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“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 aswild 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 whichsinnerhas 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?”
“Forgive me.”
His warm palm cups one of my ass cheeks, and when he squeezes, I let out a quiet moan. Everything the man does is unwittingly sexual. “Forgiveness only comes with divine punishment, Ivy. Reparation for your sins.”
His knuckles jerk me forward as he tears my nylons, and I brace a hand on the wall to keep from tumbling forward. Once stable again, I grip my ankles as he commanded me to and lick my lips, imagining the sting of that paddle against my flesh.
