by Skyla Madi
Tingles pulse in waves, heightening every nerve in my body. They dance up my spine, wrapping themselves around each vertebrae until they reach my hairline at the top of my neck. Already I feel like exploding into a million tiny lights and he hasn’t even touched me there yet. What will it feel like? I can’t recall the feeling of someone else’s hands touching me the way I touch myself. Oh, I bet it feels nice. I bet it feels fucking phenomenal.
Caleb lowers his heavy stare to my lips. “I want to kiss your mouth, Cassia Claire.”
My heart stutters. Cassia Claire. Daughter of Marcus and Melinda Claire. Shit. Panic rises in my chest as Caleb moistens his lips in that sexy way I can’t even begin to describe.
“Wait!” I whisper, planting both my hands on his chest. I lean back, away from his satanic mouth, until my lower spine aches. “We can’t do this. My father could come upstairs at any second.”
He grins, pleased by the thought. “He doesn’t trust me?”
As much as I’d like to point out my father clearly has good reason not to trust Caleb, I don’t. It’s not Caleb my father is wary of. If he catches me like this, that’s it. I don’t know what will happen to me.
“It’s not you he doesn’t trust.” I answer on an exhale, ashamed by the pace of my breathing and the speed in which it’s making my chest rise and fall.
Caleb removes his hand from between my legs and plants it on the small of my back, holding me firmly in place. “What’d you do, Cass?”
I shake my head and the smirk on his lips pulls wide, his irises dancing with indecent excitement.
God help me. Please.
“Did Daddy catch you giving your sacred little pussy to all the boys?”
I bristle, offended. Boys? No, not boys. I gave it to a boy who was kind and trustworthy. A boy who made me feel comfortable and wanted. Our exchange of virginities was respectful and I don’t regret a single time we had sex together.
“A boy.” I state. “Not boys.”
He releases me from his arms and I take a step back. Fresh, sobering air swoops into my lungs, only to be stolen when he snags one of my long, blonde locks and gently wraps it around his finger.
“What a lucky son of a bitch.”
I pinch my lock of hair and pull it free.
“He was very lucky.”
Our gazes connect and my heart pumps erratically, ditching the rhythmic beat all together. Sex with Thomas, the boy from Bismarck, never made my heart race like this. No one has ever made my heart race like this. Lust is one hell of an impulse.
Caleb’s jaw ticks, on and off, his lips pressing into a serious line. What is he thinking? Is he thinking what I’m thinking? Is he fighting against every cell in his body not to throw himself against me?
Relaxing his shoulders, he turns the upper half of his body and reaches for my Bible on the table. I watch closely as he grabs it in his large, strong hands and turns back to me, the Bible outstretched.
A man behind me clears his throat, making me jump. My heart drops into my shoes when I glance over my shoulder and see my father standing there, car keys in his hand. How long has he been standing there? What did he see? What did he hear?
My heart ceases to beat, my organs cease to function, as I watch him, waiting for a reaction. Three seconds, seconds that feel more like minutes, pass and my father smiles.
“How’d she go?” He asks, sending relief crashing through my body.
I take the Bible and look away as heat spreads up my chest, and neck, and pours into my cheeks. Caleb stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and smiles politely. My dad doesn’t see the disappointment in its curl, but I do.
“She’s a natural.”
“Good to hear.” Dad chuckles, pressing a heavy hand to my shoulder. “Are you ready?”
I nod and turn away from Caleb. I can’t bear to look at him a second longer. Does he have any idea what he could have cost me? I could’ve lost everything. It might not matter to him because he has the trust and the support of the Church behind him, but it matters to me.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulder, Dad leads me away, his feet stomping happily along while mine drag.
“See you in church on Sunday, Cassia Claire.”
I glance over my shoulder as Caleb turns his back to us and rakes ten, aggressive fingers through his hair.
What have we started?
“Thank you so much for the wonderful service, Caleb.” Mrs. McNamara croaks, clenching her long, varnished cane in one hand while patting my chest with the other.
I smile as I hold open the heavy door for her. Agnus McNamara has been a member of the church since I was young. I have a special relationship with Agnus. She’s like a grandmother to me. She was there, excited and thrilled, when my father announced the birth of my little sister and she was there, solemn and apologetic, when he cried at the funeral. No one cares like Agnus does. No one helps you shoulder the guilt you carry like Agnus does. She knows all about me, all of my sufferings and all of my sins and she offers criticism without judgment. A true beacon of light. That’s what she is.
“You’re welcome, Agnus. Same time next week?”
“I’ll be here with bells on.” Agnus chuckles, then clicks her fingers as she leans in close. “Oh, we haven’t had the time to chat. No misadventures this week, I hope?”
I smile politely, happy I don’t have any recent and delightful tales to tell her about chasing skirts.
“You’ll be happy to know I’ve stayed on the straight and narrow for the most of it.”
Beaming widely, she tilts her head to the side and a curl of grey hair tumbles across her forehead. “Good boy. All I ask is that you try.”
I laugh, mostly because my sexless week is the result of one simple female, not because I’ve tried to tone down on my usual rampaging.
“See you next time, Mrs. McNamara.”
“Bye-bye, dear.”
Church goers filter out the doors, offering me thanks and farewells. I smile and nod as best I can while I fight off the disappointment that lingers on the precipice. Cassia was a no show. I saw her parents, but not her. Her mother told me she was feeling a little under the weather and couldn’t bring herself to attend, but I’m calling bullshit. She’s avoiding me.
For the first time in a long time, I woke up eager for church. I wanted to see her. I wanted to see how she’d wear her hair and what clothes she’d choose to cover her beautiful body. I wanted to imagine what underwear she’d be wearing underneath it—if any at all.
Mostly, I wanted to watch her squirm in her seat, lusting over me as she sat with a straight back next to her parents, like a good little puppet. It turns me on like nothing else.
Groaning, I drop back against the door and lower my head. I can’t exist in this state any longer. The pent up arousal is killing me. I saw a nice tree with a decent sized hole in it on the way to church this morning and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t turn me on. God, that’s so fucked up.
“Ah, Caleb.” I snap my head up as Marcus, Cassia’s father, strides up the stairs in his crisp, gray Sunday suit and rests beside me.
“I can’t seem to locate your father. Do you know where he is?”
I glance over my shoulder and peer into the church. I spot my father on the other side of the hall, talking to Henry Knoll. I bet he’s confessing that he smoked another dime bag of weed over the weekend. I sit in the Confession Box when I’m bored sometimes. I know the shit he gets up to whenever his ex-wife is in town. Weed and porn on rinse and repeat until she leaves again.
“He seems to be a little preoccupied with Mr. Knoll at the moment.” I look at Marcus. “Anything I can help you with?”
I’m going to fuck your daughter, maybe have her call me daddy. I give my head a small shake, dispelling the thought. Jesu—I’m getting out of hand. I need to put my dick in something.
“Linda is putting on a special dinner tonight—a roast. We were hoping you and your father could join us? God knows we’ll need the extr
a support.”
Oh, this is just too good. Cassia thought she could avoid me, huh? Ha. The beginnings of a grin tug at my lips and excitement curls through my stomach like a budding flower. “Count us in.”
Marcus cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not going to ask your father first?”
I shake my head. “He’s free. We’ll be there.”
Even if my father wasn’t free, he certainly is now. I’m not missing this. No fucking way.
“Okay. Okay, great.”
He rubs at the back of his head, but doesn't leave and I realize the conversation isn’t over.
“About Friday night...” Marcus mutters, inching closer as if he’s afraid Daphne the ninety year old deaf war nurse to our left will hear him. “Cassia behaved herself?”
The nascent ball of stress in my stomach disperses and I frown. Can’t he see that it’s not Cassia he should be worried about? If only he knew how close I came to burying my fingers inside her. A thin scrap of fabric was all that was stopping me from shattering her world.
“Cassia was exemplary.” I state, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my slacks. “As I expected.”
She was better than I expected. Her skin was soft, her body was firm, and if Heaven had a smell…good God. My cock stirs.
“Oh, good.” He clears his throat and avoids my eyes. “Your father has probably already warned you, but…she’s hard to handle, you see.”
Does he think I’m fucking blind? I knew right off the bat that Cassia had been up to no good. Originally, I assumed she’d been outed for banging as many dicks as she could, but one? One? That hardly calls for a fucking intervention. Her mother and father treat her like a leper, like she has no control over her own body. I’d say she has very good control. I can only imagine how many men have thrown themselves at her feet and she has only allowed ONE between her thighs? The girl is a damn saint in my book.
“Is that right?” I ask, unable to keep the uninterested tone from tainting my voice.
He nods. “She’s made mistakes, but Linda and I are working on fixing her.”
Involuntarily, my jaw clenches. Poor girl. No wonder she’s terrified of enjoying herself…with useless parents like hers. They are trying to fix her? She’s not broken—she’s practically mint in her box. Cassia is a valuable asset to a collector like me.
“Anyway, we can discuss it over dinner.” Marcus announces, slapping me on the shoulder. “I’m sure new Cassia will be thrilled when she hears what Father Andrews and I have arranged for her.”
My ears perk up. “What you’ve arranged?”
A proud smile curves his lips. “We’ve established a celibacy ceremony in her honor.”
A laugh bubbles up my throat and seeps out from between my lips. A celibacy ceremony? Oh, I definitely want to be there when they tell her that. Will she crack? Will she go rogue and give me everything I want from her? Or will she accept it? Maybe impressing the people who oppress who she really is what she wants more than anything.
“Good luck with that.” I say, swallowing the rest of my laugh.
“I…uh…I also want to take a moment to apologize. I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt I’ve questioned your good nature. It’s not you. Your father assures me you’re a good man and I trust him. It’s just, with Cassia being the way she is…it makes me uncomfortable to leave her alone with the opposite sex. Cassia…she’ll take advantage of your good nature for her own selfish needs.”
I smirk. He has no idea that the only reason I haven’t fucked his daughter is because she turned me down. Sure, I would’ve cracked her if I had a little more time, but she made no advances on me. She dropped no hints or suggestions the whole half an hour we spent alone together. Cassia stood her ground longer than any girl has when I’ve made a move on them. I’ve had girls over that very table within five minutes of entering the room. Others have been so eager we’ve fucked in the hall just outside the door. Cassia is more than what he gives her credit for. She’s suppressing her true self in order to regain the love and respect of her parents and he doesn’t even know.
“Thanks for the heads up, Marcus, but you don’t need to worry about me. I can handle Cassia.” I push off the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
Naughty plans begin to formulate in my head. I can’t wait to see the look on her face when I walk through the door and she sees that the Devil has come for dinner.
*Cassia*
…that evening…
I slip my tongue between my lips. My heart pounds in my chest as I hold my breath. My nerves are frazzled, causing my hands to tremble, and butterflies wreak havoc in my stomach at the thought of being caught doing something I’m not supposed to be doing. I rush out my exhale.
Almost.
Yes…
Yes…
Oh my God!
Yes!
A proud smile creeps across my lips as I slip the nail brush back into its bottle and close the lid. I admire my handiwork. The pretty, dark pink polish is smooth and glossy, untainted by fingerprints or strokes. The best part? I didn’t even touch the skin.
“Cassia?”
I jump at the sound of Mom’s voice as she shouts from the bottom of the stairs.
Oh, shit. I told her I could barely get out of bed today. If she finds out I lied to get out of going to Church she’ll tell Dad and Dad will lose his damn mind. I pause for a second. I really hope I’m not the only almost twenty year old who still gets treated like a child by their over-protective parents. You’d think at twenty, I’d be old enough to decide if I want to go to church or not.
I sigh.
“Cassia?”
Her voice is close. Crap!
I scramble, grabbing my tissues and polish and I toss them underneath my bed. I don’t have time to wait for my toenails to dry so I throw myself off my bed and run across the room to the sliding door that leads out onto my balcony. I push the door open, flick on the fan and leap for my bed. I hear her footsteps as she climbs the stairs.
With seconds left, I throw back my pink comforter and slip underneath, cringing as the fabric sticks to my wet toenails, undoubtedly ruining my perfect job. Ugh. God is punishing me for feigning sick on a holy day. Still, I can’t be mad. I’d rather get nail polish all over my skin than face Caleb after what happened on Friday night. I’m ashamed of what I did and what I said. I told him everything. I basically painted ‘down to fuck’ on my forehead. I bet he thinks I’m an easy lay. I’m not, not usually, but for him? For him I am.
There’s a slight knock on the door before the handle creaks and turns. I throw my arm over my face, pulling the covers up to my chin.
“Cassia? Are you awake?”
I groan, feigning sleep.
“It’s almost dinner and we have guests coming. If you can scrub up the best you can and come down stairs in half an hour, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Who?” I ask, unmoving. “Who’s coming?”
“Father Andrews and his son, Caleb.”
My stomach flips and my heart sinks like a rock. I part my lips as red hot heat flares through my face and pools in my cheeks. No. This is not happening. I fake a cough—kind of. The wet nail polish is seeping into my nostrils and burning the back of my throat.
“I don’t feel good.” I say, doing my best to make my voice sound like it’s barely there.
“Well, have a shower and try to get it together. This dinner is important and you need to be there.”
“But—”
She shuts the door, cutting my words off in my throat. Grunting, I shove the blankets off and peel my toes from my sheet. Both the blanket and my nails are ruined. I look up to the ceiling. Why? Why is this happening to me? I blow an exhale out of my cheeks and sit up.
I'm supposed to be sick, but I can’t bring myself to go down there looking like death and I sure as hell can’t go down there all chipper and healthy. There has to be some kind of middle ground. Maybe a subtle, black romper will suffice. It’s classy, yet casual and offers little room
for Caleb to shove his hand up.
I swing my legs off the side of my bed and peer down at my toes. First, I have to remove this damn nail polish.
* * * *
I smooth the palms of my hands down the front of my black romper and suck in my stomach. My hands tremble with the nervousness I feel deep in my belly. Caleb is going to take one look at me and realize I faked sick in order to avoid him. Can that be anymore awkward? I need to get it together before I go downstairs or my parents are going to see my embarrassment from a mile away and I can’t have that. I blow air out of my cheeks and pull my blonde waves around my shoulders, covering a portion of the red flush on my neck. Choosing the romper was a good idea. Though it stops a few inches underneath my butt, it covers my chest all the way up to my collarbone and shields my long arms with its wonderful black lace. It’s a good outfit for a good Catholic girl.
“I can do this.” I whisper, slipping into a pair of plain, black flats. “No problem.”
I shake my arms and roll my shoulders. Gosh, why am I so riled up? Nothing has happened between Caleb and I, so I shouldn’t be feeling so ashamed. If anything, I should be proud that I made it through Friday night without giving in.…so why aren’t I?
I pause, resting my hand on the bedroom door handle. Guilt punches holes in my stomach. I shouldn’t go downstairs. It feels wrong being in the same room as Caleb and my parents.
Swallowing hard, I pull open the door and slip out into the hallway. Voices float up the stairs and stop me dead in my tracks. The hair on the back of my neck stands up and sweat blooms over my body as Caleb addresses my mother with utmost politeness. Puckering my lips, I once again exhale heavily.
All right. Here we go.
My long hair sticks to the back of my neck and dampens against my skin as I close in on the stairs. I huff, stuffing my hand into my left pocket, and retrieve a thin hair band. I stashed it there in case Mom decided to cook something saucy. I almost always get her pasta sauce in my hair. I can’t have my hair sticking to me like glue in Caleb’s presence, either, so I sweep my long, blonde waves into a loose ponytail and tie it back before gripping the white, wooden bannister in my hand. Holding my breath, I take my first step. Right on cue, his chuckle floats up from downstairs, liquefying the wood at my feet. I tilt my head back, cursing the smooth, white ceiling.
