.” Okay, so they were beyond role-playing for right now. He wasn’t even sure anymore where the fuck he wanted this to go.

  “She did.”

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” he said again. “She had no idea if you’d turn her away or not. She didn’t have any friends she could have turned to for help?”

  “He had been controlling her for a couple of years. Isolated her. Alienated her old friends, other than me. She really didn’t have any friends locally where he wouldn’t have found her. She worked for his cousin, at his store. She didn’t make a lot of money there. He’d pulled her down for years.”

  More silence, which Connor let sit until they reached the house. He wasn’t even sure why he felt…angry. Not at Douglas—not specifically.

  The man was his fucking husband and wearing his wedding ring.

  Mackie was dead—there was no competition here.

  Once the front door was safely locked behind them, he took all their paperwork, including what Douglas had, and set it on the dining room table.

  “Let’s go chat in private, Father.” He held his hand out, indicating down the hall.

  * * * *

  Douglas felt the air shift and came as close as he ever had to safewording with Connor for something that didn’t involve actual physical pain.

  A cold, hard glint filled his husband’s eyes and Douglas found himself involuntarily swallowing because his throat went dry.

  He walked down the hall to their bedroom, sensing Connor right behind him but moving silently now.

  Like a predator.

  He was surprised how close Connor was, actually, when the door closed behind him even sooner than he’d expected. He froze, staring at their bed, as he heard the knob lock behind him despite the empty house.

  “He used to lock it on the days he was going to do something to me. Said he didn’t want us to be interrupted.”

  The priest and the psychologist were now battling the submissive slave husband for control of the mental car. The psychologist was trying to order Douglas to safeword so he could talk to Connor, and the priest was yelling this was some mightily fucked up shit that needed to be stopped now.

  The submissive slave husband won control of the wheel and kicked the priest and psychologist into the back seat.

  But they weren’t going without a fight, and they were proving to be damned rowdy backseat drivers.

  He has never harmed me. Husband, I hope you know how much I trust you.

  He felt the warmth from Connor’s body washing against his even though they weren’t touching. Douglas fought the urge to lean back into him, knowing Connor had to see this through to whatever conclusion he needed.

  If he couldn’t, it might keep coming up between them. It was only that thought that allowed him to keep the psychologist from safewording.

  Douglas took a deep breath and closed his eyes, raising his head.

  Please let his love for me and the girls win the battle for his soul. Amen.

  A hand settled on his left shoulder, heavy, not at all gentle, but more controlling. “He was a big guy compared to me back then.”

  The sudden image of Connor working out for more reasons than just to stay in shape or burn off his sadistic urges hit Douglas squarely between his mental eyes.

  Priest: I know he’s in pain, but you are in danger.

  Psychologist: Never thought I’d say this, but listen to that guy, for a fucking change.

  Douglas ignored them both and fought the urge to shiver with pleasure.

  He opened his eyes, but didn’t turn his head, sensing the predator would pounce if he did.

  Part of him wanted that to happen.

  Just…not quite yet.

  Connor wore one of his work shirts, a light blue chambray long-sleeved button-up shirt with the dealership’s logo embroidered on the left chest, and he’d rolled his sleeves up to just below his elbows. He stepped in front of Douglas and the smile he gave him wasn’t anchored there, with them now.

  It was born nearly thirty years in the past.

  Connor had never gone into gory details with him about exactly what had happened. It’d been more like five sentences followed by hours and hours of crying that had broken Douglas’ heart as he’d held Connor.

  Douglas suspected he was about to hear the longer version.

  Connor wore his shirt with the top button unfastened, but now he reached up and unbuttoned the second one.

  “Of course good Catholics go to confession, right? Dad and Mom loved the church. They’d been raised in it. My dad taught me how to pray the Rosary. When we lost him, of course Mom and I turned to the church.

  “That’s what we believed we were supposed to do. Where we’d find love and support and healing. Father Moore had heard my confessions. I’m a damn kid, yeah? When I started noticing boys and realized what it meant, of course I fucking confessed. That’s what good Catholics do, right?”

  He unbuttoned the third button, and Douglas bit the inside of his cheek to force the priest and the psychologist to stay right the fuck where they were in the backseat and not try to climb behind the wheel again.

  “He’d been counseling me weekly after Dad died. Didn’t charge Mom, of course. Even better for her, because now it’s tough to make ends meet. One day she’s got to work late, and she was going to cancel the appointment, and he said no worries, he’d bring me home for her later. I think cool, because he had a TV in his office with full cable, right? I’d maybe get to do my homework there and watch TV or something.

  “But he locked the door that day. That was the first time.”

  Connor walked around him, stopping behind him and leaning in to whisper in his right ear. “It was the first of at least twenty times. Not every week after that, but more than half of them. I stopped counting at twenty, but it went on for over a year before I finally broke down and told Mom when I begged her not to take me again. Of all the things I hate that he did to me, I think I hate the most that he took my trust of the Church, and about God. All the things I used to find comfort in were gone or tainted. And for Mom, too.”

  “I’m sorry,” Douglas whispered, because he couldn’t help himself and felt a need to apologize in general for what the religion he’d loved, and that should have protected Connor at his most vulnerable time, had inadvertently caused him.

  “He wasn’t.” Connor ended up in front of him again, reaching up to unfasten another button. “He wasn’t sorry one fucking bit. He told me that boys like me were meant for special things. That he really thought I should become a priest, because out in the world, my soul would be damned. But if I wanted to attend seminary, he’d even write a letter of recommendation for me. That I would have my tuition and room and board and everything taken care of. I just had to keep being one of his ‘special boys.’ Fucker knew I couldn’t afford to go to college and likely wouldn’t have the grades for a scholarship. He knew that Mom felt badly about that, too, so he was doubly playing me.”

  Douglas felt his stomach roll but knew he had to see this through for Connor’s sake. He would not doubt the trust and love he had in his husband.

  Connor finished unbuttoning his shirt and left it on, hanging open after he pulled the tails free from his slacks. He hadn’t worn an undershirt today, and Douglas couldn’t help following his treasure trail with his eyes, down wher
e it disappeared below the waistband of his slacks.

  “Said that I needed to understand now, while I was still young enough to learn, that there were special ways to worship God.” Connor backed up to the bed and reached for his belt, unfastening it. “What secrets are you hiding, Father Koenig?”

  Douglas blinked. “Master?” Connor couldn’t really be asking him what Douglas thought he was…could he?

  “No, I could never believe you’d hurt a kid.” He crooked his finger at him to approach, and Douglas did. “But everyone has secrets. Father Moore had one hell of a big one. Had me so fucking mixed up, I didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me.” He unhooked his slacks and slowly lowered the zipper.

  Douglas couldn’t help but notice Connor was hard…and hadn’t worn any underwear today.

  “He was slick, I’ll give him that. He told me that the fact that my body responded to what he was doing to me meant that I was supposed to give myself to him. That it was what God wanted.” He sat on the edge of the bed and pointed at the floor in front of him, his meaning clear.

  Douglas knelt in front of him, and yeah, he was hard, too. Years of memories swept in, out again, trained responses.

  He wanted to suck his husband’s cock, though, and needed no command or order to lean in and swipe his tongue over the head.

  Connor’s right hand closed over the back of his head and forced him to take it deep. Well, not forced, because Douglas would have done it anyway.

  At least it silenced both the priest and the psychologist for a little while, because submissive slave hubby was very happy in this moment.

  Connor’s left hand settled on his thigh, his wedding band plainly visible, and it was on that Douglas focused his gaze even as he tried to breathe through his nose and hoped Connor didn’t force him to safeword.

  He finally did ease up the pressure enough Douglas could pull back a little and suck in a lungful of air, but then the hand returned, clamping down again. Fortunately, Douglas was better prepared for it this time.

  “You know how fucking scared I was to tell you I liked you? And then I was terrified to kiss you or do more with you unless I was sure you wanted it. I was terrified it would make me like him. I never wanted to force you to do anything, even when we pretended that’s what we were doing sometimes.”

  Douglas held on to Connor’s lower legs, his fingers wrapped behind his calves, stroking him through his slacks, trying to reassure him that no, Connor had never forced him. Not in bad ways.

  After a few minutes, Connor fisted his hair and pulled Douglas off his cock, leaning in to stare into his eyes. “I know a secret when I see one, Douglas.”

  He reached down and easily unfastened Douglas’ belt and slacks with his free hand, fishing his hard cock out and squeezing it until Douglas moaned. “You said you belong to me—all of you.” He gave his cock a pump and it took every ounce of strength Douglas had to keep his eyes open and meeting Connor’s gaze.

  Before Douglas could respond, Connor suddenly stood, pulling Douglas with him with the fist in his hair. “Shoes.”

  Douglas toed his loafers off.

  Still keeping a fist in Douglas’ hair, Connor shoved his slacks and briefs down and used his own foot to kick them out of the way after Douglas stepped out of them.

  Then he sat, pulling Douglas in and making him straddle Connor’s lap.

  Connor finally let go of his hair and reached around to squeeze his still-sore ass cheeks, then gave them a hard, stinging slap with both hands.

  “Say it with me, just like he made me say it with him at the end of every time together before he’d let me get dressed.” His left hand continued squeezing Douglas’ ass, the other closed around both their cocks and slowly pumped them. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee. Say it.”

  Douglas took a deep breath, not even sure he could speak, until he forced the words out. This was one he honestly hadn’t said in…a while. Not even Father Rowling had told him to say a couple of them after his confession. “O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee.”

  Connor started reciting it with him in unison. “And I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended Thee, my God, who is all good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more, and to avoid the near occasion of sin.” Connor’s voice dropped off, but Douglas finished it.

  “Amen,” he whispered.

  “A-fucking-men,” Connor said, his hand stilling. “Nothing else happens until you fucking tell me. Even if we have to sit here all damn night until you do. What are you hiding from me, boy?”

  The priest and the psychologist held and comforted each other in the back seat, already having seen that particular spoiler alert.

  Now Douglas really did feel he needed to say another Act of Contrition, and he silently did. Followed by one more silent thing.

  I’m so sorry, Mackie, but I can’t say no to him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Douglas had to close his eyes and whisper it because he didn’t have the strength to say it any louder, or look at Connor when he said it.

  It had gutted him then, and still did. “She begged me to help her get an abortion when she arrived. I was helping her get into the shower that night, and she was crying. She hardly had any money, no job, didn’t want that fucker to be a part of her life. She’d always wanted to be a mom, but she was scared and in pain and hated the bastard so much and felt too terrified to raise the baby by herself.

  “I tried to talk her into adoption, and she refused, because she never wanted to be tied to the baby’s father. She insisted she wanted an abortion, even if she had to figure out how to make herself miscarry. I couldn’t let her do that. I knew it would emotionally destroy her later, even though she was hurting then. She’d wanted children so badly, it was something she’d talked about for years. That’s why I begged her to let me marry her and be the baby’s father.”

  “Jesus,” Connor muttered, but now that it was out, Douglas couldn’t stop.

  Tears welled up and rolled down his cheeks. “She said don’t be ridiculous, she wasn’t going to marry me and trap me like that when she knew I still loved you. That it wasn’t fair to me. I said I did love her, and I could love her. She was leaning against the shower wall and I remember the steam filling the shower, and I had taken off my T-shirt to help her. I’d been wearing sweatpants and nothing else under them.

  “She said she wasn’t going to make us both miserable like that. That she loved me too much to do that to me. I asked her if I could prove it to her, would she marry me? She sort of laughed, but she was in so much pain, and she’d already made up her mind to figure out a way to get an abortion anyway, even if I wouldn’t help her. But she said yeah, sure, how was I supposed to do that? To prove it?

  “So I took off my sweatpants and climbed into the shower with her and kissed her. I kissed her the way I’d kissed her the last time I saw her, because even then, yeah, I’d loved her. But I’d loved you more. As I kissed her, I got hard. She tried to reach for me with her good arm and I wouldn’t let her. I said here’s the deal, she’d get all of my body and I would do everything in my power to make her happy, but sex had to wait until after we were married. But I’d prove it to her tonight. Only if she’d agree to marry me and let me be the baby’s father, and we’d never tell anyone I wasn’t the baby’s father.

  “And she said okay, prove it. I stood there kissing her and jerked off for her right there. Before I could rinse off my hand she grabbed it and licked it clean. Then my sweet little blue-eyed atheist made a very sacrilegious joke about drinking the blood of Christ.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Kind of like you, Master.”

  Douglas had never told Mackie about Connor’s secret, never wanting to break his confidence.

  It was, he later understood, his first test as a priest, even before he’d taken his vows.

  Just like there was a secret he’d never revealed to her
, there was one of hers he thought he’d never reveal.

  He’d promised her.

  But now…

  I’m so sorry, Mackie.

  As she’d sobbed in his arms that dark weekend after returning from the ER, where they told them she was losing the baby, she came as close as she ever had to “finding God.”

  She’d felt so damned guilty, felt like a failure, while he’d cried with her over the loss of their son and tried to soothe her soul.

  She’d been convinced it’d been her fault, for wanting an abortion in the first place.

  Nothing he or the doctors could tell her would sway her otherwise logical, world-based mind. It didn’t matter to her that her ex-asshole had used her as a fucking punching bag.

  In her heart, she’d been convinced it was her absolutely reasonable thoughts, at the time, that had caused it.

  Had she been any other woman, no, he wouldn’t have offered to marry her or leave the priesthood for her, but it’d been his Mackie. She’d owned a piece of his heart for a lot of years, even if she didn’t own all of it. He’d known her heart and her soul, knew what a baby meant to her.

  When he’d told her he loved her, that they would try again, she’d begged him to never tell anyone that she’d ever talked about getting an abortion, begged with the conviction of someone convinced walking under a ladder or seeing a black cat would curse their life.

  Begged with the conviction of someone who was starting to believe in a higher power.

  Her irrational reaction wasn’t even the most out-there thing he’d experienced as a priest, by far, but he’d said yes to her request because she was his wife, and he loved her, and she was distraught. He would have said yes to nearly anything she’d asked of him if it would ease her mind and lessen her pain.

  It didn’t matter she was dead now. She’d never wanted any child of theirs to know she’d ever considered ending a pregnancy, or to think she hadn’t wanted them.