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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Last night had been amazing. So great. She’d had so much fun going out to dinner with Arthur and Saoirse, and then playing at Hive had been awesome.
Plum had been missing Savage, but only the tiniest of bits. Mostly she was completely satisfied by playing with Gideon, not to mention that he made her happy in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. Cooked her dinner, flirted with her when he came to Caffeinatrix, talked her through issues she was having at work but only when she asked him to, gave her baths, and made her laugh.
It had been a total blast to go to Hive, play with Saoirse and Arthur, meet a bunch of other people who Gideon knew—some of whom she recognized from around town—and of course leave with a backside that had been thoroughly spanked by two different men, and welted with Gideon’s black leather belt. It had been perfect.
Now it was Sunday afternoon which she usually spent doing kinky ass shit with Gideon but one of her baristas had called in sick and she didn’t have time to drag in a last minute sub. Such was life as a small business owner.
She’d been apologetic when she had to bail on coffee hour, but Gideon had been understanding. Bussed her cheek and told her he’d check in later.
It wasn’t busy in the late afternoon—there were usually a few waves of people from early risers through mid-afternoon caffeine fiends who needed their fix or parents who were treating their kids to post-playground cocoa and cookies, but those were over now.
“Dustin, I’m gonna do some inventory out back while it’s quiet. Give a holler if it gets busy again.”
“Will do, boss.”
The stockroom was in a bit of disarray but that wasn’t a surprise. She hadn’t been as exacting about it as she usually was since she’d been distracted by her, uh, courtship? Because it didn’t seem like she and Gideon were fuck buddies. Which was…she didn’t know.
If he weren’t a priest maybe this wouldn’t be an issue. She didn’t feel ready to throw her lot in with anyone for the rest of her life, really, and maybe never would. And that was just a partner, a spouse. To be on a road to forever with Gideon wasn’t a just-the-two-of-us sort of deal. It was Gideon, his congregation…hell, the entire church.
But she couldn’t say the idea of cementing her place by his side and in his bed wasn’t tempting. If he even wanted that from her. Plum was pretty sure that’s what he wanted to talk about and she didn’t want to. Didn’t want to have the shit-or-get-off-the-pot conversation. Why couldn’t they just keep doing this?
She knew why, though. She was well aware of the murmurs at coffee hour and even chatter before services started. She’d seen the looks cast in her direction. Some of the members of the church loved her—Mrs. Symes and her cronies were big fans for sure—but some of them looked at her as though she was… Wait, who was the whore in the bible? Wasn’t there more than one? Who cared, it didn’t matter. Those people didn’t like how she dressed, and they definitely didn’t like that she was there for their priest.
Plum had been mindlessly tallying the supplies while she tried to work out what she was going to do about Gideon, but stopped. There seemed to be some missing items.
It was possible she’d miscounted or they’d been using more of certain things than usual, but given their daily intake totals she wouldn’t have thought so. This wasn’t the first time in the past few months that small things seemed to have gone missing or had moved.
Whatever. She couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to say for sure because her mind wandered to Gideon every second. Maybe this week she’d take a few nights off and do some super-focused inventory while they were closed. And she could give Andy a shot out front during some of the hours she was supposed to be behind the counter. She’d get a break, he’d get a chance to show her what he could do when he wasn’t hauling trash and dirty dishes—perfect.
She’d double-check with Andy to make sure he was cool with it, but as far as she was concerned, that, at least, was settled. Unlike what the fuck she was going to do about Gideon.
* * *
Gideon was humming and lighting some candles when there was a knock at the door. He waited a beat for the telltale creak of the hinges that whined no matter how much oil he applied, and for Plum’s chipper voice bouncing down the hallway. It didn’t come though which was odd since he wasn’t expecting anyone else.
He wiped his hands on his apron and went to the door, expecting maybe Helen since she sometimes worked on Sunday evenings so she could take an afternoon off later in the week to watch her grandkids if her daughter needed the help. Although she would’ve called. Maybe a parishioner? Or it wouldn’t be the first time a homeless person had showed up on his doorstep and he’d given them some food, helped them find a shelter to stay the night in if they were willing.
But no, it was Plum on his stoop. He let her in, taking her cloak and hanging it on the usual hook. Her hands weren’t full and there wasn’t any other reason he could see why she wouldn’t have just let herself in as per usual.
She looked stunning in a navy blue dress that was beautiful if more sedate than the splashy frocks she usually wore. Still plenty of cleavage from the sweetheart neckline and her hair was twisted up and tucked away instead of rioting atop her head. Odd.
He slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her to him, bent to press a kiss to her lips, and used his free hand to grasp her buttocks in a way that made her gasp. Still sore from last night then, which wasn’t a surprise. He’d done some…damage wasn’t quite the right word for it, although perhaps it was.
Well, he’d strapped her backside with his belt until she cried was what he’d done. Once she’d settled down from their scene, he’d brought her into the nursery where Ian was doing story time. Plum sat on a pillow between his legs and leaned back against his chest and he’d held her tucked under a blanket until she was yawning every other sentence. It had been perfect. She was perfect. Perhaps not the wife he’d envisioned having but the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with nonetheless.
Plum wasn’t the most obvious candidate for a priest’s wife, but what did that matter? Was it not more important to model a loving and happy marriage with people dedicated to public service and generosity than it was to look a certain way? He thought so.
Plum melted against him and he loved that moment—that tipping point when his stubborn, foul-mouthed little spark plug surrendered to him. Priceless.
And yet he couldn’t throw her down and ravage her in the sitting room. For many reasons including picture windows that faced the empty parking lot, but also because he’d left some onions caramelizing on the stove and he didn’t want them to burn.
“Come into the kitchen, love. Dinner’s almost ready.”
He’d made a few things that took a lot of time but not much talent since Plum could very well do the opposite herself—she was short on time but long on talent and didn’t cook much outside work anyhow. He didn’t blame her.
She sat at the small table, eyes widening when she took in the candles and the fact that he’d already set the table. He’d also found a music station in the service he subscribed to he thought she’d like: doo-wop for a romantic mood.
