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I know his kind. I was too familiar with them when I lived in Boston before moving here. Wealthy pricks who treat their wives like trophies. Using and abusing them as they see fit.
Look, I’m not exactly without faults, but at least I haven’t dragged someone down to the depths of hell with me.
In my past, I always made it clear who and what I was to the women I was with. I never paraded around as a good man or an upstanding member of the community.
Maybe that’s why Mrs. Matheson looked at me longingly earlier. Maybe she needs an escape. Maybe that can be me.
“Fuck,” I groan again.
It can’t be me. I need to figure out a way to stop thinking about her like this. Seeing her once has already made me start to lose my mind, evidently. It’s almost as if God placed her in front of me to claim.
Even I know that can’t be true.
I’m lucky enough that this uptight parish agreed to take me so quickly. I can’t afford to sleep with a parishioner here. That is one lesson I already faced in Boston.
Fuck, she is gorgeous, though. Not just gorgeous, alluring, really. Her sad, bright blue eyes and turned-down mouth had me staring at her as I was waiting for Greg to announce me to the congregation.
I had been with the church for a little over a month, but he wanted me to get acquainted with the parish operations first before throwing me to the wolves. That’s not exactly how he said it, but I read between the lines. I opted out of performing the full Mass earlier today by his side, and he reluctantly agreed with me.
That fucking perfect mouth of hers is what initially drew me in. Those pouty, plump, bee-stung lips were designed by God to be consumed.
I drag my palms against my face once again in defeat.
“Fuckin’ hell.”
I have to readjust my cock now.
I’m getting hard just thinking about seeing her during Mass when I should have been paying attention to the hundreds of new faces I will be acquainting myself with soon enough.
I just can’t stop thinking about how Mrs. Matheson looked sitting alone in her pew. She didn’t back down from my stare once she made eye contact with me. It’s as if she needed me to be the anchor for her sadness or maybe for her hope… for whatever was tormenting her inside.
Maybe that’s how she always looks, but I sure as fuck hope that isn’t the case. I felt like something was off with this enigmatic creature sitting in my new church.
Nothing should ever torment my perfect, sad angel.
I saw her reaction when I was at the podium. I didn’t think she saw my priest collar from the shadows and depth of where I was standing earlier, but her reaction confirmed it. She seemed shocked when I stood up at the podium and greeted everyone.
I hate wearing the collar. I hate the formal liturgical vestments I’m expected to wear when presiding over Mass. The collar, though, feels like a chain to a life I forced myself into. A life that isn’t my own but one I need to fulfill.
I could tell her eyes were drinking me in. All of me. It felt like she was consuming my soul. I don’t have time to get close to anyone in any capacity.
What is alarming me the most is that I am already feeling as if I would take any part of her that she would give me.
If I wasn’t a priest.
The way I saw her thighs squeeze together when we were speaking earlier made my cock harden at the sight. It was a slight movement, but I watched everything she did after I first found her from the shadows.
I have got to stop thinking like this. I’m a priest, and she’s married.
I can’t go down a bad path again. Not here, where I’m looking to make a fresh start from my past in Boston.
Old Lachlan would have. If she were mine, I would break her just so I could be the one to put her back together. I would push Avery to her limits and then build her back up again.
I would be all she wanted. Needed. Craved. Desired.
“What the fuck,” I mutter.
You’re a priest. She’s married. Get it together, Lachlan.
