I considered calling out, but the air felt too solemn. The kind of place where you whispered.
Wooden pews lined each side, and a central aisle led to an altar which was piled high with white flowers and adorned with golden tapestries and linens.
I probably shouldn’t be in here, I thought, turning around to leave.
“Chloe?” His voice stopped me.
“Yes?” I said over my shoulder, feeling foolish for being there. I didn’t belong in this place
“What happened to you?” He strode towards me.
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t look so good, and I’m surprised to see you here.”
“My roommate stole my money and disappeared,” I blurted out.
“Like your debit card? You can probably put a stop on it.”
“No, it was in cash. In my closet. She took it all and probably left town.”
His mouth hung open. “Cash? How much cash?”
“Thousands. It was the money I’d saved to be able to start my own bake shop. So I could quit dancing.”
His eyes widened. “Oh, Chloe, I’m so sorry.”
He put his arms around me, and I folded myself into his embrace. My body began to shake again, but I tried not to start crying again.
“I hate to ask this, but why didn’t you have the money in a bank?”
Anger welled up inside me. I’d known this question would come up, but I knew my answer would sound stupid.
“I don’t trust banks,” I muttered. The unspoken fact that I’d instead trusted a thieving roommate made me feel like a fool. “They took our house back from my mother when I was little, and they charge penalties and fees for the dumbest things. They’re crooks.”
To give him credit, he didn’t correct my logic, which, in light of my current predicament, came across as rather skewed. He simply held me.
“So, did you have the money in a coffee can or something? That’s a lot of cash.”
I shrugged. “No. It was in a lockbox. I kept the key separate. I still have that.” I laughed at the irony. “It’s just not going to do me much good if I don’t have the box it unlocks.”
He nodded.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe. The sin of selfishness leads to many bad outcomes.”
“That’s what you think this is—her being selfish?”
He nodded. “Thinking of oneself first often leads to harming others. So the money is gone. Have you tried to track her down? Or told the police?”
“You have to be kidding. She’d only deny it.”
“You’re probably right, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the authorities know in case they found the money on her, then they could return it to you.”
“You’re right. I’ll do that.”
“What about your family? Do any of them have any money they can loan you?”
The mention of my family brought a lump to my throat. I shook my head.
“My mom, she’s all the family I have left. Her and her sister, but they don’t have any money. We’re all struggling just to get by. My mom is one of the reasons I really wanted to have my own business, so I could help her. Seems like a pipe dream now.”
He pulled me close. “I’m sorry. That has to be so difficult, and I’m sure you miss her.”
“I do.” That was the understatement of my life. My mom had been sick for the last decade. Yes, I missed her but the woman she was now wasn’t the mother I missed. I still loved her, but she wasn’t the same person. Most of the time she didn’t even remember me.
Last year I took two weeks off from work to go see her, and of the ten days I was there, there was only one day where she even remembered who I was. The rest of the time she thought I was her sister, or a neighbor. These days I mostly sent money. Her care was expensive and my aunt could use all the help she could get financially.
“Alzheimer’s is a devastating disease. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
It was a nice sentiment, but there wasn’t much anybody could do. Alzheimer’s was a bitch of a disease. It was hell on the patient as well as the family. A cruel joke that had definitely made me question my faith in God.
“Thanks.”
“We never know why God puts certain challenges in our path, but he always has a plan.”
I laughed bitterly. “Well, he’s putting boulders in my path lately.”
He sighed. “Sometimes it feels that way, doesn’t it? You feel like what life throws at you is insurmountable, or like your life is harder than everyone else’s.”
“Yeah. Why is that? Am I just snakebit or what?”
“I believe that God only gives us what we can handle. I also believe he rewards those who persevere.”
“Great,” I said without enthusiasm.
“Here,” he said, taking my hand.
“What?”
He tugged on my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Too exhausted from crying to argue, I allowed him to lead me to the altar.
Then he motioned for me to kneel down.
My knees felt weak which made it easier to comply, and I sank down onto the needlepointed cushion.
“What are we doing?” I whispered.
“We’re going to pray,” he said, standing in front of me behind the kneeling rail, and placed his hand on my forehead.
“Dear Lord, I ask you to bless your daughter Chloe. For you, and you alone can ease her plight. We ask that you be with her and her family as they suffer through a difficult time . . .”
He spoke with a confidence that was so sexy I couldn’t help but notice his crotch was practically right in my face.
I tried to stifle a giggle, and suddenly I was thirteen years old again, doing my best not to laugh in church. But this time, I wanted to giggle because I knew how inappropriate it was that this holy man was making my panties damp.
I don’t think he noticed, because he droned on, asking God for this and that—all of it for me. I was flattered, even though I knew he probably prayed like this with dozens of people like this every week. Hell, it was his job.
“. . . We pray in Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen.” It popped out automatically.
He took my hand, and I stood up.
Suddenly our faces were remarkably close to one another, and I could feel his warm breath on my skin.
“Thank you,” I managed, my stomach twisting in knots. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anybody pray over me like that before.”
“That’s a sin,” he said in a husky voice. Then he brushed the hair out of my eyes and kissed my forehead.
A moan escaped my lips. Normally, I took pains to hide my attraction to men. It gave me the upper hand, but after all that crap I’d been dealing with lately, I was emotionally battered and my defenses were practically non-existent.
“Come here,” he said and disappeared into an adjacent corridor. Probably a back hallway where the choir could travel back and forth without being seen by those seated in the congregation.
It was dark, and I could barely see where I was going. The only sound was the click of my heels against the stone floor.
“Where . . . ?”
He grabbed my shoulders and pulled me to him.
“Chloe.” It was the only word he said before he began to love me.
His lips crushed mine, his tongue seeking my warmth.
I leaned in—surrendered.
All I wanted was to let this honorable man do what he wanted with me.
He pushed me up against the wall. His breath warmed my face, and my knees threatened to give out. What was he doing? This wasn’t how I expected a priest to behave, especially in a church. Wasn’t he worried someone would see us? Someone could come in any moment, but he didn’t seem to care.
His erection pressed against my pelvis, homing in like a heat-seeking missile. I uttered a half-hearted protest, “But . . .”
He responded by trailing passionate ki
sses down my neck. God, he felt incredible, and I couldn’t help but imagine some other places I’d like him to explore with that mouth of his. I clutched him to me kissing his hair, his face, whatever I could reach.
Our lips brushed again, and I let him claim my mouth the way the rest of my body yearned to be claimed. Hungry for more of his touch, I wished there weren’t so many clothes between us, that we weren’t in a public, not to mention, holy place.
One of his hands traveled up my skirt, where he found my sex. He wound his fingers nimbly under my panties and entered me with one finger.
Shocked, I hissed, “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he whispered in my ear.
“Good Lord, I don’t know. But you’re a priest for Christ’s sake.”
“I may be a priest, Chloe, but I’m a man first.”
My breathing roared in my ears, and I felt slightly dizzy. I started to protest further, but he silenced me with a “Shhh.”
I gulped and held him tight, as he inserted another finger in me and started fucking me hard. The noises from him stirring my juices made me cringe. We were in a church! I knew this was wrong, but somehow it also made it more exciting.
My eyes had been squeezed shut, but now I fluttered them open and noticed candles flickering, creating dancing shadows on the walls.
My conscience intruded, chastising me for engaging in this behavior in a church. Did I have some sort of self-destructive streak? When I came here I certainly hadn’t expected Bishop Soto to do this to me in the church sanctuary.
However, he had tried to tell me there was more to him than just a collar, and I was starting to understand what he meant as I clung to him, my pussy throbbing with need.
The tips of his fingers curled over my G-spot, and I let out a whimper. Sensing he’d found a magic button, he did it again, running his fingers over and over that special spot as he worked my pussy with his surprisingly talented hand. Before I knew it my legs were trembling, and my climax overtook me. I moaned loudly and he clapped a hand over my mouth. “Shhh,” he whispered, his hand continuing to work fervently.
If he hadn’t had me trapped between the stone wall and his body I would have simply sunk to the floor. The orgasm he’d wrung from me had been so intense I was panting.
When he finally stopped he held me tight. “Damn, I want you, Chloe,” he growled. “I want you more than you can know.”
As the haze in my mind began to dissipate, I started to decipher his words. “Oh, so you mean . . . you can’t . . . ?”
With a sigh of frustration he released me and stepped back. No longer touching me, I felt his absence acutely. My arms ached to have him back in them, and I was surprised that my desire outweighed my shame.
I just wanted more.
“No. Not outside the bonds of marriage.”
A wan smile crossed my face. “So, you do have limits.”
“Of course I have limits,” he snapped. “I’m a priest, sworn to uphold God’s law.”
“What was that then?” I snapped back, and as soon as I said the words I wished I could have them back. The tortured look on his face only made it worse.
Rubbing his beard, he groaned, “I have my own struggles, the same as any man. I’m no saint.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry. I got carried away. I shouldn’t have . . .”
This hot, carnal side of Bishop Soto intrigued me. There was nothing sexier than forbidden fruit.
That was all there was to it—he couldn’t have me, therefore he wanted me.
And I wasn’t supposed to have him, so that made him more attractive.
But all the chemistry in the world couldn’t have prepared me for what he said next.
Taking my face in his hands, he said, “Chloe my dear, I know how to solve our problems.”
“Yeah, how’s that?”
“Marry me.”
14
Eduardo
The poor girl looked like a deer in headlights when I proposed. It wasn’t the sort of proposal I ever imagined offering. I was the type to book my beloved’s favorite restaurant, pick out the perfect ring, maybe even hire a string quartet to accompany my well-rehearsed declaration of love.
But that’s not how it happened.
No, I’d impulsively let my dick do the talking. For the first time in my life, actually. Most guys did that all the time. Starting in middle school I watched my friends lose their minds over girls and do asinine things.
I spent hours listening to the problems of parishioners who did the same thing. They made poor decisions, strayed from their wives, even committed crimes, all because they let a woman cloud their judgment with lust. And now I’d fallen prey to the same affliction.
And even as I saw it happen, I was powerless to stop it.
I wanted Chloe Thomas, and I was desperate to have her. I wanted nothing more than to bury my neglected cock inside her and make her mine every night until the end of time.
I knew she’d never be a typical preacher’s wife. But, was that really a requirement? Did I have to settle down with an uptight, prim and proper woman just because it was expected of me? I wasn’t usually a rebel.
I obeyed the ten commandments to the best of my ability. I believed in all that was right and holy, advocated for the downtrodden, stood up for the little man. I worked to feed the poor and guide those who needed counsel. My life was devoted to the service of others . . . so why couldn’t I have the one thing I desired? A woman who made me feel alive.
I was pretty sure Jesus felt similar stirrings for Mary Magdalene. He would have understood another man’s thirst for human companionship that made his heart come alive. Wouldn’t I be a better priest if those needs were quenched, if I felt fulfilled? How was I to pour wine if the receptacle was empty? Wouldn’t I have more to give if my heart were full?
These were justifications, I knew, but I held fast to them. For me, Chloe had become a symbol for all that was strong and wild and free, and I’d just proved I was incapable of controlling my lust where she was concerned. I had to have her, by whatever means necessary, and I knew to be able to live with myself it had to be within the bonds of marriage.
To my grave disappointment, she didn’t feel the same way. Oh, I believe she would have allowed me to take her. She’d have given in to the pure animal attraction that raged between us, but that wasn’t what I was asking of her, and that was the sticking point. She stared at me with disbelieving eyes, her hair disheveled from the orgasm that had just rocked her body.
Watching her come like that only fed my desire to own her, and made my cock hard as steel.
“I can’t marry you,” she was saying, only I’d chosen not to listen.
“You will,” I answered simply. “I cannot go another day without you. I have to make you mine. Surely, you see that. Surely you feel the same way.”
“I mean, that was fun and all, but I don’t want to marry anyone.”
I stood silent, the loneliness of her words seeping into my marrow, fighting a despair so deep it threatened to break me.
“I enjoy your company, Eduardo. I’m attracted to you, but we want different things. I’m focused on my business now. That’s all I care about at the moment. I can’t be somebody’s wife, much less the wife of a priest.”
“It doesn’t have to affect your work. You can do both.”
She shook her head, and my stomach felt like it was rotting.
“There are no rules about being the wife of a priest. It’s legal. In fact, it’s preferable for a priest to have a help meet. The Lord didn’t intend us to walk our path alone.”
“See? I don’t know about all that . . .”
I took her in my arms, “Ah, but I do. I know that you were meant for me. I’ve known it from the moment I saw you. You are everything I lack, the flame to my kindling, the oxygen for my lungs.”
She hugged me back, not speaking, and I wondered if I had gotten through to her.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t,” she s
aid, kissing me on the cheek.
Then she was gone, and I was left all alone.
The flickering light from the candles seemed to mock me.
I’d spent my adult life giving to others.
Like a petulant child, I wanted it to be my turn.
I straightened my shirt. It had been foolish to think I could have a woman like Chloe.
Fierce, independent women these days didn’t want a man they saw as stodgy and traditional. A man who’d committed his life to the priesthood wasn’t a man who could commit to them, at least that’s what they thought.
Of course there were the usual preacher’s wife candidates. They brought me casseroles, flirted with me at the after services, and fell all over each other to heed any committee I dreamed up. But they left me cold.
I had no desire for a fawning partner who was also committed to the church. God forgive me, I wanted the opposite. I wanted a raw and dirty girl who would challenge me every day of my life.
Lord help me, I wanted a sinner I could save.
Someone who could save me in return.
I wanted Chloe Thomas.
And dammit, I was going to have her.
15
Chloe
I was still wobbly when I got back to my apartment. Collapsing on the threadbare couch with the lumpy springs, I wondered how I’d gotten mixed up with a priest.
Sure, he was sexy as hell, and since he wasn’t Catholic he hadn’t taken a vow of celibacy, but still—talk about a dead-end relationship.
And where had he come up with the idea of marriage? Was he just going to marry every woman he felt like fucking? That seemed like a Looney Tunes way to date.
Had he been married before? Could priests get divorced? Probably not, but he sure knew his way around a woman’s body. That had surprised me.
I’d taken the night off, and after I took a nap I met Pepper for dinner at her parent’s new fusion restaurant.
After we took the first sips of our cocktails, I burst out, “So you want to hear something crazy?”
“You met a guy.”
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