by Skyla Madi
Why, Satan? Why?
I blow another gush of air from my cheeks and gather my composure for what feels like the one millionth time. He is just a boy.
A dirty, filthy boy.
I patter down the stairs, holding my head high.
“You look like you’re feeling much better, Cassia.” Dad points out as he passes by the staircase, stopping to plant a quick, small kiss on my cheek.
“I don’t think I’ll be down here long.” I tell him, making my voice deep and gruff. “I’m a little dizzy.”
He drops his rolled newspaper into the newspaper basket next to the staircase and straightens his posture. Dad adjusts the sleeve of his black sweater, giving me a once over with suspicious eyes. I pout, pressing a palm to my stomach.
“All right. Say hello to Father Andrews and then sit down. Don’t want you passing out before the chicken is served. You can go after we’ve made the announcement.”
I frown, folding my arms tightly across my chest to prevent the blood from completely draining from my body. We’re having dinner…with the Andrews family and there will be an announcement…please don’t tell me Caleb ratted me out.
“Announcement?”
“You look nice, Cassia.” Father Andrews says with a friendly smile, interrupting the conversation between Dad and I.
Oh, boy.
Dropping my arms to my sides, I drag my stare to Father Andrews, purposely neglecting to look at his son.
“And healthy.” Caleb chimes in, leaving me with no choice but to address him.
“I…” The rest of my sentence catches in my throat at the sight of him.
Never.
My imagination never does him justice.
A tight, white tee clings to the rise and depressions of his lean, athletic torso and a pair of sexy, loose fitting jeans cover his long legs. He stands tall and proud with that look of amusement in his eyes that I hate so much as he folds his arms over his chest.
Why can’t anyone else see it? The bad boy in him is obvious. It’s in his mannerisms, his facial expressions. It’s in the tone of his voice and the choice of his words. I can smell it on him. He is bad to the bone.
It takes all the strength I have not to scowl at him. “I’m feeling a lot better. Thank you.”
Ass.
Dad slips over to the table, leaving me alone with his guests. “We said a prayer for your health when Caleb told me you were feeling under the weather.”
Caleb’s pleased smile widens, teasing me in a way that is going to get him punched in the face...by my vagina.
“Gee.” I scratch my head. “That’s kind of you. Thank you.”
Do not roll your eyes. Do not roll your eyes.
“Your mother told us you haven’t been able to get out of bed all day, but here you are.” Caleb points out, his gorgeous green eyes flaring brightly as he quickly licks his bottom lip. “God is great.”
What’s his point? Miracles can happen.
“He sure is.” Father Andrews and I say in unison.
Father Andrews steps around me. “Linda, let me help you with those plates.”
I clench my hands into fists to prevent myself from grabbing Caleb’s father by his navy sports jacket and begging him not to leave me with his evil spawn. I can’t stand here alone with this man—not with him watching me the way he does. Those smoldering eyes framed by dark lashes I would kill for and that stupid, plump lip.
Sorcery!
I whip around on my heel and march behind Father Andrews. Naturally, Caleb falls into step beside me. Fuck he smells good. Expensive cologne is like crack to women and these corporations know it. I wonder when men will fight back and demand they be compensated for the clothing that goes missing whenever they wear a magnificent fragrance.
“Your legs are too weak to walk on, huh?” Caleb whispers, ending with a chuckle.
“Stop it.”
I glue my stare to my mother as she wipes her hands down the front of her white, frilly apron.
“You don’t know what weak legs are. Try walking after I’ve—”
“I said stop it.” I hiss, shoving him with my shoulder.
“You stop it. You’re the one who faked sick to get out of seeing me today. What are you, twelve?”
I scoff. “Almost twenty, asshole.”
“Then start acting like it.”
“You start acting like it.” I jab him in the ribs and he flinches away from me.
“That doesn’t make any sense.” He shoots back, his tone a husky murmur. “I’m twenty-two.”
Caleb pinches my ass between his thumb and forefinger and I jolt forward, choking on my squeak. I swat him away. He needs to stop!
I shoot him a death glare that he annoyingly ignores. I will not play his games in front of my parents.
I move to the left side of the table as he goes right. He follows me down the length of the dining table and I know what he’s doing. I grab the back of the third wooden chair and pull it out.
Don’t sit across from me. Don’t sit across from m—damn it!
With a smug flick of his eyebrows, he drops into the seat opposite mine. My eyebrows pull in, only to straighten out when Father Andrews places a plate in front of me. He smells like paper and goodness…a far cry from the smell of his naughty, lusty son.
Ashamedly, I press my thighs together as Caleb watches me while his father sets up my plate and cutlery. His stare says everything. How am I going to get out of this unscathed?
Thankfully, Father Andrews moves quickly, placing all of the plates and the cutlery down before disappearing to the kitchen—where both my parents are apparently hiding, too.
I’ll be the first to admit something fishy is going on. I should have stayed in damn bed.
“What are you staring at?” I ask, my voice a harsh whisper.
He moves his head with a subtle shake and leans back in his chair. “You don’t want to know.”
“Maybe I do.”
Closing his lips he run his tongue along his bottom teeth, apparently in thought. With a click, he sits forward and wraps his fingers around the handle of his fork.
“I was just curious if the pink fluster you have in your in cheeks now will match the one you get when I slip my cock into your ass later.”
My stomach flips in a way it shouldn’t. Excited over sodomy? Have I fallen so far?
“Wow…you’re inappropriate.”
“You wanted to know. I’m being honest.”
“Well, gosh. Thank you for that. I appreciate your honesty. Truly.” I deadpan, wringing my napkin in my hands. “We’re about to have dinner with our parents so can you tone it down a little on the sex, please?”
“Impossible. With you sitting in front of me in that sexy little whatever the hell it is, I can’t get my mind out of the gutter.”
“Firstly, it’s called a romper, and secondly, if you like sex so much why don’t you become a gigolo?”
“Firstly, I don’t care what it’s called, and secondly, I don’t accept cash for sex. I’m a humanitarian.”
I frown. “That’s not what that means—you know what? It doesn’t matter. There’s no point arguing with you.”
His lips twitch at the corners. “Because I always get what I want?”
“Because you’re difficult.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult, Cass. In fact, I’ll make this real easy for you.”
Caleb leans across the table, causing his cutlery to clatter against his ceramic plate.
Every muscle in my body tightens to stone. “What are you doing?”
“Kiss me.”
I shake my head, but my lips tingle, begging me to plant one on his mouth. “No.”
“You’ve been eye-fucking my mouth since you came downstairs. If you won’t do it for yourself, at least do it for me. I want to kiss you so damn bad.”
I feign a cough, covering my mouth with my fist. “I’m sick.”
Rolling his eyes, Caleb returns to his side of the table. �
��A sick girl has the energy to put mascara and lip gloss on? I don’t think so.”
“I am sick. Sick of you.”
“Not buying it.”
I narrow my eyes. “You know what they call you in Spanish?”
“What?”
“Diablo.”
Caleb laughs an incredible laugh. It exposes his perfect white teeth and ignites the playfulness in his eyes. Oh, the things I would do if our parents weren’t in the very next room.
“Tú eres el diablo.” He says in Spanish, his tongue moving expertly around the words. “It’d be a lie if I said I haven’t heard it before.”
She is beautiful. And she fucking knows it.
She sits across from me, pretending to be interested in whatever the hell our parents are talking about, but I know her mind is elsewhere. I know it’s on me—where it should be. I wonder if she knows I have my hand in my jeans, my fingers wrapped tightly around my cock. I stroke it to her while she sucks a thin, green bean into her mouth and engages her mother in conversation. I can’t wait to tell her what I’ve done.
My lips part. I’m fucking hard—so hard I can’t believe it. I’ve fucked my hand about nine times since Friday night, and every time I imagined her. I can’t do it anymore. I need it. I would come all over her legs right now if my father wasn’t sitting two seats to my left. My cock softens at the thought and I leave it alone, stabbing my fork into my chicken.
“You’ve barely touched your food, Caleb.” Marcus points out, pointing his knife in my direction.
I don’t want to talk to them—any of them. They’re standing in the way of me eating what I really want. I want Cassia’s thighs on my plate. I want them spread open, offering me the delicious delicacy of her tight, sweet little pussy. I want her ass. Her tits. Her fucking mouth. Beans? They think I want to eat beans when I can devour their daughter an actually wind up satisfied when I’m done? Screw the beans. Give me the girl.
“Maybe you’re coming down with what Cassia has.”
I almost snort. Sure. Let’s go with that.
I nod. “Maybe.”
Cassia looks at me, he lips pouty and her eyebrows furrowed. I don’t know why she’s always worried I’ll expose what a perfectly naughty girl she is. It’s not like we’ve done anything together. She’s innocent...until I make her guilty.
“You’ve eaten quite a lot.” I say to her, hiding my delight. “I take it your appetite is back?”
Realization flickers over her face as a red blush pools in her cheeks.
“Oh. Uh, yeah. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
She avoids my eyes and pushes a few peas around her plate with her fork.
“It’s a good thing you fell ill at the beginning of the week, Cassia. At least you’ll recover in time for Bible study with Caleb on Friday.”
She tightens her slender fingers around her fork as she peers at my father.
“I was hoping Caleb could cover sex and marriage with you this week.”
I almost choke. Oh. This is going to be good. I shift in my chair.
“That’s a fair bit away from where we are at the moment, right?” She looks at me.
The way her sweet little eyebrows pull together as she frowns kind of makes me feel bad for her. She’s a little wolf desperately trying to fit in with sheep, but we’re not like them. We’re not sheep. We cannot be herded.
Dad clears his throat. “When I come again, I shall bemoan many which have already sinned, and have not repented of the lasciviousness and fornication which they have committed in an unrighteous manner.”
Cassia quirks an eyebrow. “Lascivious?”
“To stir up desire in oneself, or another, that cannot be virtuously satisfied within the boundaries of a righteous relationship.” I say, pushing my plate out of the way. “I.e. Between husband and wife.”
Yeah. I learned that word when I first got hair on my balls.
Blood drains from Cassia’s face, turning her stomach enough for her to lower her fork and nudge her plate out of the way.
“What’s this about, exactly?” She asks her mother who keeps her eyes downcast at her plate.
Linda ignores her daughter’s question, offering a slight glance at Marcus, asking for help.
Weak.
Marcus threads his fingers together, dropping his elbows on the table. “Cassia, we recognize how hard you are trying to stay on the right path and we are thankful for it, truly, we are...”
“But?”
“But we would like for you to take an oath…of celibacy until you are married.”
Cassia chuckles nervously. “You’re not serious?”
Marcus narrows his eyes. “We’re dead serious.”
“Cassia, this is a good thing. Your father told me everything that’s happened and he’s acknowledged how hard you’re trying. Taking the oath only further ensures your dedication. It forms a promise between you and God that your parents can trust wholeheartedly.”
“They should trust me not depend on some stupid oath.”
“If you’re not having sex, why not take the oath?” Marcus asks, accusation thick and heavy in his tone.
“Because it’s unnecessary. I’m not going to embarrass myself like that.”
“It’s a simple ceremony, Cassia. You repent, you swear an oath, and you wear the ring. That’s all. You can take it off once you’re married.”
“I have to wear a ring, too?” She tosses her hands up. “Why don’t you slap a fucking scarlet letter on me and tattoo whore across my fucking forehead while you’re at it?”
“Cassia!” Marcus booms. “That’s enough!”
My lips twitch up.
“I’m not finished.” She points at her father. “Fuck you.”
Then at her mother. “And fuck you.”
Her slender little index finger shoots in the direction of my dad. “Fuck you, too.”
And, finally, she points it at me. “And fuck you—especially you.”
I reach for my glass of water. “What’d I do?”
“You exist, Caleb. You fucking exist.”
Aw. I just might marry this feisty little firecracker. I smile. I can’t help it. She’s turning me on way too much to ignore.
“That’s hardly cause for such hostility.” I point out, sipping my water.
She flips me off, sending sharp tendrils of excitement barreling through my body. This is fun!
“Cassia Claire!” Her dad barks out, his face a royal red.
My smile doesn’t fall. I bet angry fucking the shit out of this girl would be epic.
Cassia whips around on her heel and storms toward the staircase.
“We’ve paid for the ceremony, Cassia. It’s going to happen.” Marcus shouts after her, his face red with an angry mix of rage and embarrassment.
“We can’t force her to take the oath, Marcus. It doesn’t work like that. She has to be willing.”
“I’m not.” She shouts over her shoulder.
“This whole time?” Marcus snaps, pushing up from his chair. “This whole time you’ve led us to believe you’ve changed? Have you been having sex? Have you been in contact with that boy?”
Cassia stops, squeezing the banister in her hand. She turns around. “I’ve been locked up in this house since we moved here, only let out to go to work and church so that leaves little time for me to blow the whole town, and no, I haven’t spoken to Thomas since we left Bismarck. You smashed my laptop and took my phone.”
Holy hell. This girl has no freedom.
“Then take the bloody oath and quit humiliating us. How long do we have to live with the embarrassment of your mistakes? How long do we have to suffer because of what you did?”
Jesus fucking Christ. They really need to ease up on the girl. I clench my jaw as hurt slaps her across the face. I press my shoes into the ground, my calf muscles burning as I bear down on them. It takes all my energy not to stab Marcus in the hand with my fork. No wonder the poor girl tries so hard to impress her parents. They
hit her with some intense emotional abuse.
Swallowing hard, Cassia turns away from her father, away from the table, and bounds up the stairs.
“Cassia!” Her father shouts, his voice coaxing my violent urge to jam a chicken leg down his throat.
He steps away from the table in pursuit of his daughter.
“Marcus, wait. Caleb should go.” My father interjects, his tone calm and cool.
Marcus shakes his head, wary of the suggestion. “I don’t think so.”
Dad folds his hands on the table in front of him. “He successfully completed his celibacy ceremony six years ago. I think Cassia will benefit more by talking to someone who has been through it and is of a similar age.”
Again, Marcus shakes his head. “I think this is an issue best discussed with a parent.”
“With all due respect, Marcus. You’re the last person Cassia would want to talk to about intercourse and celibacy.” Dad points out, making Marcus’s jaw tick.
Marcus eyes me up with his beady little stare. “Celibate, you say?”
Not even close.
My father nods. “You can trust Caleb. That I promise you.”
Sure, he can trust me. He can trust me to give his daughter the kind of dick that will fuck with her feelings.
Marcus plants his hands on his hips and rakes his teeth over his bottom lip. “All right.”
It takes everything I have to hold back a triumphant grin. My chair screeches against the tiles as I push away from the table. It’s all too easy. He’s practically shoving Cassia into my arms, begging me to fuck her...
…and I will.
I swear to God, I will.
* * * *
I open the door to her room, walk right in, and close it behind me.
Her room is messier than I thought, littered with female paraphernalia and corkboards besieged with pictures of Cassia and her friends. Her room smells nice, like apples and cotton candy, and the slightest hint of nail polish tickles my nostrils. I drag my sights to the back wall where white and black pillows are scattered chaotically over her snow white comforter in the middle of her large bed. She has better things to do than clean her room, it seems.
