Priest (A Standalone Bad Boy Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  My irritation starts to fade. She may have gotten over-excited at first, but it’s good to see her having this much fun.

  “All right,” I tell her. “First, ease off the brake and move that foot over to the accelerator.”

  “Okay,” she says, looking down as she moves her foot from the brake to the gas.

  “Now, give it just a little gas and slowly start releasing the clutch,” I tell her.

  She presses down on the gas a little hard, revving the engine. She eases off again, saying, “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her. “Now go again, just this time give it a little less gas and don’t forget to ease off of the clutch.”

  She gets the gas about right, but releases the clutch way too quickly. The car jolts forward, shudders and dies.

  “You’re doing fine,” I tell her. “Now, try coming even slower off the clutch.”

  We’re doing this for a while. Although she never quite gets the hang of it, she does manage to get up to second gear a couple of times, third once.

  When I start smelling transmission fluid, though, I decide it’s about time to call it a day.

  She seems a bit disappointed, but I do my best to encourage her.

  “The first time I ever got behind the wheel of a manual,” I tell her, “I wore the clutch out all the way. It was pretty ugly. Mick was so pissed.”

  She smiles a little, but it’s clear she’s not too happy with herself.

  “It takes time,” I tell her, “and this is far from the easiest vehicle to learn on, so don’t take it too hard, all right? We’ll keep coming out here until you’ve got the hang of it.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “We might want to see if we can get a different car, though.”

  She elbows me in the ribs, and we both laugh together.

  “So,” I start again, “you mentioned there would be some kind of reward if we did the lesson in the Chevelle…”

  “Yeah, we’ll want to wait until we’ve got the thing parked before we do that, though,” she says.

  I’m actually just teasing her. I don’t expect anything. At the same time, though, I’m not going to turn down that kind of offer, so I may be driving back to the junkyard slightly faster than necessary.

  We have to take a little detour before we get back, though, as I spot a cop car down the street a ways. Thankfully, they don’t see us and we’re able to circle around and park the car safely in the junkyard.

  Before we get out, Kate is asking, “Are you ready?”

  “You really don’t have to give me anything or do anything in exchange for going out there today,” I tell her.

  “I know,” she says. “I want to.”

  It seems fair enough to me right until she puts her hand out to shake mine. I cock my head a little, but I take her hand.

  In return for burning out my clutch, Kate very literally gives me a smile, a “thank you,” and a handshake.

  I can seriously see myself falling in love with this woman.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gloried Morning

  Kate

  I’m asleep when it starts, but I wake up quickly enough.

  Eli’s between my legs, kissing the insides of my thighs and teasing my center with his lips and tongue.

  I lift the blanket to look at him, asking, “What ya doin’?”

  He glances up, saying, “I thought you might appreciate a little help waking up.”

  I think I can live with that.

  His arms are under my thighs, his hands alternately moving up my side and curling around my legs.

  This is Eli’s first time at my house.

  We were together late last night and I decided to sneak him in. It’s a bit of a risk, but my parents should already be gone for work by now.

  Eli runs his tongue over my lower lips, and I’m checking to make sure the door is locked. Just because they should be at work doesn’t mean I’m willing to take any chances.

  His mouth settles over my clit, and he takes it between his lips, his tongue massaging.

  I’ve got one hand over my mouth, the other playing with the hair on the back of Eli’s head as he goes down on me.

  It’s not such a bad way to wake up in the morning.

  He brings his hand down toward my center and eases a finger inside me, and I throw the covers off as best I can to take in the view.

  He looks up at me, his lips kissing my lower abdomen and my inner thighs as he draws little circles over my g-spot with his middle finger.

  I reach over to the nightstand, grabbing my box of condoms and setting it on the bed next to me.

  “Come here,” I whisper.

  He moves up my body with his mouth, adoring every inch of the ascent, and as soon as he’s close enough, I reach between his naked legs and grab him.

  I find a better position on the bed and I pat the top of his shaft against my tongue a few times before taking him into my mouth.

  He lets out a long sigh, and I can feel his pulse between my lips.

  I take him farther in my mouth and then ease back. Stroking him, I look up to see his eyes are closed.

  Wrapping my lips around him again, I suck him softly, my fingers still wrapped around the base of his shaft.

  It’s not long before he’s pulling back and reaching for the condoms next to me on the bed.

  He removes one and puts it on and his eyes are serious but kind as he positions himself between my legs. Yeah, this is quite probably the best wakeup ever.

  Eli dips himself between my folds, just enough to wet his tip and he pulls back. With the next motion he goes deeper.

  I’m pulling his head down and I kiss him hard on the lips. His tempo increases, and I’m lying with my arms out to the sides now as he bends to kiss my breasts.

  My nipples harden, and he flicks them, each in their turn, with his tongue.

  With one arm beneath my lower back, Eli lifts my hips a little, allowing him to go just a little bit deeper and my hips are rising and falling to meet him in the middle.

  Eli kisses the sensitive skin of my neck. His heavy breathing intoxicates me so close to my ear.

  Whenever they’re close enough, I kiss his neck, his shoulders, his cheek, and his mouth, relishing the salty taste of his skin.

  I’m flexing my kegels, trying to get the most out of every inch of feeling, and his mouth comes open as he breathes so hard.

  I pull him close to me as I feel the switch flip in my body, and I start to rise through the ether.

  “Come with me,” I whisper to him, but it looks like he’s already well on his way.

  He’s entering me so hard, so fast, it’s hard to tell at any given moment whether he’s pushing in or pulling back, and my legs are quaking as a guttural moan escapes my lips.

  I reach under my head and remove a pillow, putting it over my face because I’m pretty sure that’s the only thing that has any chance of working as he takes me all the way to the top and my senses are flooded with a warm electricity that seems to arc with every motion of either of our bodies.

  The pillow is hard over my mouth, but I don’t know how much good it’s doing as I have little, if any, control.

  I can feel the sharp contractions in Eli’s muscles just about the time I hear the lock to my door turning. Eli’s off of me and under the covers, managing to cover me as well, but it’s too late.

  Removing the pillow from my face, I see my mother standing in the doorway, phone in hand.

  “Get out,” she barks at Eli.

  “You get out!” I retort.

  I’m surprised when she does.

  She’s only a few steps out of my room before she starts talking, though, “Yes, my name is Jill Chavez…yes, the one who called a few weeks ago,” Mom is saying.

  I hate that everyone knows her. It makes them believe they have to take her crap seriously.

  I’m out of bed, putting my clothes on faster than I ever have in my life, and I’m rushing after her.
/>   She’s downstairs, standing before the front window.

  “Mom, wait,” I say. “We’re both adults. You can’t keep calling the cops on him just because you don’t want to get to know him.”

  Mom doesn’t even look at me; she just keeps talking on the phone.

  “Yeah, I don’t know why he thought he’d ever be welcome here, but that’s how it goes with these street people,” she says.

  “He’s not a street person,” I tell her. “He has his own place, he’s got a car, two of them, actually. He has a job. Mom, he’s a really nice guy if you’d just-”

  She holds her hand up at me, cutting me off mid-sentence.

  “Fine,” I growl, and I rush back upstairs.

  Eli’s not in the room.

  I check under the bed, I check the closet. I would have seen him if he’d tried to come down the stairs. His clothes are gone, though.

  I don’t know where he went, but it looks like he managed to get out of here. So I turn and start heading back for my door when I hear a thumping sound outside my open window.

  Wait, why is my window open.

  I walk over and look out, finding Eli dangling from the side of the house, his fingers clamped on the bottom of the windowsill.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “I’ll help you back in. There’s not much time.”

  “Come with me,” he says. “You don’t have to deal with the police, either. Let’s just get out of here.”

  I look down at him hanging there outside my window. His eyes are wide even as he’s trying to convince me to follow him out there.

  “Come on,” I tell him. “It’s a long drop. Trust me.”

  Mom comes into the room, saying, “What I will never understand is why you want to throw your entire life…” It’s about this time that she notices I’m not just looking out the window. “What is he doing?”

  Maybe it’s not the best move, but the only thing I can think to do is tell Eli to, “Get out of here as fast as you can,” and close the window.

  “Just look at yourself,” Mom says. “You’re an adult woman trying to sneak her boyfriend out of her room. Is this who you want to be?”

  I’m about to fire of my retort when there’s a knock on the front door downstairs.

  She doesn’t say anything more, she just turns and goes. As soon as she’s out of the room, I’m opening the window up again.

  Eli’s not there.

  “Kate!” Mom calls from downstairs. “Come on down here; these officers would like to have a few words with you.”

  The police have better things to do with their time than to chastise a grown woman for having sex with her boyfriend in her parents’ house. I happen to know this for a fact.

  Still, my parents give enough money to the policemen’s union that I wouldn’t put anything past them, either.

  So, I can go downstairs and face the music. I’m sure there’s no chance of me being arrested, but I’m sick of dealing with this.

  I’m done.

  I’m out.

  I can hear footsteps coming up the stairs, so I don’t have time for the sheets.

  My heart is pounding as I climb out the window and lower myself down as far as I can, though I doubt it’ll make much of a difference.

  I know it’s possible to drop from this height without getting hurt, but I don’t exactly have a lot of experience jumping out of buildings, either.

  It’s all about the tuck and roll. That’s what they say anyway.

  Releasing my grip, it looks like we’re about to find out.

  I hit the ground, and I certainly roll, though the tuck could use quite a bit of work. The wind knocked out of me as I get to my feet, and I’m looking to see if there are any officers who may have seen the maneuver.

  I’m alone on the side of the house.

  There doesn't seem to be any serious injuries, but it’s still a little tough walking at the moment. Hobbling is about the best I can do for now.

  I manage to climb the neighbor’s fence, and once I’m on the other side, I’m pulling my phone out of my pocket. There’s nothing left for me to do right now but see if I can meet back up with Eli and try to figure out a better approach in regard to my parents.

  This one is obviously not working.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two-Bit Racer

  Eli

  Kate has to work tonight, but I can’t let that distract me.

  I just got the call.

  The woman on the phone told me the next race’s starting point is going to be on Sixth and Michigan here in town, and so I drive. It’s only a couple of blocks away. Mick will wait a couple blocks away with the truck in case we need to get out of there more quietly. Hopefully we don’t have that issue.

  I’m the first to arrive, but all of my competitors arrive within the next minute.

  My opponents for this race are going to be a Mustang GT, a Honda Accord (though I’d imagine it has a few more attachments than Kate’s), and a VW GTI.

  I’m trying not to feel too confident. All three of these people already won their own races the same way I did. They wouldn’t be on the line if they couldn’t drive.

  A man in a suit, different from the one who started my first race, comes out into the middle of the road, in front of and between the two center cars. He’s holding his hands up and he drops them.

  The Chevelle’s body twists slightly; raising its front tires a couple of inches as I hit the gas. All around me are shrill tires and thundering engines.

  I come to the front of the pack, but I’m not pulling away like I’d hoped. This isn’t going to be an easy one.

  At first, I’m so busy looking for any streetlights on the road ahead that I almost don’t notice the detour sign with a spray painted green arrow pointing left. By the time I do, I’m almost past it.

  Two of the others fell into the same trap, but the Accord takes the left while the rest of us are trying to get back on the course. I’m second to last when I finally make the turn.

  The Mustang behind me lets loose its nitrous, and he tears by me as if I’m standing still.

  I’m in last. I don’t like being in last.

  It takes some self-control, but I refrain from hitting my own nitrous in an attempt to catch up. When we get to the next detour sign, this one also pointing to the left, the Mustang misses its second turn of the race and I climb into third.

  The Chevelle comes out of the drift hard, throwing me against the driver’s side door, and the taillights ahead already look unreachable about two blocks ahead.

  I’m checking the road ahead for the next orange detour sign, but it must be further down the road. My thumb settles in the air above my nitrous button.

  Taillights turn into brake lights ahead, though. There’s no detour sign to signal the turn, only an arrow pointing to the right, painted just before the intersection in bright green spray paint.

  I pump my brakes, trying to initiate the drift, but I’ve got too much speed coming around the corner and my back tire runs up onto the curb, spinning, before sideways momentum turns into forward momentum and I get all four wheels back on the road.

  The two cars that were ahead of me now make up the slower half of the pack, the guy in the Mustang still managing to stay close on my tail.

  There’s no way I’ve found yet to know how long each race is going to be. I’m not even entirely sure we’re following the right arrows, though there weren’t any better indications of which route to take.

  On the straight, the Mustang falls back a little and the GTI capitalizes, not only passing, but immediately cutting off the driver of the Mustang, who ends up on the sidewalk.

  As long as they’re vying against each other for second, I’m in a decent position, but the infighting doesn’t last long.

  The GTI is about two car lengths back, and I’m trying to push the gas pedal all the way through the floor. I’m edging out the competition, but not by much.

  Another green arrow on the road points left and I’ve
hit my stride. I kiss the apex of the turn just right and barely lose traction as I come around the corner.

  Way up about seven or eight blocks ahead is a red stoplight. I’m not sure yet if that has anything to do with me or not, but that’s where my sights are set.

  The Accord hisses past me, and I hit my own nitrous. If that is the end of the race, I can’t spare a second.

  The GTI, oddly, seems like it’s out of the race, but the Mustang hasn’t given up yet. It may as well have, though.

  So, it’s me in a race with a souped-up Honda Accord, and as much as I’d love to say it wasn’t going to be a contest, I am not creeping up on it the way I’m going to need to if I’m going to win the race.

  Everything changes as I spot the green arrow pointing to the right on the road two blocks from the red light. I almost don’t make the turn. The Accord doesn’t.

  The very next block after the turn, there’s a red light at the intersection. I won’t know if this is it or if I’ve just lost the race, but my foot is down hard as I go through that red light.

  I’m looking around for any indication whether I’ve won, or whether I’ve thoroughly screwed up. It’s not until I ease off the accelerator until I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket.

  Pulling the phone out of my pocket, but still keeping my foot partially down on the accelerator, I look at the number.

  I don’t recognize it.

  That’s a good sign.

  I answer, “Ransom.”

  “You will find your winnings in the glove box of your truck,” the now-familiar woman’s voice says and she hangs up the phone.

  There’s no reason to stop on my way back to the flatbed, so I don’t.

  When I get there, Mick is standing at the back of the truck with his hands over his eyes. His hands don’t move when I pull up, but they fly out of the way when I honk my horn a few feet away from him.

  He lets out a large breath and moves out of the way so I can pull up the ramp he never bothered to take down. I turn off the Chevelle, and get out to cover and secure it.

  I wait until we’re in the truck and on our way back to the shop before asking, “What were you doing?”