Thou Shall Not: A Dark Ten Commandments Anthology
Page 23
My throat thickens, and as I’m attempting to clear the obvious discomfort she brings, Cal and his girlfriend step closer to me. Her eyes zone in on me more, raking over me in a curious way, like she’s never seen a man before. Which can’t be the case, but it has me loosening my tie regardless.
Do I close my eyes to regain composure, praying they don’t see my obvious fluster? I’m never inappropriate, I’ve never had a dalliance or even a thought of another woman in my marriage. Yet this one—this very innocent doe-like woman—has me in shambles without even opening her mouth. And what a mouth she has.
“Dad,” Cal announces, a huge smile on his face. “This is Mich.” His excitement is obvious, but I don’t look at him for long before my attention is back on her.
“Mich,” I repeat, my voice gruff. Her eyes peek up at me, glittering with mischief. But in my mind, I repeat it. Mich. It sounds wrong, like she’s supposed to have another name. A sweeter one—more dangerous somehow—more delectable. Like a beautiful black raven. No, it can’t be.
In Leviticus, he speaks of not taking any bird into our bodies. To not indulge in them, that they’re bad. So very fucking bad.
Bad. Bad. Bad.
“Michelle Temperance,” she sounds out slowly, her soft but seductive tone going straight through me. It’s off-putting, knowing how much this woman affects me, and by being only three minutes in my presence.
Tempi the tempest.
“Evan,” I respond immediately after shaking my head, making the air thick with an awkwardness from the wait between answers. “But my parishioners call me Deacon Shaw.”
Her eyes glint at that, and I’m thickening in my slacks. Lord, please save me. She places her palm out, offering her hand, all while smirking like the little tempest she is. I don’t mean to be rude, but if I touch her, it’ll all be over. My body reacts to her in a way that has me anxious and nervous and terrified.
“Dad,” Cal scolds, eyeing his girlfriend’s outstretched hand. If I grab her hand, I’ll lose. The devil on my shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, he’ll rejoice. He’ll win.
I clear my throat, the dryness making me uncomfortable. It’s rude not to acknowledge her gesture. It’s unlike me. Instead of allowing my anxieties to win, I grab her hand, regretting it immediately.
The softness of her hand greets the roughness of mine. It’s smooth and warm and delicate. She strokes her thumb against mine, making me shiver. The reaction has me letting go of her as if she scalded me, like she’ll send me straight to hell if I hold on even a second longer.
“Nice to meet you. Excuse me,” I choke out, a frenzied warmth sweltering my skin. My gaze connects with my office door, needing something stronger than a glass of water.
Don’t partake in overindulging.
I turn away from them, knowing if there’s not a drink in my hand—one that’ll drown out the desire thrumming along with every beat of my heart—I’ll do some really shady shit.
Don’t acquiesce to desire.
Even though mass consumption wasn’t acceptable in my faith or within the means of my duty, I’d need to for the sake of Michelle.
Is she my Leviticus? My omen? My warning of damnation?
My mind pilfers through all the possibilities, taking all the bad ones, leaving behind all the safe. Maybe she’s my temptation. The fruit to test my will. My trial as a servant of God. My testament to Him. We all get one at some point.
Don’t capitulate your faith, for it’ll be your ruin.
I head to the liquor cabinet, opening it roughly, scouring for the bourbon that slices through me like a sword through meated flesh. When my hands finger over the bottle’s head, I clutch it as if it’s the answer for the sinful thoughts invading my mind.
I will not fall for the forbidden.
I will not commit adultery.
But haven’t I already? A man who looks at a woman in lust is already damned. Am I damned? Am I as sinful as the the ones that preach to my Priest?
Shutting out the staggering perfidious thoughts, I steal the bottle away, popping the cork, and sucking the nozzle like I’ve been in the desert for decades. It staves the worrisome itch threatening to make me sin, but it won’t last. Satan doesn’t magically leave with depressants thick in my system. The burn though, it signifies my weakness. It scolds my esophagus the way God must be admonishing me for my weaknesses.
Don’t succumb to your vices.
In the entirety of the nineteen years I’ve been married to Stella, my eyes haven’t wandered, my cock hasn’t craved another, and my heart until now, has never stuttered from a singular subdued glance from a teenage girl whose eyes reminded me of the Marianas trench. Endless. Arcane. Esoteric.
She’s different.
She’s temptation wrapped in gold.
She’s perdition in human form.
She’s everything wrong with hunger and need and sensualism and nothing fucking feels right about her. Yet, I still want to know her.
After taking several more gulps, I wipe my mouth of any remnants of the frailty I’d allowed myself to yield to.
When I need strength, I must only ask Him. When I need guidance, I only need to pray for answers. When lack of faith threatened the love of my God, the only solution was redefining my faith.
“Honey?” my wife’s voice strums through the air, throwing me off. “Evan?” I try gaining resolve, to fix the features I’m sure are reflected on me.
“In here, dear.” I don’t want her to think she’s not the love of my life, she is. I married her, God gave her to me, they gave me children, they brought me faith.
I hear her heeled feet tapping, forcing a smile on my face, I wait for her to come in. Her arms wrap around my chest, the warmth of her imprinting on me like always, but it feels different. And it’s my fault.
Turning toward her, she keeps her arms wound around me, her frame small against mine. I’ve loved her longer than I haven’t, I’ve loved her more today than yesterday but I’ll love her more tomorrow.
“I missed you,” she whispers into my chest, her breath warm above my heart. Was it only moments ago that I was lusting after a teen? My son’s girlfriend, no less?
Hopefully she won’t smell the liquor on my breath, the faithlessness in my hold, and the disgust in my soul.
“Missed you, too,” I muster, barely finding the words that feel false. How could a man see another woman, really see her, and still miss his wife?
He can’t.
I can’t.
It’s not possible.
She pulls away, a sweet smile on her face. I leave a kiss on her forehead, as I do every day.
“I’m going to start dinner. Cal and his lovely girlfriend are going to be in the dining room. You should keep them company.” I nod as she heads to the kitchen, smiling the entire way out my door.
My wife. My loving, caring, and beautiful wife, always thinks of everyone over herself.
Instead of meeting the kids in the dining room, I stay in my office. I take my Bourbon and glass, filling it two fingers full, wondering why I’m being tested.
“Mr. Shaw?” her soft voice speaks from behind me. If not for my tumbler gripped in my palm, I might’ve faltered.
“Yes?” I ask, bereft. Not wanting to give her an opening. I’m not an easily moved man, but she only has to breathe for me to notice. She’s silent. It only makes me want to turn and see her beautiful curls. Does she feel what I feel? This tangible string, tying us together somehow?
From far too close to me, I hear her response. “I-I need your help.”
No. I can’t help you. You’re too seductive—too promising—too salacious for your own good.
But I can’t ignore a person in need. It’s above me, it’s my duty to assist, help, and give whenever possible.
Gulping the bitter amber liquid, my stomach churns, and it’s not from the drink. Placing my empty tumbler on the desk, I shake the desperation in her words, unwilling to be anything but caring and professional.
“What can I do for you, Miss Temperance?” My voice, no matter how I tried avoiding it comes out rushed and oxygen-less. Her attention flows inside my veins, sinking their inky black depths through every cell in my body. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but it’s more unsettling than the Bible teachings of evil. It’s too powerful, and I find myself weakened and in need of repentance.
“It’s Tempi,” she responds, her face softening a tinge. She offers a small smile, her hands clasped together.
“Tempi,” I try, but it still feels wrong like before. It’s somehow not enough. Her mouth opens at my voicing her name, whether staggered or not.
“C-Cal,” she stutters a moment before smiling, almost deciding frailty isn’t her. “He said you do youth counseling.” Our eyes connect at the last word, her unasked question there. Will you help me? But just knowing she would be alone with me, in my tiny office, free of people, free of restraint... it’s not a good idea, and I’m sure she knows it too.
This electric current between us is like a fallen phone line, sparks sizzling, waiting to find a conductor to produce its charge. It’ll get us both hurt if we aren’t careful, and I’m sure she feels it too. It’s too magnetic to ignore—too dangerous to concede—too disastrous to follow through.
“I do.” I don’t give more. But when her face falls, I feel it’s my duty to my Lord to offer something. “But I can refer you to another Deacon or counselor at my office building.” The thought of having those sensuous on another man has a burdensome amount of jealousy licking my senses. But I continue. “As my son’s girlfriend, I think it’s in both of our best interests not to have me help,” I lie straight through my teeth. It’s the biggest cop out. Not doing this for me is the truth. Pretending it has anything to do with Callum is the biggest fib I’ll ever tell.
“Oh, no... it’s okay. Just forget I said anything,” she stumbles over her disappointment. But I can see it, her fallen expression and shoulders to conclude.
“No, no, no,” I attempt. It’s not in me to deny her, but it’s not in me to give her more than assistance. This can only go downhill. “Let’s get you with Deacon Stark.” Deacon Stark is old, he wouldn’t give into her ways. He’s the best candidate. She eyes me, then her face falls, almost as if she’s given up on me before I’ve even tried.
“I don’t think so,” she says, then turns, walking away from me completely. I’m shocked, wondering why that hurts me more than hurting my wife does.
Chapter Three
Tempi
“Don’t worry about him, Mich. He must’ve had a hard day.”
Mich. I hate when he calls me that. It’s such a manly name that has always bugged me. But that’s what he’s always called me. It’s what he never forgets to introduce me as. I shouldn’t care. When he introduced me to his father, it made me internally cringe, but I put that brave face on. Like Ma taught me.
“Tempi, keep your face stoic and proud. Don’t ever show a man your discomfort. You’re the queen, act like it.”
Too bad that’s the only good thing she taught me.
She’s your run-of-the-mill bad person. Doesn’t care about me, her child. Doesn’t care about anything or anyone other than herself and whoever she can get to buy her drugs and booze. But she’s my mom, and she gives me a home, no matter how dangerous and detrimental it is.
Mentally shaking my head at her invading my thoughts, I think of him. The man that’s taken my focus.
I imagine how his voice coiled around my name, like he knew it was meant to be something more.
What I didn’t expect was being attracted to the man that is Evan Shaw. Man. He is such a man. Not like the seedy ones I had to give my body to, but a strong and resilient man. A beastly kind that’ll spank you if you misbehave and take care of you as if you are his world. He’s virile with shoulders that are broad and wide. His eyes are a soft gray wool color that had my heart hammering when they connected with mine. And his jaw, it’s solid and sharp. Perfection. He doesn’t have more than day old stubble, but it’s sexy as hell seeing his chiseled face. And the salt and pepper covering his temples... he’s attractive as hell, that’s for sure.
The way he stared at me and nowhere else, as if I garnered all of his attention, it killed me. The irritation though, I don’t understand. Unless it’s me. He sees my sins, he feels my dirt beneath my nails, he understands my filfth even if I don’t.
Cal sounds off next to me, talking about woodshop and how he’s making a new dining room table for his parents’ anniversary. In reality, I’m not really paying attention, not until he points out how long they’ve been together.
I nearly spit out the water I’m sipping. “How long?” Even to my own ears, I sound exasperated.
“Nineteen years,” he states, slower, like I cannot comprehend a sentence rather than me not being able to fathom the thought of his dad being that old. Even imagining a person spending that long with someone else... wow.
“That’s a really long time to be with someone,” I respond, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Just watch, Mich. That’ll be us someday.” I cringe in response but cover it up with a body shiver since I’m sort of chilly.
“You cold, babe?” he asks, his eyes keen with care.
Nodding with a smile, I rub my palms up and down my arms, pretending to create friction. It takes him no time to go to his room and get me a TU sweater. Templar University, a Catholic based college northwest of Bridgeport. It’s where he wants us both to go... together. Don’t get it twisted. I’m not a commitment-phobe. I’m just an I-need-sex-right-now kind of desperate.
And a godless whore. Don’t forget that, Tempi.
Slipping the sweater on, I watch as Cal and his mom fix up dinner, and find myself wandering off to the study Evan left into.
When I reach the door, it’s ajar, and he’s standing there with a tumbler gripped in his hand as if it holds the weight of all his pain and angst. And in this moment, I wish to be the glass; held tightly, squeezed while condensation rolls down me, savored with each beat of his heart.
No matter how wrong that craving is, I can’t bring myself to look anywhere but where his skin caresses the tawny filled tumbler reverently.
He doesn’t notice me and it allows me to enjoy this moment of unabashed admiration toward him. Because as soon as he turns, as soon as anyone is near, he’s just my boyfriend’s dad, and I’m just the girl wishing he’d take me.
“Mr. Shaw,” I finally let out, my stomach in knots. His grip tightens on his drink. The sounds of it squeaking from the force of his flesh connecting with the glass invades my ears.
Does he feel it too?
Am I a fool for experiencing this connection that makes no sense?
Chapter Four
Evan
Stella and Tempest set the table, their small talk intriguing me immediately, but I simply listen. Instead of involving myself, my ears do all the absorbing.
“College just isn’t in my future, Mrs. Shaw.”
“Oh, honey. Of course it is. Cal told me you’re excelling in school and are quite talented. Maybe you can get a scholarship,” my wife reassures with that soft voice she uses on children, letting them know it’ll be okay, as long as you have faith and pray, it’ll work out.
“My worry is housing and everything else involved. My mom isn’t very supportive. She expects me to stay home and continue to pay the bills. With my job, school, and the extracurriculars for college, I’m barely scraping by. I bite the bullet, barely surviving, but continue to push for something that may never happen,” Tempest admits, her voice slowly quieting at the end.<
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I want to look up, see her face, show her support—something to make her know I care. But it’s inappropriate. It isn’t the right time, place, or even right person.
The room silences, as the air stales with a pregnant pause. Finally, my eyes lift up, reaching my son’s face. Cal stares at his girlfriend in wonderment, pride seeping through the lines on his forehead. He attempts to say something but stops before it comes to fruition.
Was he going to support her? Give her the praise she needs and deserves? Reaffirm her faith, show her God’s way and the path he has?
Say something, dammit.
If he doesn’t, I will.
If Stella doesn’t, I’ll have to.
They sit in silence, the air stagnant with potential but wasted on uncertainty. I need to fix it, break this barrier, give her myself—even if only a piece that believes in her. A girl I’ve only just met.
“Tem-Michelle.” I cough over my near mistake. “You’re a strong and resilient woman. It may seem like an empty promise, or even a poorly executed comment coming from a man you’ve only met. But I want you to know, that if you only ask Him, you’ll find peace.” I stand, making my way to her, knowing I shouldn’t, realizing this is overstepping, understanding it’s far beyond what a boyfriend’s father should offer, but I can’t resist.
“I know it feels impossible right now, as if the world rests on those shoulders of yours,” I continue, touching her chin with my finger, watching as it warbles softly. She inhales a deep breath as our skin connects, and I can’t tell if it’s from me or the fact that she’s near tears and doesn't want to appear weak. Either way, I want to ebb that worry, soothe her pain, and give her anything and everything her heart desires.
Her eyes gloss with emotion as she stares back at me. “You can and will succeed. You only need faith,” I finish, dropping my hand from her skin.
She swallows, her tiny throat bobbing with the motion, and my mind goes places as her swan neck contracts, forcing my eyes to level with her collar bones. Never in my life have I ever imagined clavicles sexy, but on this woman... this strong, fierce, and beautiful woman, I’m sold that it was only meant to be her.