Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Why in God’s name did a priest need a body like that? He never showed it off. No one would ever see it. That was pointless. He spent a lot of time in a gym, but which one and when, I didn’t know. The man was always at the church, working.
The outside was silent. I thought perhaps we should move, but that would mean I’d no longer be held between his thighs, and…well, I wasn’t so keen to end that.
Another siren went off, and I stilled.
“I said there were two,” he reminded me, his voice calming. “The one that just came by went right over us, and we are alive. Not even a scratch. Very small chance this second one will take the same path. But if it does, we will be fine.”
I clung to that, let it sink in, and I willed myself to breathe deeply.
“Lean on me. Relax,” he said, nudging me back.
I sighed as I rested against his chest. I mean, this part of the tornado didn’t suck. If we could just have this and not the near-death experience, I would be all for it. I closed my eyes, enjoying how safe his hard chest felt behind me.
Then, I heard him inhale deeply through his nose, which felt like was pressed to the side of my head.
“Did you just smell me?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because the jacket you left at my house is starting to lose your scent.”
I’d forgotten about the jacket. I’d run out of his house, hurt and rejected. And he hadn’t brought it back. He had been smelling it.
I wiggled because the floor was uncomfortable and because I was now thinking about Jude smelling my jacket.
“Be still.” His voice was hoarse.
I thought he’d heard the other tornado, and I didn’t move a muscle, although that wouldn’t do much to protect me. But there was no roar in the distance, no phantom train engine. There was, however, a very hard and—from what it felt like—large erection pressed against my butt.
“I know you’re scared, and this is not the time for it, but…well, he didn’t seem to get the memo.”
I licked my lips. “He?”
“My cock. I know you can feel it.”
I wasn’t necessarily that scared at the moment. Father Jude had supplied a distraction.
“I’d make it go down if I could. But I smell you, I get hard. I see you smile, I get hard. I hear your voice, I get hard.”
I let out a long, uneven breath. “Then, why make me feel like I’m some dirty, wicked slut that you want as far away from you as possible?”
He moved his hips ever so slightly, and I did not believe it had anything to do with the floor being uncomfortable.
“I don’t want you as far away from me as possible.” The timber in his tone deeper as he leaned closer to my ear. The sound of his breathing heavier. “And the only dirty, wicked things about you are the things I want to do to you.”
He brushed my hair away from my neck and lowered his head, then pressed a kiss there. A simple brush of lips should not feel as if it had seared my soul. My head fell back on his wide shoulder, and I let out a moan, as if he’d just stuck his fingers in my panties.
“I lie in bed at night with your jacket pressed to my nose while I jerk off, thinking about you being there, spread wide, showing me exactly what it is you do to your cunt to get off.”
As his husky voice put images in my head that I wanted very much, I grabbed his shin while a wave of pleasure pulsed through me. He rubbed against me again. Another kiss just below my ear.
“You,” I said, gasping, then tried again. “You said you couldn’t masturbate.”
The back of his fingers ran over my jawline, down to the curve of my neck, then over my collarbone. “I’m not supposed to look at you and instantly get hard. I’m not supposed to seek you out because I ache to be near you. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I’ve been breaking my vows.” His hand slid down inch by agonizing inch, closer to the swell of my breasts. “Everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Is that”—I swallowed—“from the Bible?”
“Matthew 5:28. Jesus’s words,” he replied.
No, don’t start quoting Jesus. Touch my boobs.
I wanted to beg, but I didn’t have to. The large palm covered my right breast and gently squeezed. I arched my back, pressing it into his hand. Loving how it felt.
“I tried to tell myself that you were my Delilah. That, unlike Samson, I had to be strong,” he said against my ear. His hand moving to the other breast. “But that’s not fair. It points the blame on you, and it lays solely on my shoulders. I’m as guilty as King David when he watched Bathsheba bathe. Wanting her. Knowing she wasn’t his to take. To have. But he did it anyway.”