by Keri Lake
Her eyes don’t waver as she breathes hard through her nose.
I lower my hand from her mouth, practically tasting those lips on mine.
“Tell me that doesn’t turn you on, and I’ll leave.”
It takes all my strength not to throttle this woman. This beautiful, exotic creature who excites me in ways I don’t dare admit aloud. Not here.
Without a word, I reach up under her skirt, eyes furious and burning as I stare into hers, and I nearly buckle when I run my finger across the apex of her thighs to find she wasn’t lying about the panties. Wadding a handful of the nylon material in my palm, I yank hard enough to hear them tear and her lips part, then stretch to a wicked smile. Through the hole in her nylons I dip my finger knuckle deep, greeted by the wet slick that coats my skin on the withdrawl. Across from me, the crucifix hangs on the wall, the weary eyes of Jesus watching me, as I push my fingers up inside of her again. And again. And again.
Her moans and choked breaths, eyes hooded with lust, urge me on, confirming what I already know: I cannot deny this woman, even when my virtue and character are at stake. “Please, Father. Fuck me.”
The knock at the door skates down my spine, and Ivy ducks beneath my desk, like this is some kind of drill we’ve practiced before.
I clear my throat and take a seat, my knees knocking into what I presume is her shoulder. “Yes, come in.”
Ruiz peeks his head through the cracked door and steps inside. “Pardon the intrusion, but did you happen to see Ms. Mercier?” he asks in his thick accent. “I wanted to ask her some things before they take her grandmother to the crematorium.”
“I, um … if I see her, I’ll be sure to tell her you’re looking for her.” Something brushes against my groin, and I shift in the chair, clearing my throat for the second time. I jerk my knee to make her stop this torment. “Thank you for handling Mass on short notice.”
“No problem. Hope everything was well in New York.”
“Yes.” At a grip of my balls, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from gasping aloud. The tickle of my zipper sliding over my boxers draws my hand beneath the desk to stop her, but she swats it away, the noise drawing Ruiz’s attention.
“Everything okay, Damon? You seem … stressed today.”
Cool air hits my groin where Ivy has sprung my cock free, and I swallow hard, pressing my elbows into the desktop as she strokes her hand down my shaft.
“Jet lagged,” I choke out.
“Ah, yes. You probably need some rest. Perhaps you should snooze a bit.”
Muscles steeled with her assault, I screw my eyes shut, as wet lips suck me inside her mouth, so warm and soft, I have to squeeze my fingers together to keep from gnawing them. “You’re probably … right. I’m … not … so good.” Air trapped in my lungs, I hold my breath while she runs her tongue over my weeping tip.
Brows winged in concern, he cants his head. “Anything you need? I’m happy to help.”
For a split second, a visual of Ruiz’s hand performing the work of Ivy’s mouth makes me want to cringe, but instead, I shake my head more frantic than I intend. “I’ll … get sleep. As you suggested.” I draw in a shaky breath, my hands practically white with tension, as I wait for him to get the hell out of my office.
“Good, good. Perhaps we can have lunch?”
“Sure. Lunch … lunch works.”
“Excellent, I’ll finish up with Ivy and meet you back at the rectory.”
“Okay, I’ll finish up with Ivy, too.” Alarm shoots through me at the slip of my words, and when Ruiz tips his head in confusion, I let out a nervous laugh. “Paperwork, I meant. When I finish … paperwork.”
“Ah, okay.” With a nod, he turns and exits my office. The moment he’s gone, I push away from my desk, furious and hard enough to hammer nails.
Lipstick smeared over my shaft marks her torment, and the moment she pushes to her feet, I shove her back against my desk.
“You have no idea what you’re toying with, woman.”
“Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing.” The sweep of her tongue over her lips sends another shiver down my spine, as the pain of blue balls settles in. “I’ve had it inside me many times now.”
“He’s looking for you. You better find him.” My eyes dip to her mouth and back. “Fix your lipstick first.”
Her eyes dip between us and back, as well. “Might want to fix yours too.”
With more reluctance than I care to admit, I stuff myself back into my slacks and straighten my shirt. “I’ll be at your place tonight. Six sharp.”
Her face turns smug enough that I want to smack the smirk right off her lips. “I’ll have bells on.”
“Keep the nylons on.” Leaning forward, I avoid her red lips to plant a kiss on her cheek. “And the heels.”
Brow cocked, she wipes the smeared lipstick with the same Kleenex she used to dry her tears earlier. “Kinky, Father.”
“I told you to call me Damon when we’re doing this.”
“I like Father. It has the same ring as Daddy.” She grips the back of my neck, leaving a kiss on my cheek, and the second she pulls away, I slap my hand over it to wipe the evidence away. “I’ll put on fresh lipstick, too.”
On her way toward the door, I ogle her legs, the black nylons reminding me of the hole I ripped just moments before.
Goddamn, this woman will be the end of me.
Back at the rectory, I watch Ruiz take careful bites of his ham and cheese panini. The man handles his lunch with the same attentive movements as he does while offering communion.
“You’re from the south, right?” I ask before shoving a bite of my sandwich into my mouth.
“San Diego, yes. I was born in Chula Vista.”
“Ever been to Calexico?”
“Of course! I know the priest at Our Lady of Guadalupe. We attended Seminary together.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he’s very well respected in his community. A little overwhelmed, though, as I understand.”
“How so?”
“Their congregation has grown somewhat exponentially over the past few years. He’s scheduled six months out for weddings, Quinceañeras, baptismals. It’s just him down there.”
“The diocese won’t send him some help?”
“They have, but it just doesn’t work out. People in the community have come to trust Javier.” He tips his head, setting down his panini. “What interests you in Calexico?”
Shrugging off his question, I sip my water while I contemplate the answer. I’m not sure why I bothered to ask. I’ve already relinquished the idea of going after El Cabro Blanco, and perhaps going back to being just a regular guy. “Just curious.”
“I’ve given thought to offering him some help, but … the gangs and cartels are just too dangerous. I’ve read awful things they’ve done to innocent people. It doesn’t surprise me that parishioners have reconnected with their faith.”
“And what about Javier? How’s he dealt with their violence?”
Setting down his sandwich, he lifts his chin a bit and rests his elbows on the table. “It’s strange, you know. I think they respect him. Faith is a very strong connection for some people. Even the ones who commit atrocious crimes.”
I stare down at my food, thinking back to earlier in the week, when I murdered a man and my initial thoughts were how disappointed Bishop McDonnell, and even Ruiz, would be if they ever found out. “It is.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d stay away from there. I’ve heard a number of criminals seek out those border towns.”
“Ever hear of one called Cabro Blanco.”
Dropping his gaze from mine, he furrows his brow. “I would encourage you not to throw that name around much. Even here.”
I’ve never known a man, besides my own father, who’d become a household name for being a bastard, from the east to west coast. “Then, his reputation is everything they say?”
“It’s hard to discern what’s fiction from non-fiction,
but none of what I’ve heard is good. I believe human beings are capable of carrying out evil acts against God. But none have shocked me as much as those carried out by that particular man. If you can call him that.”
The more I hear about this man goat, who has taken on the form of a mystical creature in my head, the more I think the world would be better off without him in it, but that’s no longer my place. I’ve handed over my wrath for the sake of what little soul I have left in me.
Rising up from his chair, Ruiz pats me on the shoulder. “Be grateful you chose a path least likely to cross his. A man like that has no business with God.”
With a nod, I keep my eyes on my food, trying not to think of Val and Isabella, who unwittingly made the goat’s kill list. “Thanks.”
He gives one more squeeze, and clears his dishes from the table before exiting the room.
Tonight, I’ll draft the email for Bishop McDonnell. Probably best to resign face to face, but the likelihood of him talking me into staying is far too realistic to chance it.
23
IVY
Aside from my apartment, the rooftop of my building is something of a second sanctuary. For whatever reason, no one else comes up here, maybe because of the plethora of flowers and vining plants I’ve cultivated, along with a cute little table and chairs I bought from a secondhand shop that make it look occupied. As though they’re intruding on someone else’s space, though it belongs to all the apartment tenants. Not that I’m complaining. Makes it another peaceful spot for me to unwind after work.
I took the evening off, since it’s Mamie’s funeral, but part of me wishes I’d just gone in, to keep from sitting here and thinking all night. My phone tells me it’s ten to six. Dusk has settled over the city, burning up the sky in shades of orange and red.
Mamie loved sunsets. She called it a heavenly fire, nature’s passion, and tonight, the embers burn in her memory.
When warmth swaddles my shoulders, I twist to see Damon wrapping his coat around me.
“You’re early.”
“A man can only stare at a clock for so long. Besides, I want to see the pussy.”
I smile at that, wrapping myself in his coat, which smells of spice and delicious masculinity. “Obviously, you’re talking about Philippe. And I have to say, for a holy man, you do quite a bit of creeping around at night.”
He stares off toward the sky that has slowly dissolved into darkness.
“One luminary clock against the sky. Proclaimed the sky was neither wrong nor right. I have been one acquainted with the night.”
I study his profile, the contemplative look on his face, which I find most attractive about Father Damon. I used to think this expression was disdain for all the sinners’ paths he crossed. Now I know it’s a man divided by his thoughts. “A verse from the Bible?”
A quick glance in my direction, and his brows soften with a smile. “Robert Frost.”
I reach for his hand as I push to my feet. Something hard hits my thigh from inside his coat, but I ignore it for the urgency to get inside, and hands entwined, I lead him back through the door, and two floors down to the door of my apartment.
“Iby, is dat you?” Mrs. Garcia calls from inside her apartment.
“Yeah, just me!” I call out over my shoulder, hiding a smile.
“No handsome priest?”
I grin back at Damon, who shakes his head, urging me to lie. “Yeah, he’s with me, too.”
The door swings open, revealing my neighbor chewing on something, her brow cocked in suspicion. “You know I met da Pope once.”
“That must’ve been an incredible experience,” Damon answers, while I unlock the door, inwardly chuckling at her obvious flirtations. “Life changing, I’d imagine.”
“It was. I’ll tell you ‘bout it sometime.”
“I’d like that very much.”
She makes a sound of approval in her throat. “Me, too,” she says, before slipping back into her apartment.
Damon follows me into mine, and the moment he closes the door, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him in for the kiss I’ve been craving all week. “She has the hots for you, in case it’s not as obvious as it looks.”
“Must be some strange forbidden fantasy.”
“It’s not that strange. You’re a hot priest. I’m sure half the congregation only goes to church to see you.”
“Slightly more than half, surely.”
Laughter fills my chest—it’s the first time I’ve felt the urge to smile in a week. “If they knew how dirty you were outside of church, I’m certain you’d double the parish.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be overwhelmed with a crowd of women trying to get into my pants.”
“How about one?”
“One is plenty.” The soft stroke of his hand down my face draws my attention to his stern eyes. Always so serious, so troubled. Admittedly, it’s taken some time to get used to Damon’s gentle touch after dealing with a ruthless asshole for so many years. “What if I don’t go back.”
“To New York? Well, I’d be glad about that.”
“To the congregation. The church. What if I walk away from the priesthood?”
“Why would do that? I mean, the church is your life. You’ve dedicated so much.”
“It’s helped me get through a very difficult time in my life, yes. But I’m ready to move on now. I’m ready for something else.”
If we were a cartoon right now, my heart would tumble out of my chest and unroll into a long red carpet. “What are you saying? With me?”
“It’s not a marriage proposal, Ivy. I just thought, maybe we could have coffee and breakfast together. On a more regular basis.”
“That sounds nice. Real nice.”
Something brushes past my calf, and both of us look toward the cat that’s entwined itself in Damon’s legs. “Ah, there’s the pussy I missed.”
Slapping his arm, I chuckle, before he reaches down to lift the cat, giving a kiss to the top of his head. It only takes a few seconds of petting for Philippe to get bored and leap out of Damon’s arms.
Huffing, I cross my arms. “Glad it’s not just me. Was starting to think it was personal.”
“He’s not one for affection.”
“He inherited that from you, right?” I slip out of his borrowed coat and hand it off to him, trading that warmth for the chill of my apartment, as he chuckles, draping the coat over his arm.
“I’m going to put in my resignation tomorrow.”
Excitement blossoms in my chest at the thought. How beautiful and perfect each day would be with him. “How about if we practice breakfast together in the morning?”
“Mmm-hmm,” he says, tugging the front of my shirt and yanking me to his lips that damn near melt against mine with the heat he’s stirred. “We have important matters this evening.” The chair at the desk behind him catches his coat with a thunk, and the sound draws my attention only briefly, before he tips his head to guide my eyes back to him. My skirt lifts where he’s hitched it up, giving him full access to the hole he put in my nylons earlier. “Good girl.” Voice layered thick with lust, he hikes one of my thighs over his hip and hoists me up into his arms. “I was afraid you’d disappoint me by taking them off.”
I wrap my legs around him, slanting my lips over his as he steals the oxygen from my lungs in a white hot kiss. “I like to please you, Father Damon.”
“Then, you’ll do exactly as I tell you.” One arm banded around my back, he holds me against the wall, using the flat surface to hold me up, while two fingers push past slick skin, up inside of me with ease. It’s almost shameful the way his fingers turn me into some kind of sex deprived kitten. On their withdrawal, I tip my head back, smiling as he holds his shimmering digits before me, inhaling the scent, before stuffing them into his mouth. “I missed the taste of you.”
His jaw clenches as he stuffs his fingers up inside me again, in and out, until the sounds of his toil announce what I already know about the man—he
makes me wet. Lips curved with a snarl, he viciously stokes my excitement, as if it pains him to know what effect his hands have on my body. As if he could possibly deny the chemistry that explodes between us.
Seemingly satisfied with my level of lubrication, he lowers me back to the floor, and eyes on me, he sets to unbuttoning his black shirt. “You enjoyed tormenting me earlier today?”
The deep ridges of his chest muscles momentarily distract me from the question, and he cocks a brow, as though he expects an answer. Biting back a smile, I lower my gaze from his, so as not to incite the genuine anger I could sense back at his office. “Yes, Father.”
The rubbing of his hands, those strong and ruthless hands that wrung Calvin’s blood all over my bathroom floor, battles for my stare. “The Epistle of Jude refers to your kind as wild waves of the sea, casting up the foam of their own shame; wandering stars, for whom the gloom of utter darkness has been reserved forever.”
“Is that supposed to be a bad thing? Because it sounds painfully romantic.”
“Painful indeed.” Reaching back toward his coat, he removes a small wooden object from an inside pocket that appears to be a paddle with it’s flat surface and handle, upon which sinner has been carved. “Face the wall, Ivy. Spread your legs and bend forward. I want you to grip your ankles.”
Swallowing a gulp, I force back the rush of excitement itching to break free on a childlike giggle.
Mamie once told me, back during the one year she attended a Catholic high school for girls, that one of the lay teachers administered corporal punishment after catching her smoking behind a dumpster. She told me while it was the most humiliating moment of her life, it was also the most erotic. According to her, he wasn’t the best looking, but as male teachers were rare, she found herself somewhat smitten with him.
Cupping the paddle with one hand, Damon stands expectantly, and I take the cue, twist to face the wall, finally letting my smile break.
I bend forward slowly, looking to the side at where the paddle sits in my periphery. “Be merciful. Please.”
“Were you merciful? Did you pity me when you left my office, having roused the most painful erection I’ve had in weeks?”
